ODE TO FLOOZIE

Got me a GPS for Christmas. About time, because I do a lot of driving to strange places, and if there is a way to get lost, I will find it!

Google maps are sorta kinda OK, but they're worth shit in the dark, and they don't talk to me. Not like my GPS, which I have named Floozie. And Google maps don't put me back on the right track like Floozie does when I miss a turn, or exit, or on-ramp.

Floozie certainly knows a lot. She's a mobile unit, so I tested her in my home to find out exactly how much. You know, see if she can show me the way from the kitchen to the bathroom. Well, would you believe? She found it! Mind you, she took me through a few of my neighbors' apartments first, constantly having to recalculate, but eventually she calmly informed me in that Valium-stoned voice of hers that I had arrived at my destination. And she was right - I had.

One thing that bugs me about Floozie is that I can't talk back to her, or disagree. Maybe I can, but she ignores me. I can yell and curse and bitch at her, she never looses her cool. The same applies when I mess with her and don't follow her directions. During a recent trip, I passed every single Interstate exit she told me to take for sixty miles. I was certain that after the millionth recalculation, she'd whack out on me and scream, "Hey, you stupid asshole, who do you think I am? Get the next off-ramp right, or I'll shut the fuck up!" Nope, not Floozie. Floozie is unflappable and all-forgiving.

I thought Floozie might be less forgiving when my girlfriend was recently driving with me and tried to argue that she knew a better route than Floozie suggested. I was sure they'd get into a bitch fight. But, no. While my girlfriend's voice got louder and louder and shrieking higher and higher, Floozie just munched away on her Valium and remained calm. Not so my girlfriend who, in the middle of moving traffic, opened the passenger door and threatened to jump out with the ultimatum: "Make up your mind. You either listen to me, or that Floozie bitch. Pick Floozie and I'm outta here and we're finished!" Naturally, I picked my girlfriend. After all, Floozie is pretty awesome, but she doesn't make me sandwiches, or give BJ's. Floozie understood.

One thing that Floozie made me aware of that had never occurred to me before, was that of all the thousands of street names out there, named after famous people like presidents, scientists, poets, musicians, movie stars and Saints, there doesn't appear to be a single Jesus Christ Street anywhere. A Martin Luther King Jr. Street in every city, town and village in the country, but no

Got me a GPS for Christmas. About time, because I do a lot of driving to strange places, and if there is a way to get lost, I will find it!

Google maps are sorta kinda OK, but they're worth shit in the dark, and they don't talk to me. Not like my GPS, which I have named Floozie. And Google maps don't put me back on the right track like Floozie does when I miss a turn, or exit, or on-ramp.

Floozie certainly knows a lot. She's a mobile unit, so I tested her in my home to find out exactly how much. You know, see if she can show me the way from the kitchen to the bathroom. Well, would you believe? She found it! Mind you, she took me through a few of my neighbors' apartments first, constantly having to recalculate, but eventually she calmly informed me in that Valium-stoned voice of hers that I had arrived at my destination. And she was right - I had.

One thing that bugs me about Floozie is that I can't talk back to her, or disagree. Maybe I can, but she ignores me. I can yell and curse and bitch at her, she never looses her cool. The same applies when I mess with her and don't follow her directions. During a recent trip, I passed every single Interstate exit she told me to take for sixty miles. I was certain that after the millionth recalculation, she'd whack out on me and scream, "Hey, you stupid asshole, who do you think I am? Get the next off-ramp right, or I'll shut the fuck up!" Nope, not Floozie. Floozie is unflappable and all-forgiving.

I thought Floozie might be less forgiving when my girlfriend was recently driving with me and tried to argue that she knew a better route than Floozie suggested. I was sure they'd get into a bitch fight. But, no. While my girlfriend's voice got louder and louder and shrieking higher and higher, Floozie just munched away on her Valium and remained calm. Not so my girlfriend who, in the middle of moving traffic, opened the passenger door and threatened to jump out with the ultimatum: "Make up your mind. You either listen to me, or that Floozie bitch. Pick Floozie and I'm outta here and we're finished!" Naturally, I picked my girlfriend. After all, Floozie is pretty awesome, but she doesn't make me sandwiches, or give BJ's. Floozie understood.

One thing that Floozie made me aware of that had never occurred to me before, was that of all the thousands of street names out there, named after famous people like presidents, scientists, poets, musicians, movie stars and Saints, there doesn't appear to be a single Jesus Christ Street anywhere. A Martin Luther King Jr. Street in every city, town and village in the country, but no God Jr. Street on the entire planet. Funny that, huh? In fact, I think there is only one other street name that's more popular than MLK Jr -- Main Street. Now, who the hell is Main? What did Main ever do? What made Main so damn famous?

I would ask Floozie, but Floozie doesn't talk back.

Mark P. Wirtz aka, Michael Sinclair

http://www.markwirtz.com www.myspace.com/madmarkwirtz