"Do you know the way to San Jose?" --Dionne Warwick (Redux)

So, a few housekeeping details...

First, go vote in my poll if you haven't done so already. Up on the right there. It's a big decision.

Second, a big thanks to my friends, who I think are wonderful, just for being their delightful selves. We threw a low-key, little shindig this weekend and, even though I was wrapped tighter than a 7-11 taquito--Martha Stewart I am so so not, the gracious people that showed were marvelous.

And now on with today's post...

So, we skyrocketed into 2003: We bought a GPS. Got ourselves a Garmin. So, now I argue with the Garmin. Garmin gets me in touch with my inner Kanye.

Ah, Garmin, who, by the way has a masculine name but a feminine voice. I don't judge. Although I do think it's curious that directing software (GPSes, Information, phone trees) all have female voices but all the top DJs are male. *scratches head* So we want to be entertained by men but be ordered about by women?

Garmin: Turn right at Franklin Street in 1 mile.
Me: No.
Garmin: Turn right at Franklin Street in 300 feet.
Me: Eff that!
Garmin: *brief pause while Garmin silently judges me for being the insolent brat I am. Then, simply...* Recalculating.

Garmin is clever. Garmin is better with time estimates than I am. And Garmin always knows the speed limit, even when I can't see a sign for it.

But Garmin isn't perfect. Garmin may know that Franklin is the shortest route but Garmin doesn't seem to care that there's a deadly left turn that's on the other side of Franklin and I'm not gonna risk my neck just to make Garmin feel good about itself.

And, where Garmin gets us where we need to be 99% of the time, Garmin sometimes screws up. Garmin has taken us in loops. Seriously. It told us to take a particular road and then went into "recalculating" mode, turning us around, as if we'd made the decision instead of it. Bastard. (Bitch?)

And, on rare occasion, it will take us close to where we want to be without actually delivering us to the destination. Like an obstinate cabby on the edge of a sketchy neighborhood refusing to go any farther...

Garmin: Arrive at destination in 100 feet.
Us: What? This isn't the destination.
Garmin: Arrive at destination.
Us: WTF? This isn't the destination!

And--now, this is really sad--when Garmin gets it wrong? I feel a little smug. Who's recalculating now, Garmin? Hmmm?