GPS

Garmin Unleashed: 

A Tale of Directional Impairment and Technological Paranoia

Navigational skills have never been my strong point.  In fact I have some amazing stories that I like to avoid despite the fact certain people enjoy recounting the highlights of my navigational blunders. I suppose I could give a simple example just to make the point and then I’ll move on. I should also mention, as a rule, generally, I don’t read road signs either; so the combination of my spatial impairment and the lack of reading the obvious directional clues is not a winning combination for getting directly between point A and point B.

To illustrate my directional problems I refer to crossing the southern Albertan border from Idaho proceeding due North as the ravin flies to Fort McMurray.  At some point in the travels, as I was slightly side tracked translating Pavarotti operetic lyrics to English for my kids in order to keep them amused on the long road trip my son, far too insightful for his age, asked why the (Western) Mountains were getting so close if in fact we were heading to Northern Alberta.  I told him of course as a special treat we were taking a scenic route. “You always wanted to see the mountains didn’t you?  Well here’s you chance.”  Anyway, long story short, we ended up on a logging road and got home a day late.

The ironic thing and maybe the even more embarrassing thing about these directional issues is the fact that I am a Geography major and should have at least a passing familiarity with maps and map reading.  I was in boy scouts and did have a badge for orienteering so there is no honest excuse. On the other hand early on-set spatial disorder had me, even in elementary school, while doing a road map skills activity in class folding road maps with extreme difficulty, after the lesson, mine were always the poorly folded bulky maps.  

I did mention the sign reading learning disability thing as well.  Its just that when I drive I get tired, and as with ads on TV, just stop watching them,  likewise while driving I stop reading the signs.  When at a T intersection facing a ROAD CLOSED sign and about to drive straight ahead, Cheryl lovingly inquired, “What the hell do you think you are doing?  Did you not see the sign?”

I meekly had to reply that I had not in fact seen the bright orange sign blocking my path.  It is a concern.  I am a concern.  I admit it.

In most marriages couples typically argue about things like: money, communication patterns, power and control issues, sex, decorating and wall papering, balancing the cheque book, window treatments, walking the dog, walking the kids, having kids, travel itineraries, spending habits, petty jealousies, menus, eating out, eating in, what movie to watch, who will win the Oscar for best supporting female actor, not flushing the toilet, leaving the toilet lid either up or down depending on gender preference, toilet paper spooled either under or over the roll, tooth paste rolling procedures, designated closet space, online shopping, reading in bed, eating in bed and so on, but although we may from time to time disagree about these things, as all couples do I’m sure, more often than not it is driving and directional issues while in the car that lead us astray in the literal sense of the word.  

“Yeah I read the sign,” I said a little too meekly to the point that it lacked any conviction.  “I was just weighing my options.”

GPS likely saved our marriage and revolutionized my life.  I was no longer afraid to drive.  The fear of getting lost had been removed and the stigma of my grade six social studies teacher shaking her head  at me as she collected my road map folded like an inflated air mattress had disappeared. I was free.  Technology had done all of that, but admittedly, I was slow to embrace the changes.

I got my first GPS in Kuwait where I think the vast majority of the population is lost most of the time.  There, directions are frequently given in terms of landmarks which usually include at lest one mosque, several U turns, legal and otherwise, and at least one near death experience during which someone will try to pass you on an on-ramp, during the execution of the directions, as most drivers there are insane on several levels, are not licensed and have over powered cars they do not understand and can not handle. Fathers give their sons high performance European crafted sports cars as a rite of passage into manhood.  

As for the female drivers, here the cruel stereotypes about women drivers actually do hold true, as women have only recently been allowed to drive and many who do are covered in the Koranic sense and therefore have no peripheral vision which is a perfect match for their total lack of experience and common sense.  This is one case in which a culture a mere generation removed from camel transport has been transported into the modern world thereby threatening the stability of the entire Middle East, or at last pedestrians and other drivers.

My employer, a wealthy Kuwaiti investment banker and the father of two students I was tutoring in English, Comparative Religion and American History, was also the individual who gifted me my Garmin. I had indicated  in an earlier conversation how difficult it was to find his place, or any place, for that matter in all of Kuwait City.   Even though I had this deluxe version of a Garmin in a travel case downloaded with Persian Gulf (Arabian Gulf) maps I still opted to use taxi which my employer paid for, or he sent his personal Indian driver to pick me up.  Over time we each forgot the gift of the GPS and I did not have occasion to pick it up and ponder its use until many years later when Cheryl and I planned a road trip through Europe.

My technology anxiety was less than my spatial disorientation anxiety so I knew I had to eventually learn how to use my Garmin or be perpetually lost while in Europe.  I had in fact taken out the Garmin several times while in Kuwait and had not a clue what to do with it and quickly placed it back in its case.  I felt secure enough in the ownership. After several hours with a tech support personal in Mumbai who spoke excellent English and who charged 67 either dollars or rupees in addition to the updated European and North American Map package I was pretty pumped to travel.

I thought I would first do a test run on locations I already knew in what I termed my triangle of safety, which including my home address.  I did not want to show too great a dependence on technology. The first part of the set up was to arrange that little suction cup mount in the right position on the windshield.  I tried a few spots and after only 17 tries had what I thought was the optimum location. Garmin was facing the sun and acquiring three satellites for triangulation purposes to find my location in the universe down to a grid spot about five feet square...very impressive. I fiddled with the power wires trying to locate them so not the impede my stick shift or block my vital cup holder.  That done I looked at Garmin realizing it is much easier to finger text  the address before placing Garmin at an awkward location on the window far out of reach.  I took it down an typed in my first address.

Garmin is very smart.  It speaks English and numerous other languages several of which are not even Latin based.  Garmin to my amazement is not gender specific she/he swings both ways.  Mine is set as a male voice.  As smart as Garmin is he, as mine is currently set that way, has certain pronunciation and enunciation challenges which at first gave us much amusement, perhaps our first mistake. 

I have to say on its first test run when we got to the address in question, we were right in front of the driveway where we wanted to go.  It was an exercise in precision over a detailed route spanning some 1.7 km, over intricate urban terrain.

Over time I was getting use to the somewhat mechanical voice telling me, “Turn left in 500 meters.”  It was like having a younger version of Arnold Swartzeneiger in the car telling you what to do.  The next voice prompt was always a count down such that Garmin trained me to learn and estimate distances in association with his count downs as I watched the little icon representing my out of scale car on the map and the purple line representing our designated route.  I could see the potential of our partnership as my estimation skills were improving daily.

I don’t want to say Garmin was becoming my friend that’s silly.  That’s like comparing my story to the movie in which the main character falls in love with a female voice and personality on his computer and smart phone. That’s just crazy Oscar nominated fantasy. This story is nothing like that. For one thing I’m more grounded in reality to indulge in wild flights of fantasy.

I think our first argument happened outside of Prague. I’m not sure if it was really an argument like fighting over winning a game of RISK with a narcissistic sociopath. It was more a disagreement and now that I think about it it wasn’t Garmin’s fault.  I had called Garmin stupid.

There were a series of incidents that led to the crisis.  Getting to Grenoble to visit our son was no issue, clear sailing all the way.  Leaving Grenoble a week later I found myself losing my patience with the irritating mechanical voice, or maybe I was distracted by the European traffic flow in a strange Peugeot in a foreign city after having been side swiped parked on my son’s street.  He did warn me to fold up my mirrors ever night.  We drove through the old city into the new and toward the highway for Geneva, but instead of getting to our lane Garmin didn’t speak up fast enough.  Maybe he was distracted by a pretty French girl on the side walk, or maybe something else.

“Shit, we missed it.”

“Re-calculating.”

“Did that sound sarcastic to you?”

Garmin parroted the series of directions as we repeated a loop in order to exit the city.  Instead of watching the roads ahead I trusted and listened to the voice to guide me.

‘Turn right in twenty-fi...

“We missed it again.  Is this little cretin playing games with us.”

“Re-calculating.”

“Was that a sneer?”

This time I just ignored Garmin and on the third loop saw where we had to go, ignored his slow pre-emptive commands thick with attitude and made the turn without his help.

“See Garmin you have to learn to think on your feet.  Oh you don’t have feet I laughed as I touched his little plastic suction cup holding him in place on the windshield.”

I mocked Garmin.

Cheryl chided, “Now you’re just being cruel, ridiculous and immature.  Its just a little helpless computer.” 

“I don’t think I can be cruel to an inanimate object.  Its not like Garmin has feelings, or thoughts, or malicious intentions or even plans to master mind a take over of the world.”

Its not that I was keeping a tally of Garmin’s behaviour and change in temperment but I would have to say, in my estimation, that the second event happened a few days later as we were entering Vienna in the late afternoon. Garmin was programmed with the address for the Ambassador Hotel in the old quarter close to the Opera House.  I had checked the road map and confirmed the location.  He, that is Garmin, knew what to do, but no matter what we tried, we could not reach our hotel.  We got close but could never reach the hotel, like approaching the x axis but never touching it and then drifting on to infinity like Sandra Bullock in Gravity.

“Look another pedestrian street.  We can’t turn here.”

“Turn left in 100 meters”

“Was that a snicker?”

“ I just said we can’t turn! Look you spatial imbecile that’s another pedestrian route.  We can’t go there.”

“Re calculating.”

“Turn that little parrot off before he jerks us around some more.  Let’s park and find the hotel on foot.  We have to be close by now.”

We parked the car, found the closest hotel, which was not our own, asked for a map and directions to our hotel then returned to our car.  It was getting late.  It was dark.

I was angry with Garmin.  When we finally returned to the car, in a punitive purge, I yanked him off his suction cup perch on the windshield, wrapped his cord tightly around his cold, silver, little screen and carelessly tossed him into the dark glove compartment.  

“Maybe you can think about the difference between a pedestrian and a regular street from there you outdated circuit board. Little turd.”

Cheryl gave me an odd look.

“That’s a little harsh don’t you think?”

In hind sight I probably should not have reverted to the name calling, cretin, parrot, stupid, turd etc. I guess none of it was helpful.

But over the next few days of the road trip I thought things had finally settled down.  Directions were good, spirits were high, or was Garmin waiting for his moment.

We were driving on a new stretch of highway the cement was gleaming in the sunlight it was so new when all of a sudden Garmen, and I would have to say with some attitude said, “Re Calculating” and then the purple navigational light left the screen as did all the street patterns and all that was left was the little blue car icon appearing to float in space and Garmin just kept saying 

“Recalculating.” Now using a female voice.

 I said, “I just bet you are you don’t even have a road in sight.  We’re driving in the Czech Republic now give me some roads you stupid little navigational toy.”  What’s up with the voice change over Garmin?

Then Garmin just went totally dead.  I think it may have been my insulting demeaning tone in the face of crisis.  I know it was my spatial anxiety coming to the surface and nothing personal against Garmin at all; when I tried to explain that to Garmin he was not listening.  There were no lights, there was no battery life.  The little shit left us without direction. Flatline.  I mean who does that!

My wife toyed with the connection.  Pushed the adapter further into the 12V outlet plug and life came back.  It was as if the doctor said “Clear!”  administered the electro- shock paddles to the heart and life came back.

“Assholes”

“What?” Cheryl said in alarm

“I didn’t say anything”

We stared at Garmin and then at each other and then remained silent. We drove on in silence wondering what just happened and not daring to offend Garmin under any circumstances.  Hoping he couldn’t read our thoughts.  The Garmin manual said nothing about  telekinesis, or mind reading, just maps and basic navigating.

I couldn’t help but think of the Stephen King novel, Christine in which a 1958 red and white Plymouth Fury takes on a life of its own and nearly kills its new owner, wait maybe it did kill its new owner.  If a car can do that what can a navigational computer do?  Direct us to a ghetto section of the city where a gang waits strip our rental car and hack our body to little bits and drop them into an industrial dumpster.  My mind was racing.  I had to slow down. 

Garmin didn’t say a word, but did give printed directions indicating no turns for another 47 km.  We had a long stretch of autobahn. In silence.  What was Garmin thinking? Where was he really taking us?  Could he communicate with my smart phone?  Were they friends?  What did he know about worm holes to a parallel universe?  Would he let us stop at the next rest stop? 

I finally broke the silence.

“I’m not sure if I trust G.A.R. M. I.N.” and turn off your C.E.L.L. phone.

“Why are you spelling?

“Shhhh, what if he’s listening?”  I pointed to Garmin.

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Dogs versus Cats: The Definitive Answer

A Parable of Sorts: Dogs Versus Cats

Cats are users and manipulators while dogs, at worst, are enablers and often just don’t clean up after themselves.  There I said it. There is no simple way around the truth.  Let me clarify even further, just as bipolar America can be divided into Republican and Democratic factions with opposite irreconcilable ideologies, so too goes the world.  The world and everyone in it is either a cat lover or a dog lover. 

Naturally, the corollary of that statement is that everyone can also, and at the same time, be a cat hater or a dog hater.  With the numerous permutations and combinations it gets incredibly complex and my purpose is not to confuse you.  Let me put it to you as a parable. 

Verily, verily I say unto you, imagine for a moment a Republican gun owner (that takes no imagination at all) who loves dogs and hunting, who while on a hunt happens upon a Democrat walking his declawed, neutered, politically correct cat early one morning. The Republican mistakes the cat and its owner for a deer, a pheasant, a hooded teenager with skittles or some other game animal or bird. It really doesn’t matter he only needs a target.  He fires, multiple times with his automatic rifle, pauses, then changes clips and fires another 14 rounds.  Since this happens to be in the state of Florida the shooter goes free. 

The scenarios are nothing short of mind boggling.  I hasten to add as a caveat that with my little parable I am in no way implying that all dogs associated with Republicans are in and of themselves bad dogs. 

I know much has already been written as to why dogs are better than cats or vice versa, that argument gets nasty because then, by extension, it becomes an issue as to why cat owners are better than dog owners or vice versa.  Does one type of person or animal have something divine, spiritual, or innate superiority over the other. The answer pure and simple, without bias, is a resounding, yes of course they do. Dogs and their owners are better for all of the above reasons and more.  Let me explain why.  I’ll start with cats.

If one were to Google “cat lovers” there are numerous sites available in which people describe with candid glee how they have been adopted by a cat. Some people refer to it as “Catitude”. In the real world it is more realistic to think of cats not as assimilated domesticated animals, a more reasonable view is cats as clandestine infiltrators of human society.  

Historically, cats never allowed themselves to be domesticated.  Cats are opportunistic.  Cats were likely first “domesticated” at the same time wheat and barley was farmed.  During Neolithic times when the Agricultural Revolution was catching on and urbanization was all the rage in new settlements such as Shillourokambos, on the island of Cyprus, rodents were attracted to the stores of grain crops.  Cats followed the rodents to the new town sites as an abundant food source and put up with human co habitation as a means to an end.  The point is cats snuck in because they saw and opportunity. They used charm to engratiate themselves and were even seen to have god-like qualities by the Egyptians and soon cats were the most popular mummified pet.

Dogs on the other hand were brought into the fold of human habitation because they provided us with useful services and resources.  At various times and in different cultures they served mankind with guard and hunting duties, provided food and fur and served as a beast of burden.  They were a useful and functional part of society and became so thousands of years before cats crept in through the back door.

Today not much has changed in terms of Man’s best friend. That phrase may be a cliche, but have you ever heard any one refer to a cat that way?

Dogs serve as seeing eye dogs for the blind and sniffer dogs for various branches of law enforcement.  Dogs star in movies and many became famous such as: Rin Tin Tin, Lassie, (probably the most famous of all), The Littlest Hobo (a Canadian star), Clifford (a giant red dog), Brian (from Family Guy who drinks martinis) Goofy (beloved by all), Bolt, (has actual super powers), Snoopy (an author), Marley (a Loyal family member), Dino,( from Flintstones technically a dinosaur) and 101 Dalmatians (more than 100). 

When I google “famous cats” I get hits which include unusual and uninspiring characters such as: Mr Bigglesworth (Dr Evil’s pet), Church (psycho cat from Pet Cemetery by Steven King), The Cheshire Cat ( Psychedelic drugged out cat), Garfield (hedonist). I find that there are no true super stars, such a sad litany of burnt out animated characters and has been character actors. There are no cat super heroes and if there were it would be like comparing Super girl to Superman, (see my article on gender and super heroes). 

When we think of lonely and isolated members of society such as cat ladies, those sad individuals who live hermit like lives hoarding this in that in the company of scores of cats, we must be reminded there is no dog equivalent to this malady.  There are no “dog ladies”.  Dogs are just too well adjusted to put up with such crap. Cats are neurotic to begin with and just perpetuate mal adaptive social behavior among certain sub sets of old women in the population.

When we hear of heroic rescue stories of mountain skiers being buried in avalanches such heroics are associated with Saint Bernard's and the like.  I have never seen a cat rescue anybody. 

I ask you. What is the stereotypical situation in which firemen find themselves coming to rescue what out of a tree?  Yes, that would be a cat.  Dogs do not need to be rescued.

I rest my case. Cats are generally users within our society.  They serve no useful purpose.  They manipulate people with cheap tricks and antics.  Purring.  Really.  Are you actually fooled by that?

A dog is loyal, useful, functional and can follow commands like sit, beg, role over and play dead. Cats don’t even respect authority, so they don’t follow commands.  They don’t even listen.

Its not that I hate cats.  I have actually owned several, eight in fact. They were all called Kitsie.  Kitsie III was my favourite. True, they brought me a small measure of joy as a child, but when I think of my childhood in its broadest sense, it is really the adventures with friends and our dogs that stick in my mind.  When I divorced, it was my dog Kennedy who got me through some pretty rough times.  No cat would have the empathy to deal with social healing on that scale because they are users just like my ex and that’s why she got to keep the cat.

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Cutting

Screaming at a Brick Wall

I could start with why my daughters cut themselves, or put up with abusive relations. My youngest daughter is forgiving her boy friend for abandoning her in a vacant parking lot late at night while he went off for a joy ride with his friend Mathew.  When they came back for E___ they were pissed at her for her lack of “sportsmenship” or whatever the female equivalent would be.  The kid, the jackass boy friend, is a dick, but my daughter forgave him because she is use to being abused, controlled and directed.  Her emotions are programmed into her. She can not act of her own free will.  So she puts up with shit and forgives.  She cares that little for herself. 

I can tell her don’t date the ass, or don’t give your mom the password to your bank accounts, or just eat the fucking dinner without purging yourself or dosing with laxatives, but that would be too simple and since her course is set, a waste of time, there is no guard rail that can stop her. 

I have a daughter who gains pleasure by cutting herself on the inside of her thigh with a hacksaw blade.  I saw the cut, or at least the scars, deep and brooding.  I had to look away, cry, vomit or maybe scream at a brick wall. I don’t think it would change anything.  

Zombies

Killing Zombies

Athabasca Community High School, Fort Chip, Alberta

Kids, who teachers can't handle (gr 1-6) often get sent to me for their "time out".  Some refuse to come and wander the the school, sometimes for days, like zombies seeking dark spaces.  Others come to kmy room cooperate and have fun.  Zack, from grade one, was driving his teacher crazy. He came to my room eventually and we played some games which ultimately led to some reading activities and then as a finale I had him sort my markers and throw out the dried out ones.  Later I gathered them up so the next kid could do the same sorting job.  I always put in a few good markers for quality control of the exercise.  Zack did well and proudly went back to class boasting of his accomplishment and was good for the rest of the day.

On the other hand, today I did speech therapy over a video conference link to Edmonton.  Matthew, ECS, can not do L or S sounds and has difficulty with the other 38 sounds in the English language. He was getting frustrated and kept putting his finger over the lens.  I told him, quite seriously, that when he does that Karen, the therapist in Edmonton, can't see or breathe; so he stopped blocking the lens. I gave him a potatoe head and every time he got a sound right I let him dismember the body, sometimes violence is its own reward.

As I walked back to my class, Lacy the grade 3 teacher and her teacher's aid were carying the limp body of a student to the office.  I think the girl was non compliant, like many kids here.  I offered to grab an end, but things were under control.  I am no longer shocked or even surprised to see such scenes in the halls.

Still later, another grade two student explained to me in some detail how to kill zombies.  I inquiried as to how that was possible as zombies are already dead.  He thought I was quite stupid, but maybe I'm just a very literal thinker...but every day I learn one more thing than I forget and that math is not half bad.

Death

Two of my friends died of cancer this year and I had a heart attack on Valentines Day...

Timely Comparisons

At fifty-five my father was told

that he could not shovel snow any more,

turning 63 I have the same directive.

He smoked a harsh cigarette-Daily Mail

which he rolled himself from the age of 14.

I smoked at 14 to be cool and stopped somewhere 

in university because it no longer was.

He drank red wine a concoction that be brewed himself

using Niagara grapes from my uncle’s vine yard.

I drink Corona with lime on those summer days that I barbecue

He died at 79.

Borneo

Garden of Eden/Borneo

The long call full of power majesty, 

confidence,

mastery,

crickets sound in all direction,

the rasp of earth on the jungle floor

feet firmly anchored

looking up at obscene angles to

verdun canopy

lush, thick, infinite,

a clatter of a diesel from a distant klotok

on a winding muddy river

passing Nipa Palms in the humid

thick air,

the endless cicada buzz long buried,

swarm of endless weaver ants

like termites, a delicacy

the pensive fruit stare into the night,

the texture of a singular leaf,

building a nest with many

the sound of a song bird,

the hidden treasure of the neesia

a small leathery finger coyly entends

a messenger of friendship

high and safe from boar and snake,

impish brown eyes have seen 

the poacher’s evil

as habitat is destroyed,

vocalizations:

the kiss squeak, grump and lark,

of the lone male orangutan,

sunlight falls with a gentle touch, 

life abundant

the pagan shaman’s soul

the sodden passion

of the monsoon’s insanity.

Mark Penner 

Journal Entry May

“After spending many hours of observation in the monotonous heat of the rain forest with the orangutans near Camp Fossey  I have grown a kindered feeling for the ‘noble savage’ the same heart which beats within us all. My world has been tilted in a new direction.  I am not the same person as when I first entered this vast jungle six months ago.