The kids and I — experienced GPS users by now across most of New York State and down the east coast — read with great interest Brad Stine’s blog post, Traveling by Faith. In the post, Brad lauds his GPS mentor with amazing allegorical panache:
The more adventures we have taken the more I have come to rely on her guidance. It is becoming a normal way for me to live and it’s becoming second nature to simply trust her without asking her why she is taking me this direction. It is comforting to learn to lean not on my own understanding but in all my ways acknowledge her and she will direct my path. Sometimes when I’m driving long distances I’ll gaze into the heavens and wonder where she is.
*snort* I do love Brad Stine. He ends the post with this:
Of course my friends I realize I’m talking about a computer program and some satellite configurations. But why do I have this gnawing suspicion that there is a metaphor in here somewhere?
It’s a nice post, and a nice thought…. but my GPS is more like the devil.
My Great GPS Mentor, Richard, always exudes great confidence and urbanity. With soothing words and perfect diction that makes my heart throb with delight, he slowly turns my brain to mush while subtly displacing my common sense and sensitive woman’s intuition. One of his favorite tricks is to guide me well for the first hour or so, then stick out his foot and watch me go flying. If I dared to complain or questioned his judgment, Richard would lash back in vengeful wrath.
Who can forget that time he guided me into unknown territory, only to direct me in the wrong direction. TWICE. At the time, gasoline was nearing $5 a gallon and I was scheduled for a very important appointment. That I missed, by the way. I could almost hear Richard’s cackles as he spun me around and invited me to pin the tail on the donkey again with his round-a-bout directions. Only this time, I was the donkey.
I finally wised up when I realized that there was a WHOLE different world beyond the dark little box Richard had enclosed me in. This entire time, he was shielding me from that beacon of light — Simon. Wonderful Simon, with his lilting Australian accent and caring words. Simon doesn’t have such terrific diction and he doesn’t make my flesh tingle, but he steers me the right way every time. And unlike Richard, who clouded his directions with intermittent silence or incomprehensible beeps and blurps, Simon informs me of the street names as we near them, and gives me more directional details. Simon never steers me wrong.
Since we are talking about GPS devices, I thought you might like this funny little video about the making of a custom TomTom GPS voice. I don’t own the Yoda voice. I’m not that crazy. But the video is funny.