Conman, author of The Boston Diaries, and I have very different ways of looking at the world; countless debates between us, on a variety of subjects, have revealed that simple truth time and again. Yet a debate whose effects have not quite seem to have faded are the debate which Conman has entitled ‘Tool vs. Crutch,’ the primary crux of which attempts to answer a seemingly simple question: “When does technology cease being a tool and become a crutch?”  The series of entries in The Boston Diaries has been labeled by Conman “Tool vs. Crutch.”

What sparked this debate was my salvo of heated arguments (1, 2) on the subject of GPS usage. I love my GPS receiver, Conman decidedly does not, and if you want to know the reasons why, read the 1 and 2 links above–I will not delve once again into that topic here. It will suffice to say that it seems that we are as diametrically opposed on this particular subject as two people can be.

I’ve always been told that only a fool takes up a fool’s argument. I believe that to a certain extent, but Conman is a gifted programmer with an intensely keen intellect, and for those gifts I hold him in the highest respect–Conman is absolutely no fool. The part of this debate that rubs me entirely the wrong way is this: for a person who works with technology, who makes his living manipulating it supporting those who also use it to make their living, Conman is decidedly anti-technology and has, over the years, has developed a singular distrust of it. Perhaps because he is so gifted at manipulating it he is keenly aware how easily it can be manipulated and perverted. I don’t know. This is not an entry about the manipulation of technology, or even of Conman’s distrust of it. This is about “Tools vs. Crutch,” and about the fundamentally philosophic debate it sparks.

The problem with the “Tool vs. Crutch” is a fundamental one, one that is so large that Conman has overlooked it. And I can’t blame him, either: to find the fundamental problem with “Tools vs. Crutch” is like examining an elephant with a microscope. The premise of the question itself is fatally flawed. The problem with “When does a tool become a crutch” is the very nebulous nature of what constitutes a “crutch.”

I think what is missing here is the definitions of “tool” and “crutch.” The meaning of “tool” is extremely well-defined and clear. Merriam-Webster’s online dictionary states a number of definitions for the word “tool,” and those that aren’t vulgar or slang are remarkably similar: they all relate to things that are used to perform tasks. “Tool” is not subject to arbitrary or subjective meanings–its meaning is very clearly defined.

“Crutch” has as nebulous a definition in this context as “tool” does not. Oh sure, the meaning of the term “crutch,” as defined by Merriam-Webster, simply indicates “something that props up something else.”

But propping up what? Aah, there’s where the philosophy of the question rears its ugly head.

You see, it is very easy to apply the “crutch” label to any tool. Any one of them. By the definition that Conman seems to like to employ in his arguments, a “crutch” is defined as “a tool, but not a tool that is necessarily required to achieve the same result as can be expected through the employ of one’s natural faculties.”

Getting closer to the root of the argument, let’s define “tool” as “any thing that enables one to accomplish a task that ones naturally-possessed faculties are insufficient to accomplish when employed alone.” It is reasonable to conclude, therefore, that a tool certainly allows one to do a job that is not possible without it.

As a concrete example, I will use perhaps the simplest and most quintessential tool in all the toolbox: the humble hammer.

Anybody who has had to drive a nail into a piece of wood knows how indispensable the hammer is. It would be impossible–without the risk of serious injury to oneself–to drive a nail into a piece of wood without one, and we will assume that it is generally accepted that the only folks who can do that are the stars of circus sideshow attractions.

Now we’ll move on to a more nebulous concept: the automobile as a tool. And this is where I’m going to totally get Conman.

Conman has a 2000 Chevrolet Lumina LS sitting in his driveway (perhaps at this very minute). Any time Comnan desires, he can hop into it and drive to any destination with a road leading up to it his willpower and resources will allow.

But let’s examine why Conman would want to employ his car in the first place: Last time I saw Conman, he was possessed of a two working legs, at least one working eye, and all the other organic “glue” that has made the assembly that is Conman capable of self-locomotion. These are all the tools Conman really needs to also get to any destination with a road leading up to it that his willpower and resources will allow, also.

Why, then is a car even necessary? Seems to me, that when filtered through the definitions established above, that the car is just one big giant “crutch.”

Has Conman forgotten how to walk? no. Does he have any medical conditions that would prevent him from walking anywhere? Not to my knowledge. And if you asked Conman, “What is your car: tool or crutch?” He would likely answer “crutch.” But when asked if he would ever give up his car, throw away the keys, and never drive it again, I’m sure the answer would be a firm and resounding “No.”

But why? If your car truly is a crutch, and you have other means to get to the same places you want to go without a car, then why have one?

Could it be that the car truly is a tool after all? Could it be that for all of Conman’s protestations, the car is a necessary element of out highly-evolved, complicated lives nowadays, just as indispensable to living an independent life as the ability to drill a nail into a piece of wood?

Everything is relative.

Without a car, Conman cannot earn his living without becoming a burden to others; his job requires that he be certain places at certain times and in reasonable shape to work. Walking everywhere, therefore, is no longer sufficient to live the lifestyle to which he has obligated himself, and therefore, I would argue that his Lumina is just as indispensable a tool to Conman as the hammer is to a carpenter.

And right there is the nebulous nature of the word “crutch.” It would be far more accurate to say that a crutch is relative to the needs and commitments of the person depending on it. A crutch to you is an indispensable tool to me.

To further his stance in his “tool vs. Crutch” debate, this entry in The Boston Diaries references a short story by Isaac Asimov called The Feeling of Power about a society that has become so dependent upon machines to do basic tasks that those in power have lost the ability to do simple arithmetic–and then subsequently marvel at one “savant” who still possesses the ability to do so. I personally think it is an insulting, condescending piece of literature; not one of Asimov’s best works. But The Feeling of Power does highlight one of Conman’s greatest fears: that we as a society have grown so dependent upon the technology we have swaddled ourselves in that we would all wither and die if it were turned off this afternoon, never to be turned on again.

And I sincerely believe that this fear, more than anything else, is at the very heart of the “Tool vs. Crutch” debate. It can be the only explanation why Conman would journal about it for more entries than I’ve seen him journal about anything else.

Too late, Conman, we’re already very heavily dependent upon our technology for a comfortable existence.

It’s funny; I’m reminded of the terror sparked by the Y2K bug that the whole world would be thrown into chaos and anarchy on 1/1/2000. And let’s say all things technological really did go to Hell in a hand-basket on 1/1/2000. Would it have been an uncomfortable shifting of humanity’s priorities and comfort levels, Yes, definitely. Would we have all survived? I submit to you that despite being uncomfortable for a while, the vast majority of us would have.

I’m not going to take credit for yanking Conman’s worldview out from under him, or shaking him to his very foundations to render him so self-introspective. I’m just going to carry on using my GPS. I used it twice yesterday. I’ll continue to use it as long as I don’t know where something is, and I won’t ask myself why, or whether it’s a tool or a crutch.

Because we have GPS doesn’t mean we’ve forgotten how to use a map and compass. Because we have microwaves and pre-made frozen dinners doesn’t mean we’ve forgotten how to cook. Because we have supermarkets doesn’t mean we’ve forgotten how to hunt and farm. Because we have cars doesn’t mean we’ve forgotten how to walk. Nor will we ever forget how to do any of these things. And of all of these things went away tomorrow, we humans still have our eyes and ears, our hands and legs, and our keen intellect to ensure that we do not perish.

So seriously, the “Tools vs. Crutch” argument is an interesting diversion, but nothing more.

Look around you. Everything is a crutch.

And y’know what? Who cares?

Even if it were all turned off tomorrow, we’ll all be just fine.

After writing my post about The Food and Wine festival at EPCOT, I started to thinking back about what EPCOT was supposed to be, and what we eventually ended up with–and decided that this really did need to be a Rant and Rave article after all.

I could prattle on about it how sad it is that Walt’s grand vision never came to pass, and describe in detail the depths of his brilliance and his enthusiasm surrounding his ideals and goals for EPCOT, but I’d rather defer to the master himself–Walt E. Disney–in a short film, made in 1966 (not long before his death), about his California theme park and the magnificent plans for some swamp-front property in Orange and Osceola Counties.

While the airport of tomorrow and transportation center Walt envisioned at the extreme southern end of the property (8:34 in the film) never materialized; Disney World does–or rather did–in fact, have an airport, of sorts:

Lake Buena Vista Airport, Orlando, Florida, on the 1972 Jacksonville sectional chart

According to the website Abandoned and Little-Known Airfields, a small STOL field existed sidelining the east side of the Walt Disney World Magic Kingdom parking lot. The paved asphalt and ramp are still there, and still meticulously maintained in true Disney fashion:

The former Lake Buena Vista STOL Airport runway 12/30 (click for Google interactive Map)

Ironically, in our post-9/11 world, a permanent TFR (Temporary Flight Restriction) zone–in English, an FAA-mandated No-Fly zone–has existed over both Walt Disney World and Disneyland since 2003, and reiterated via NOTAM (NOTice to AirMen) by the FAA as recently as February 2009. Oh sure, you can apply for a waiver to fly over Disney. Good luck with that. Not that you could actually land on 12/30 anyway–it’s been closed to air traffic for many, many years (thank you, over-protective, hyperventilating, hand-wringing Disney legal)–and, according to reports, is a staging area for cargo containers and buses.

But this is only one of Walt’s grand dreams that died with him; I could go on and on and on but if you watched the whole film, you were, as I was,  likely shaking your head in sad wonderment that such a beautiful vision of tomorrow was supplanted by what exists on the Disney property now. In fact, outside a handful of independent bloggers and historians on the Web keeping the dream of the EPCOT that could have been alive, only the briefest of nods to Walt’s true vision for EPCOT isn’t even in EPCOT at all:

Rather, this beautiful, sophisticated, detailed model of Walt’s grand design for the Experimental Prototype City Of Tommorow–his largest, most sophisticated, and most spectacular dream–has been relegated to a dark, dusty, little-known tunnel in the People Mover in the Tomorrowland section Magic Kingdom, almost as if Disney management are embarrassed by the fact that they have completely eschewed Disney’s dreams and vision, dashing them both upon the rocks of corporate profits and pandering to shareholders.

Fellow blogger Michael Steele in his blog, URLS from the Edge,  said it best as he recalls in this entry an anecdote about the sadness of the EPCOT that could have been:

Chris Cole used to tell a sad story that went something like this:

“Walt Disney said “Let’s make cartoons in color!” and marketing people said “You’re crazy, Walt, no one wants or needs that” and then he did it anyway and it was amazing and successful and the marketing people said “Wow, Walt’s a genius!”.

Then Walt said “Let’s use cartoons to tell full length stories; tales which can never be told with real films and actors” and the marketing people said “You’re crazy, Walt, no one wants or needs that” and then he did it anyway and it was amazing and successful and the marketing people said “Wow, Walt’s a genius!”.

Then Walt said “Let’s create an amusement park like no other – a clean, friendly place, where we can build narrative spaces and meaningful experiences that people will remember all their lives” and the marketing people said “You’re crazy, Walt, no one wants or needs that” and then he did it anyway and it was amazing and successful and the marketing people said “Wow, Walt’s a genius!”.

Finally Walt had his greatest vision to date; He said “Cities are in horrible shape, poorly laid out, designed by chance and greed, and giving rise to all kinds of environmental and social ills. We can do better than this! Besides, mankind will someday journey to the stars, trips that may take centuries – we’d best learn how to live together soon; let’s build a carefully designed arcology that puts the people’s needs first, and which improves and changes efficiently as technology evolves. We’ll call it EPCOT; Experimental Prototype Community of Tomorrow!” and the marketing people said “You’re crazy, Walt, no one wants or needs that”.

…and then Walt died…

and the marketing people took control of the company said “Walt was crazy, let’s build a big themed shopping center – people want and need that!”

(Editor’s note: I wish I could find out more about this Chris Cole person–I’d always tucked this anecdote away in my mind thinking that he was maybe a top Imagineer working with Disney up until his death, but sadly, the only mentions on the Intrawebs I can find of Chris Cole bespeaks of his skateboarding prowess–and I don’t care how young-at-heart you are, I’d have a hard time believing that a contemporary of Walt’s is still spry enough to shred on a skateboard at the profesisonal level).

I love Engadget. Not becuase I’m a self-proclaimed gadget junkie, but also–unlike the dry, dry, drier than cold-chicken-on-toast-with-nothing-else sandwich, drier than a vodka martini with no vermouth, drier than a mouthful of cinnamon commentary you get from just about every other techie site on the Intrawebs (are you listening, c|net?)–Engadget’s commentary is almost always delivered with a healthy dose of tongue-in-cheek and, at times, hilariously funny.

This headline made me literally laugh out loud at my desk:

Motorola Droid torn down despite desperate cries of ‘No Disassemble’

I know it’s been a while, and I made a couple of entries previous to this, but Butterfly and I went to the Food and Wine Festival at EPCOT Center at Walt Disney World Orlando over the weekend.

Wow. What an amazing variety of food! We ate our way all the way around the world of nations, both garnering personal favorites: Laura’s was the empanada she had at Brazil, with a close second being the Etouffé she had at New Orleans. This was a personal favorite of mine as well; however, my favorite was France–with Escargot baked into tiny pastries and braised boneless beef ribs, topped off with chocolate crème brûlée–absolutely scrumptious.

I’ve been going to EPCOT for years–however, it was on this trip, late into the evening on Saturday, that I discovered that the Mexico pavilion had a ride! Butterfly had asked me if I wanted to go on the Mexican boat ride–”They have a ride?” I exclaimed. It’s kind of cute, too–sort of a Mexican version of “It’s a Small World,” but showcasing only Mexico, and starring the Three Caballeros–Donald Duck and two other birds. Wikipedia says the ride used to be El Rio de Tiempo (The River of Time)–which I think I would’ve liked better than what they turned it into, apparently, in 2007. But hey, anything to keep the kiddies entertained, right? I mean, hell, who actually needs to learn stuff anymore? *sigh* Oh Walt, man, I miss you… You would’ve killed the executive who even proposed defacing the ride like that… I’d better stop, before I have to add the “Rants and Raves” tag to this entry…

In any case, not only does Mexico have a ride, but they also have a beautiful restaurant inside the pavilion, too–made up to look like a Mexican marketplace at night. Simply stunning. I’m sorry I never went in there before, and will have to return with Butterfly to go to the restaurant.

We also got the opportunity to go on Spaceship Earth–without question my favorite ride at EPCOT (call me nutty). Siemens AG took over sponsorship of the ride, and with that came some fetching new ride redesigns, but more evolutionary than revolutionary. And while Judy Densch does a respectable job as current narrator, nobody will ever fill the shoes, in my opinion, of the first narrator of Spaceship Earth–the venerable Walter Cronkite.

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I finally got to get a vacation alone with Butterfly for the first time in over two years. That was neat–we sure needed it. Butterfly’s mom was gracious enough to stay at our place and watch T-Rex for us. That’s the last time we will ever let that happen. She brought her two incredibly obnoxious malteses with her, who pissed and shit all over my fucking house. God I hate dogs–especially her dogs. Next time we ask her to watch T-Rex overnight, we’re going to take him to her place.

I don’t hate the iPhone. In fact, I think the iPhone is kind of cool.

I do, however, hate AT&T. Oh, I hate them. I hate them with a burning passionate hatred I reserve for child molesters, ax murderers, and Harley/metric cruiser riders who put loud pipes on their bikes and think they’re cooler than I am for doing so.

So naturally, when Big Red (a.k.a. Verizon Wireless) came out with their latest crop of commercials, I lauged my ass off:

After a little less than two years on the job at the government agency which shall remain nameless, Butterfly was promoted to manager! Yay! She will be responsible for managing the team from which she was promoted.

She’s got a fantastic work ethic and a really good head on her shoulders. I just know she’ll be wonderful!

With the increase in responsibility comes an increase in salary (naturally); nothing gigantic, just a little bump–and as a manager, her employer picks up 100% of the cost of our health insurance. Schweet! The biggest perk, though: she ditches the cubicle for her own office! She moves in on Monday.

So now we have a house full of managers! Wheeee! That’s okay–we’ll manage. *Drum fill*

Welp, I’ve officially retired from doing the Thursday night Karaoke show. I gave KJ German all of his equipment back a week or so ago.

I’ll miss it, but I missed Butterfly and my family more, and I missed not being exhausted on Friday morning.

Finally: a worthy replacement for my venerable Curve from Big Red:

I was so happy with my Curve, and so disappointed with my Storm. So when I heard on Engadget that the 8530 was coming to Big Red, I was delighted–I’d seriously envied the fact that AT&T and T-Moble were enjoying the GSM version of this phone and I, a Verizon CDMA user, was out on the cold.

The 8530 has a faster processor than my old Curve and a real keyboard (SurePress was neat, but I do so much mobile texting and e-mailing that I really need a physical keyboard). But I think the most noteworthy change is that RIM has replaced the trackball with a capacative trackpad with no moving parts–it can never get gummed up or dirty, except from the odd fingerprint or two.

And the phone is all black and sexy, too–which never hurts.

I had been eyeing with some interest the Droid and the Storm 2, but after having a chance yesterday to fiddle with both at very great length, I found that they were both let-downs. The Storm 2’s SurePress is markedly improved, but not enough for me to eschew a real keyboard in its favor; besides, the rumor that it was a Mifi access point turned out to be disappointingly false. The Droid is an impressive phone, but a few little touches here and there indicated to me that someone, either at Motorola or Google, had forgotten that this thing was a phone first and a computer second, something that Apple had kept clearly in mind when designing the interface for the iPhone. And I really didn’t care for its physical keyboard. Flat and featureless, it was scarcely better than the SurePress on the Storm 2.

The real kicker is that the Droid would set me back $200; Storm 2, $179. The Curve 8530: only $99.

Everything I need at a great price. Who could ask for more?

I just have to be patient until November 20th, when it finally hit’s Big Red’s shelves.

Alright, I’m going to settle this once and for all.

Conman has responded to my anger-induced tirade about GPS and has included the following quote:

Yes, you got us from Deepest Darkest Florida to our hotel room via GPS, but damn if it didn’t take us a very circuitous (if not very dark, and deer prone) route.  A GPS does you no good if you need to get from Anaheim to El Segundo and it has you going through Compton.

Once again, I will reiterate that I personally do not care how circuitous the route was. We got to our hotel, and that was that.Again, I’m a very results-oriented individual.

So, for shits and giggles, let’s compare the two routes back to the hotel I could’ve taken.

I must preface this by setting the stage for you, dear reader: We four–myself, Conman, Bunny, and PipeWrench, are visiting a friend in a very rural Northern Florida town (Blountstown, to be precise). It’s 12:00, maybe 1:00am. It is pitch black outside. The rural roads in Blountstown are barely even paved (and some aren’t), forget about them being at all illuminated by whatever government runs the place up there. My Prius’s standard, non-HID headlights are doing a fair-to-midland job of illuminating the road ahead of us, but not much else. I am equipped with my ever-present Mag-Lite flashlight, as well as a second LED flashlight I’d purchased at a gas station on the way up. My failing memory being what it is, I consulting the U.S. Navy’s moon-phase website to try to remember if I even had any moonlight at my disposal, and the answer is no. It was pitch black. Blacker than Hitler’s heart. Blacker than a black cat on a pile of coal at midnight on a moonless night–much like the one I had to navigate during.

Now, the goal here is to successfully navigate from the middle of fucking nowhere back to I-10 eastbound (and, subsequently, back to our motel in Tallahassee) in the middle of the night with zero illumination we don’t actually provide ourselves. However, I have an ace-in-the-hole; Aiding me in this task is Chives–a Garmin Nüvi 350 (which has since been discontinued by Garmin in favor of newer, more feature-rich models, but oddly, I prefer bare, elegant simplicity in my GPS devices):

Lastly, I’m naturally not going to betray my friend’s address; but suffice to say that he lives not too far away from the church I’m using as my starting point. I’m also not going to show the entire route back to the hotel–because it was directly on I-10 and several miles to the east. No, I want you, fair reader, to see the routes in question in detail.

So here is the first route. This is the route picked by my Nüvi, as well as Google Maps, and the route I ultimately followed to I-10:

The route was naturally picked by both Google Maps and by the GPS as being the most efficient. Of course, neither the GPS nor Google Maps have any way of knowing that these shitball roads weren’t illuminated and that I was going to have to navigate this route in total darkness on a moonless night.

Here then is the second, perhaps better, route; the only other route from my friend’s house to the Interstate and one that would’ve certainly been favored by Conman as being decidedly non-circuitous:

Did both routes lead to I-10? yes. Did I know about them both? No–I only knew about the first one, and frankly, being as unfamiliar with the area as I was, there was absolutely no guarantee that the second route was any less deer-infested (Conman’s major sticking point that I had chosen… poorly) than the first one. The only thing that can be said with any certainty is that the second route was straighter. Frankly, the second route wasn’t that far out of the way, and would’ve provided a straight shot to the Interstate. But here’s the thing, see: I didn’t know about it, and neither did anybody in the car with me, including Conman. I would’ve had to tell the GPS how to take me along that route, and because of my unfamiliarity with the area, I didn’t automatically know that such a route even existed.

When both Google Maps and my Nüvi selected their routes, they weighted FL-69 the same as myriad local roads that made up the “more circuitous” first route because somewhere, some NAVTEQ cartographer has assigned them all the same weight. Looking at a paper map, and with the clarity of hindsight, a strong argument could perhaps be made that the second route may have been better. But I didn’t have a paper map of Blountstown with me; all I had was Chives and three tired, nervous passengers who were wondering–as I was–where the hell we were, and wanted to get back to the relative safety of the motel.

So this is what I consistently get beat up over when Conman talks about the GPS. I think I did a damn good job ensuring the safety of my passengers during that trip, and don’t deserve to be beaten up afterward for not taking the “most efficient” route back to the motel. That’s roughly analogous with saying “Gee, mister, thanks for saving my life, but you sure could’ve done it better: here’s how.” There’s gratitude for you. How about some props for me getting us from Light-My-Fart, Florida back to the motel in Tallahassee without driving around in circles lost for three days and getting us all there alive and in one piece?

A couple of times, as we were making our way along the first route, Conman asked: “Where is your GPS taking us!?” I replied with “Back to the motel.” And, ultimately, I was right; to directly address one of Conman’s main criticisms of GPS, I’ll use his reply to my last post as a reference:

“A GPS does you no good if you need to get from Anaheim to El Segundo and it has you going through Compton:”

I submit to you this: yes, this route does indeed go through Compton. But it does so on limited-access interstates and state roads. And besides: I DEFY you to show me on a PAPER MAP where it says “Compton is a dangerous neighborhood.“

Uh-huh. I thought so.

My point: if you don’t know the area to begin with, it makes NO FUNDAMENTAL DIFFERENCE if you pick the route yourself, with a paper map, or the GPS receiver picks the route for you. Neither technology (and yes, paper maps are considered a technology) will give you information on what areas are dangerous and what areas are not.

I’m sure my passengers were nervous; the route was indeed dark and spooky. Because of that, I took the route it picked very slow, easy, and carefully. Never once during the trip did I eschew common sense in favor of the GPS, nor give up my sense of driving intuition to Chives. Chives wasn’t driving the car, I was. Me. The whole time.

Had I seen a ditch in front of us, I wouldn’t have blindly driven into it because the GPS told me to, and I find it kind of offensive that someone would think I would. Sure, there is the odd story of folks who blindly follow their GPS while simultaneously abandoning common sense. But even as the amount of these stories increase, they are still very few and very far between when compared to the thousands and thousands of times, every day, that GPS technology is employed properly, responsibly and achieves its desired result: Getting someone un-lost, or getting them to their destination with a minimum of fuss.

In closing, I am reminded of a line from “Inherit the Wind,” spoken by Spencer Tracy whilst playing the role of Henry Drummond:

“Gentlemen, progress has never been a bargain, you have to pay for it. Sometimes I think there’s a man who sits behind a counter who says, ‘Alright, you can have a telephone: but you lose privacy, and the charm of distance. Madam, you may vote, but at a price: you lose the right to retreat behind a powder puff or a petticoat. Mister, you may conquer the air–but the birds will lose their wonder, and the clouds will smell of gasoline.’”

From The Boston Diaries 10/23/2009 entry

It must be a change of season… because Conman is going on about GPS again. This is a very old argument between Conman and I, especially given our complete diametric opposition on this particular subject. It also happens to be a major irritant for me, every time I hear Conman drudge up more anecdotal cases of GPS blunders and misuse. I think he does it because a) he knows it’ll make me upset (which it invariably does), and b) for some inexplicable reason, he just has a massive boner against the technology.

Because I count myself among the ranks of the “directionally-challenged,” I was a very early adopter of GPS technology–having purchased my first GPS receiver back in 1997–and have been using GPS devices for many, many years since. In that time, I have endured ceaseless ribbing and derision from my friends–first, because I have always been totally lousy at following driving directions (this has to do with a rare eye condition I have called nystagmus that keeps me from reading street names and addresses until I’m practically on top of them), and second because I have to rely on a gadget to know where I am. But I personally feel that GPS has improved my life in ways I cannot even begin to calculate, enabling me to take off to an unfamiliar address without having a panic attack or setting off on a vacation with my family (or solo on my motorcycle) for a few laps around the country without any fear of becoming hopelessly lost, as I am prone to becoming without such technology. And I have a terrible–almost irrational–fear of being lost.

Now, just because I, by my own admission, am “spatially challenged,” doesn’t mean I’m an idiot. I’m a pilot, and have learned the exacting art of aerial navigation using huge, complicated sectional aviation charts and cockpit navigational instrumentation that has scarcely changed since Charles Lindbergh crossed the Atlantic solo. And to be fair, I don’t use my GPS to get me to work and back every day–I wouldn’t be lost navigating around town without my GPS. I also know full well how to read and use a road map, and how to find an address. However, if I were going to an address I’d never been before, I’d damn sure want the GPS receiver along, because it allows me to find that address in about half the time and without the eight-hundred U-turns I’d have to make otherwise because I can’t read the goddamn street signs until I’m thirty yards away from them. And because I’m not an idiot, I realize that GPS will give you the same kind of “pretty close” directions you might get from a friend–but it’s up to you to actually find the place. The GPS will get you pretty close. It won’t always get you there. That’s where your intuition comes in, and I do have some of that, contrary to what my friends might think.

Now, Conman has obviously gone to great length to search the depth and breadth of the Internet to extract from it the most anecdotal, possibly apocryphal, examples of GPS usage gone awry he can possibly dig up. Even in the case of the very article he’s referenced in his journal entry to support his curmudgeonly view of “GPS is a wholly bad technology,” it bespeaks of folks who have a neurological shortcoming in their brains that keeps them from accurately fixing their position in the world at any given moment–and then become hopelessly lost, on a fairly regular bases. And I’m actually somewhat surprised, given Conman’s penchant for GPS-bashing, that he didn’t include this little nugget from the aforementioned article:

[Bohbot, a researcher studying the navigational capabilities of laboratory mice] fears that overreliance on gps, which demands a hyper-pure form of stimulus-response behaviour, will result in our using the spatial capabilities of the hippocampus less, and that it will in turn get smaller. Other studies have tied atrophy of the hippocampus to increased risk of dementia. “We can only draw an inference,” Bohbot acknowledges. “But there’s a logical conclusion that people could increase their risk of atrophy if they stop paying attention to where they are and where they go.”

I’m shocked that I didn’t get a hyperventilating phone call–or, at the very least, an urgent e-mail–from Conman, decrying “See!? I told you GPS is evil and bad! The damn things’ll even give you dementia!” I swear to God that I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if Conman published an entry in The Boston Diaries saying that he found an article that says GPS gives you cancer.

I think what makes me so angry is that Conman insists upon repeatedly and vehemently digging up evidence to attack a technology which I feel has improved my own life so very dramatically–and is so incredibly defiant even in the face of overwhelming acceptance of the technology. I could just as easily put the shoe on the other foot and tell him: Hey, Conman, wearing glasses is so dangerous; you could slip and fall, and your broken lens can poke your eye out. I know it’s incredibly unlikely, but hey, man–it could happen! So what you should do is just stop wearing the things. I mean really, what do you need to see for anyway?

Conman doesn’t like to mention the one time that GPS came in really handy for him, too. But don’t ask him about the incident. If you read Conman’s account, you’d think that we were on Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride and I was about to drive him off a cliff and directly into the path of hoards of rabid deer. The reality of the situation was that I was trying to find my way back to Tallahassee from the back-roads of very rural Florida, around midnight, in the pitch-blackness that comes with barely-paved roads and no streetlights, with a car-full of passengers whose asses I was responsible for. Now am I really, in that situation, going to pull off to the side of the road and bust out the paper map every few minutes? Or am I going to let my GPS receiver take me back to the Interstate?

I told Conman then, and I’ll say it again right now: I’m a very results-oriented person. We were out in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night. Then we were at the motel. I, and everyone else in the car, have my GPS receiver to thank for the latter. I don’t really give a shit if the route the GPS receiver decided on wasn’t the very best route to get from point A to point B. The end result was we got to our destination unscathed, and honestly, that, to me, was the only thing that mattered. I win.

In closing, it is worthy of noting that the friends who are not Conman and would deride me for my “dependence” on GPS technology have pretty much shut their mouths at this point, especially after witnessing the veritable explosion in popularity of the GPS receiver over the last five or so years. They’re practically standard equipment in new cars these days, and have been commoditized down to the point where you can pick up an extremely good receiver at Radio Shack for about $150.

So maybe I’m not so crazy after all.