As an "emerging singer-songwriter" (I love that term) I'm trying to develop many skills simultaneously, many of which are unrelated to my core skills of writing songs and singing them.
As artists, we're trying to "emerge" in many places at once, which means we have to "tour" (play gigs away from home), and that means we have to read maps. But maybe we don't! Maybe we can use MapQuest.
Like many overworked and multi-tasking people, I rely on many high-tech devices to get me through my day. I don't use a cell phone as much as many people do (and Blackberries are beyond me) but I do like my computer. Sometimes I wonder if my memory is being replaced by Google. The other day, I blithely traded in my brain cells for Mapquest.
I was heading off to an appointment north of the city. The night before, I plugged in the destination address on MapQuest, which instantly spat out my optimal route. 36 minutes, it optimistically told me, would be my travel time from door to door.
Directions in hand, I felt cool, in control and somewhat self-important. My appointment was a television appearance (at a small cable station) for my own big artistic project (which remains well below the pop culture radar). But a television appearance it was, and I was on my way. I knew where I was going! (Well, actually, I didn't. But I didn't need to. I had MapQuest.)
I praised myself for arriving exactly on time as I followed the precise, step-by-step instructions. "Right on Yonge Street: 2.1 miles. Right on Harding: 3.4 miles. (Hmm...this is a bit unusual, it looks like a residential street...) Left on Cloverdale Crescent...(lights? camera?) Ta-da! You have reached your destination!
But, it's a quiet cul-de-sac, a circle of sleepy split-levels. Where is my splishy TV studio?
Looking more carefully at my MapQuest directions, I realized that somehow, under the "destination" heading, the exact street address had been left off, so that only the name of the city remained. My trusty direction-bot had guided me by the shortest possible route to the edge of the city limits.
No longer feeling smart and cool, I threw the car into reverse and headed for the nearest gas station, where I frantically searched for an ordinary paper map of the the region, to the amusement of the man at the cash register.
"You are lost?" he inquired, beaming.
"No, no, of course not," I lied. "Just checking my directions."
I made it to the cable tv station on time, with not enough time to fiddle with my hair or apply makeup to that very obvious zit on my nose, but in time to sing two songs and talk about them. I arrived at the place I was supposed to. And on the way, I also arrived at that little cul-de-sac.
The computerized map, in my all-too-human hands, had led me to the general vicinity of where I needed to go, but I hadn't double-checked my own route to make sure it was exactly where I needed to be. As it turned out, the distance between the two possible destinations was only a mile or two, but they couldn't seem further apart.
When I got back into the car to head home, I saw the paper map hastily unfolded on the seat beside me, taking up lots of space. Instead of scrunching it up quickly, I paused and carefully re-folded it along the old-fashioned accordion fold lines.
Something tells me I'm going to need that map again.
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