On Website Design

When I withdrew from my Computers in Education class on the last possible day allowed under university policy, I thought for sure that I would never again mingle in the ways of the personal website. I emptied my “public_html” folder on the university N: drive, clearing the entire site I had been working on, and walked out of the computer lab, free of the guided instruction of Professor Ron Postma, Instructor. From that point on, the lightened credit load that I carried hung more easily over my shoulder, so much so that I would momentarily still feel anxious about completing my online homework on time, until the moment would pass and I would realize how foolish my anxiety actually was. I found that the free time I had missed by working on those pointless website alterations was now back in my hands. That is, until, on one of those gray Sunday afternoons spent over spontaneous web searches and a full bag of potato chips, I realized my underlying ambition to still present myself in the way of the electronic age, the personal website.

The task appeared before me as if in a dream. Some things were clear, but mostly it was on the edge of sight and idea. I felt that I could forget about it and the thought would die away, but some inner artist wouldn’t allow the lapse in memory. It called to me, made me cling to the fading potentiality. I recognized that it was not the actual website project that I had hated; it was all the rules I had been required to follow. In the interest of making a professional website, I had been cut off from inventive opportunity. When this artistic aspiration melded with my inner procrastinator, my destiny manifested itself in front of me. I was to build a website. Unfortunately, I had no idea what I was doing.

My daunting incompetence, however, stood no chance against the force of my newfound creative ambition. Before the dream could fade, I went directly to the familiar ground of Microsoft Paint. Here, I created what was to be the centerpiece, the mantra of my website, its homepage icon. I drew a stylized version of my own signature, a jagged, cursive rendition of “Jim E King.” It was to be in the top left corner of each of my pages, a centurion metaphor for what the site would be: simply and genuinely, me. There imagined pages about my university experience, my taste in music, my ramblings on the human predicament, and on each there would be, in the corner, my signature, standing as a reminder to the viewer that he was not simply looking at a list of rock bands from the mid- and early-nineties, but something much more profound.

I decided to build my website in Microsoft Word, although “decided” probably isn’t the right word for it, since my only experience lay in building sites with this program. I managed to incorporate a self-deprecating marquee, which read, “I dropped ED 205! Now this page sucks!” I added it for humor, but with hopes of refuting this claim in reality. With the addition of a comic picture of myself with surprise on my face and a couple of links to my online journal, pictures, and a disclaimer about the pointlessness of my site, I was ready to upload it all and check my progress. This is where I woke up from the dream. To my absolute horror, my signature, for whatever vile reason, wouldn’t upload.

It had felt so much like my entire college career. A first major in the sciences, by which I had hoped to attain a career in optometry, failed after my realization that I hadn’t prepared for that field while I was in high school. My second try was for a Bachelor of Music Education. Although I outperformed many of my classmates in theory and aural perception, my shortcomings as a saxophone player were my downfall to that degree. My third program of Secondary English Education turned out to be wrong for me when I discovered my dislike of the classroom. Along every path, there was some little stone to trip me and send me right onto my face. And here I was with an incredible website, and my pothole was turning out to be my favorite idea on the whole page.

My project had failed. My opportunity for self-expression and entrance into the online community was gone. If my signature wouldn’t work, then the entire focus of my venture was missing, and I was left with just another fact and bio page, another worthless site with no meaning. I refused to let this happen, and after all attempts at redeeming my centerpiece fell short, I quit my project. The feeling of utter failure that resulted was only silenced by my conviction that I tried everything to fix my problems, but, having come up short in all attempts, I could not settle for a half-finished work of art.

It was some weeks later when I stumbled back onto my project, and decided to give it one last shot. I had one last idea, to change the signature’s formatting to be a JPEG instead of a bitmap. To my elation, it worked! I now had all the basic pieces to build my site, with my icon as the cornerstone. The site changed over the next few weeks, and I am quite pleased with the results. There is still a funny disclaimer and are ridiculous pictures of me, as well as a page dedicated to my girlfriend, who is such a huge part of who I am. There is another page where I put some of my favorite works of writing. There is a link to the homepage of the Grand Valley Student Senate, to which I was elected. And as the site has evolved, I find that I may have just done what I set out to do. I have placed my signature out on the world, and, despite what my marquee may say, my personal website doesn’t suck.