Unknown Territory

When I was in elementary school, there was another student who was a bit odd. For this post, I'll call him Joey. He was generally hyperactive and it was common for him to cause trouble. He wasn't a big fan of rules. My group of friends didn't really accept him but he would sometimes hang around anyway.

Over the years, Joey calmed down a little. He wasn't so bad to be around at this point. It was around this time that he invited me to his house. I'm not sure why, but I accepted the offer and went.

When I got inside Joey's house, he turned his radio on to 101 KUFO, the hard rock and metal station that no longer exists. We sat down to play a round of the Pokemon trading card game. All of the cards were Joey's. I didn't bring any of my own. Because of this, he had first choice when building his deck which meant he got all of the good cards. With my weak selection of cards, I engaged Joey in battle. Things didn't look good for me, especially when he started making up rules. I'm pretty sure he specifically arranged his deck rather than shuffling it since I seem to remember him drawing six Bill cards in a row. The rules limit you to four of the same type of card. Bill cards were very useful because they allowed you to draw four cards from your deck and add them to your hand. I lost the game, of course.

I was there for a few hours so I was glad that Joey offered me some food. At least, I was glad until I saw what was available. The menu consisted of strawberry Pop Tarts, strawberry ice cream, and plain waffles. I wasn't angry and I didn't act rudely about the situation but I wasn't feeling too hungry after hearing my options. Joey partially toasted a waffle for me but I wasn't very interested so he ate it. I wonder if better food would have improved his behavior.

I don't regret going to Joey's house. It was a little weird but there was some fun to be had. My friends found it very interesting that I went over there. Joey's father drove me home and Joey came along for the ride. When we arrived at my house, Joey insisted that I borrow his martial arts video game for the Game Boy. I still have that game.

Waiting...

My heart is speeding up. Sweat begins to appear on my forehead. The worry that I feel is overwhelming. Through the eyes of another, I would appear fine. I'm not in the middle of a hectic battle or sliding off the road after driving too quickly around a corner. I'm standing at the instructor's podium, waiting for him to give me my graded assignments from the four week long class that ended last Wednesday.

What if I didn't do well on the assignments? Maybe I ended up with a D in the class. Even worse, what if I failed? The money I spent on tuition and gas would be wasted. The hours spent driving and sitting in class wouldn't have been of much use. I probably didn't learn enough to make it worthwhile. There's no way I could breeze through the class on my second try if I did so badly the first time. What about classes that require this one as a prerequisite? I may have to alter the entire course of my degree.

No matter my level of confidence, I can never shake the feeling that I'm going to see disastrous results in any class. Quizzes, tests, and exams rarely fail to feel much more difficult than the rest of the work, even when the questions are exactly the same. The instructor found the first of my three assignments. I missed a couple points. I can endure this loss. The second assignment came and I only lost one point. There was no way to fail the class now. But the journal was what I was least sure about.

"Your journal is not here."

I don't think the way I felt after hearing this was as strong as it should have been.

"Oh, here it is."

That was a relief. And my journal received full points. Everything went better than I had expected. Now I need to keep that up for the next two classes in the series.

Worthy of Praise?

Back in elementary school, I was often told how "cool" or "awesome" my drawings were. My jet powered monster truck was so cool that one of the kids in my third grade class wanted me to draw him one. I created a tiger that almost drew a crowd in the same class. In first grade, I drew every monster from the video game Doom II with an orange marker. I was sure I'd get in trouble for drawing things from a violent video game in school so I ripped it up. For reference, my name was written on the board for saying dork. Fart was also a dangerous word. I wasn't about to push the limits on the rules. I eventually told my dad about the Doom drawing and he said he would have wanted to see it.

Spelling tests were a more objective thing I excelled at. I'm pretty sure I didn't make a mistake on a graded spelling test until seventh grade. I can't remember it, but it was probably a devastating moment. At least I was finally free of my "must get every word correct" bonds. Doing something a certain way or trying to get specific results because that's the way it has always been can become a little stressful.

I was generally proud of my work for some time. Eventually, things changed. School assignments became less about visual creativity and dealing with strict rules like spelling. There were more essays, book reports, research papers, and speeches than ever. My standards for myself remained high but the work I was assigned was rarely anything I felt I was skilled at. I hated a lot of what I came up with. I rarely thought anything was good enough but sometimes I'd be told it was great. My thoughts of "wow, this is dumb" would be rocked when the assignment would be returned to me with a positive comment from the teacher written on it.

My work didn't always exceed my expectations. The William Beebe research paper I worked so hard on in eighth grade was given a C. Sometimes it was the opposite. A story about having trouble building my computer I wrote for English class in the 15 or so minutes before class started got me a B.

I'm not saying I hate being told that my work is good when I don't like it. It's mostly a positive feeling, but a strange one. I don't know if it was being commended often early in life that made me aim so high or if I was always that way. There are plenty of tasks where I take the "good enough" approach. This paragraph will be an example of that. Endings were never my strong suit.

Laptop Keyboards

I don't spend a lot of time thinking about laptop keyboards. I don't spend a lot of time thinking about laptops in general. I own one, but it's old, I got it for free, and I don't use it often. The keyboard on it is adequate. I press the keys and letters, numbers, or symbols appear on the screen, assuming there's something running on the computer which receives information from key presses.

I recently had the displeasure of helping my sister choose a laptop at Fry's Electronics for the second time. This time, her demands weren't quite as strange. I didn't hear anything about not getting a laptop with a keyboard that didn't have spaces between the keys. She did have a wacky request regarding the buttons on touch pads that I didn't completely understand. This freedom in keyboard choice meant I walked around and poked some keys on all of the different types of keyboards. 

A typical laptop keyboard.

 The keyboard in the image above is the type on my laptop. It works but I prefer taller keys that move farther when they are pressed as would be found on most desktop keyboards. That would make for a very thick laptop so I can understand why nobody does it. A lot of recent desktop keyboards have these shorter, flatter keys. I guess it's supposed to be more "modern" or people were complaining about their keyboards being thicker than their monitors. Maybe they're cheaper to produce.

I think these are called Chiclet keyboards.

This not so good thing is not far off from the Apple keyboard I am typing on right now in CT 235 at PCC Sylvania. The Apple keyboard has slightly more rounded corners. The issue with Apple products is that they tend to emphasize rounded corners and shiny things over functionality. The issue with many other companies is that they tend to be influenced by/copy whatever Apple does. My sister's previous concern about spaces between the keys isn't an issue for me. I have no idea what her problem with that is. What I don't like about these Apple keyboards is how it feels like I'm jamming my fingers into a sheet of metal over and over. There's no cushion in the key movement. The non-Apple Chiclet typing devices are a bit softer. I don't think I'd find my wrist in pain after using them but they are far from optimal.

No!

I don't get this one. I don't know why it exists. It's easily the worst of the bunch. Imagine typing on a cheap calculator except it costs several hundred dollars and you have to do much more than enter equations for a little while. I didn't spend enough time with it to say more, which I regret, looking back on it.

I can't remember what type of keyboard the first computer my sister chose has. I think it was the Chiclet type. The Fry's employee disappeared for quite a while to look for the laptop or whatever it is Fry's employees do when they're supposed to be looking for something. I wandered around for several minutes and eventually returned to see that the same Fry's guy was doing something else and there was no boxed laptop in the hands of either present family member. After standing around for quite a while, another employee returned with the computer.

All was well until we arrived at home and and started using the laptop. The keyboard was peeling off. There was glue holding the keyboard on and the glue was not functioning properly. This made no sense to me. Why was the keyboard designed like this? Why was the glue on a supposedly new computer not strong enough to do its job?

The next day, my sister returned the first laptop and bought a different one. The new one came in one piece. This storm has blown over and I probably won't ever do this much thinking about laptop keyboards again.