So I've neglected writing over Christmas, as is my wont (it being a holiday and all). The things I have to report are few, but nonetheless I shall endeavour to hold your interest.
So my keyboard broke (I told you it wasn't interesting!). On that same day, I embarked upon a four hour quest to buy a keyboard in my local area. At one stage I was so desperate as to contemplate hopping on a train Tokyo bound until civilisation reared up in the windows. I stopped at three electronics places, none of which sold keyboards (much to my amazement). The first was a homely electronics type of shop, selling fridges and whatnot. I didn't much expect them to sell anything computer related, but I thought I'd check.
The amiable individual manning the desk drew a fantastic map of the local area, directing me to the next place I might try. At this point my round-the-county trip was only on forty five minutes.
I headed to the second store (it being a geekstore, the proper term I'm not sure of) which sold all things game related. I'm not talking silly board games that are so thirty years ago, I'm talking computer games. It wasn't a pokey GAME (tm) (C) (how is this retailer still alive?) store either, it was large. There were rows of games for every system on racks far too tall for any local to reach. I ended up helping a grown man pull down a game that had me reaching fractionally above head height, but that's neither here nor there.
How I suspect this type of store survives, is with the sale of manga. Manga (pron. mang-ga) is basically comic books, but as Japan attracts a certain type of person (I am at pains to ensure the reader realises I neither fraternise, nor condone said archetypes existence) it's best not to say comic book. When uttered within earshot of the wrong person, the results can be catastrophic. I have personally witnessed a man talked into stupor about the difference(s) between the two mediums and why one is vastly superior to the other - and this was between two like minded individuals resulting from a mere slip of the tongue. A layman walking into this trap might well face catatonia. The same is also true for cartoons, called anime here (pron. ah-nim-may) but I have a hard time making fun of those who would assert a difference between Western and Japanese cartoons. Essentially, western cartoons are for kids. Japanese cartoons can be for kids, but can also be for adults.
This, for example, is from a random search of 'violent anime,' on the ubiquitous search engine.
Think Kill Bill. The scene where that little girl goes mental and starts slaughtering fools with a massive sword. That would never pass censors, but in cartoon form it's perfectly acceptable - apparently.
SO I've completely lost my train of thought, but I was in this shop that sells all things games (headsets, and microphones etc) except it didn't sell mice or keyboards.
I ended up spending another hour and a half riding to the nearest mega-outlet shopping district area mall type affair, to head inside, take five seconds to locate a keyboard, buy it and leave. The grand total to reach this nirvana of convenience was around three hours and forty five minutes. The journey back was a pain on account of someone summoning a solid wall of wind that I fought through for the remainder of the journey, but I eventually made it home. This circular journey taught me two things; ask for directions at every turn because you'll inevitably get lost and; don't ever ask for directions because they'll confuse you and make you even more lost than before, if that's even possible.
So the keyboard works, even if all the keys are different to what it says on the actual faces. I also took apart the old keyboard to see what was inside it, and they're incredibly simple things. Two pieces of clear plastic with metallic stripes on them, with a rubber nipple under the key so when you press it down, the pressure causes the two surfaces to contact, with the nipple forcing the key back up when it's let go.
In other uninteresting news, I have to create a lesson about schools in England. One of the more enterprising teachers in one of my elementary schools has successfully identified that all the English lessons provided by the state are utter bunk, so she demanded I create my own. I was less than impressed with her choice, not only in content but in the manner of 'asking.'
Anyway, as a lecture style of lesson seems to be her intent, I've made a slideshow. I'll do a couple of activities with the kids to ensure they're not completely comatose by the end, but here is my creation:
I had to email friends to remind me the names of my old primary school (to source pictures) and the houses of the secondary school I attended, completely forgot those as well.
The reason for the title? I couldn't sleep again. I've figured out that my body runs a 26 hour day, whereas society only runs at 24 hours/day. When I was on holiday, I regularly 'lost,' two hours every day, but felt refreshed, energised and happy. It's only when you run into the contrast of working on the wrong time frame that you realise how messed up we as humans are - worked from 9-5 to earn money to do nothing of merit with our lives. You would at least think the ten people who own the world would at least let us be happy, but money is built on misery I suppose. Damn you Richard wossname, who owns virgin records and owns entire countries.
On the flip-side, I wonder if there's a vocation where you can wake up at any time you like, work for the requisite number of hours to pay the food bill, then sleep for fourteen more hours? I'm thinking writer, but I keep coming back to that so I'm reasonably certain it's a bad idea. Or a good one. I'm so tired right now I'm nowhere near sure.
It makes me laugh that people insist that sleeping twelve hours a day makes a person depressed. That's pure jealousy talking, not science.