No Gps Quotes

He slung off his backpack. He'd managed to grab a lot of supplies at the Napa Bargain Mart: a portable GPS, duct tape, lighter, superglue, water bottle, camping roll, a Comfy Panda Pillow Pet (as seen on TV), and a Swiss army knife—pretty much every tool a modern demigod could want.

The funny thing about GPS was it didn’t always send you in the right direction. I knew that if I took a right and took Twelfth instead, I’d get there faster, so I turned right. Ozzy did not approve. “Wut the foock?

Marriage is like going on a road trip with the person you want to spend the rest of your life with, except you have no map or fancy GPS system to help you out. You might not always agree on what music to play or which direction you should go. I can guarantee there will be moments you want to rip your hair out—or each other’s. Just like there will be times that test you, where you think that maybe things would be easier if you hitch a ride with someone else. The point is, life is going to throw a lot of things at you. Stuff like flat tires, dead ends, and mechanical issues. But you can either make the most of the journey with one another or cry about never getting to your destination. No one can make the right decision but you.

You could have gotten a car with GPS," Total said helpfully. Yes," I said "Or we could have brought along a dog that doesn't talk." I gave Angel a pointed look, and she smiled, well, angelically, at me. Total huffed, offended at me and climbed into her lap...

GPS. I tracked your phone. PIs can do shit like that. That’s how we roll.” “That’s so wrong.” “And yet it feels so right.

Well, it's like I have a GPS inside me," I told them. "One of the talking ones. I tell it where I want to go, and it tells me, Go twenty miles, turn left, take Exit Ninety-fourm and so one. It can be pretty bossy, frankly. Their eyes widened. "Really?" said one. No you idiot," I said in disgust. "I don't know how it works. I just know it has an unfailing ability to point me in the opposite direction of a bunch of boneheads.

Oh, for God's sake," I said. "Just give me the stupid thing." I took the panic button and stuck it into my Super Sexy Miracle Bra. "GPS," Ranger said to Morelli. "Probably I can find her breast without it," Morelli said. "But it's good to know there's a navigational system on board if I need it.

She’d tried to program it when they’d gotten into the Toyota, but it had refused to turn on. Once, the GPS had only spoken in a heavy German accent for weeks. Julian had decided it was possessed.

You should not expect the media to provide you with a fact-based worldview any more than you would think it reasonable to use a set of holiday snaps of Berlin as your GPS system to help you navigate around the city.

My generation was secretive, brooding, ambitious, show-offy, and this generation is congenial. Totally. I imagine them walking around with GPS chips that notify them when a friend is in the vicinity, and their GPSes guide them to each other in clipped electronic lady voices and they sit down side by side in a coffee shop and text-message each other while checking their e-mail and hopping and skipping around Facebook to see who has posted pictures of their weekend.

Remember, data is not just the street signs, it is the GPS.

I call the GPS woman the worst names I can think of. I beg her to stop. But she doesn't. Like a total bitch, she directs me to Josh's apartment building.

The Audi tires squealed as the vehicle tracked the same path. Jake hammered down the avenue, hunting for a getaway. Traffic thickened at the juncture ahead. A green light flickered into amber. He ramped up over the limit, punching over the white lines on a red signal. Tires screeched and a horn beeped. The needle sat on one hundred kilometers per hour. He fishtailed at a laneway. The GPS showed a right angle, car slid into a slot in an overhang. Jake got out and crept toward the opening, hugged the brick wall. He pulled the SIG and flicked off the safety. The Audi braked at the mouth. Door slammed. A shadow fell over the concrete. The swish of clothing indicated a possible weapon draw.

I felt my cell phone buzz, and I looked at the screen. Ranger. “Your GPS just went blank,” Ranger said when I answered. “The car exploded.” There was a beat of silence. “Rafael won the pool,” Ranger said. “Are you okay?” “Yes.” “I’ll send someone.

Intuition goes before you, showing you the way. Emotion follows behind, to let you know when you go astray. Listen to your inner voice. It is the calling of your spiritual GPS system seeking to keep you on track towards your true destiny.

Mistakes? Well, hell, we all make mistakes. And what’s more, we are expected to learn from them. It is part of our journey. It is how we move from innocence to resounding wisdom. It is how we keep from retaining a fucking baby’s psyche well into our nineties. It is how everyone keeps from shitting themselves in public and on each other. It is our ever-learning, ever-adapting GPS for this thing called life.

So if you’re drowning, keep your life jacket on and fight. But once you’re able to swim, don’t convince yourself you forgot how to. Take your life jacket off, front-crawl your way to the shore, walk off that beach, and set your GPS to the top of a hill, because you WILL conquer the climb.

But what if the great secret insider-trading truth is that you don't ever get over the biggest losses in your life? Is that good news, bad news, or both? . . . . The pain does grow less acute, but the insidious palace lie that we will get over crushing losses means that our emotional GPS can never find true north, as it is based on maps that no longer mention the most important places we have been to. Pretending that things are nicely boxed up and put away robs us of great riches.

Who needs bread crumbs," Dan replied, "when you have GPS?

His phone rang again, and he turned it on speaker. “Adair residence—” “Shut up, Cabe.” Silas’s voice filled the car. “Your Lexus isn’t a residence, and I know you’re driving, because I’m watching your GPS dot move down the road.

He went over to the leathers and picked them up. Nice Catholic boy like him didn't know much about BDSM, but it looked like he was going to learn firsthand. Taking out his cellphone, he hit V, but didn't expect an answer. He guessed GPS was going to have to come in handy once again.

I started to put my phone back in my bag when Ozzy yelled out, his accent so thick, I was only half certain he said, "Where the foock are ya goin'?" Uncle Bob jumped. I must've turned on my GPS. "You have to tahn the foock around. You're in the middle of foockin' nowhere." "What the hell is that?" Uncle Bob asked, almost swerving off the road. "Sorry, it's Ozzy." I grabbed my phone and turned down the volume. "He's so demanding." I pushed a few buttons to turn off the app, then put the phone to my ear. "Sweet, buttermilk pancakes, Ozzy, you have to stop calling me. You're a married man!" I pretended to hang up, then rolled my eyes. "Rock stars.

After I pulled in, I decided in my typical fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants fashion that if anyone asked, I was going to be "lost." I hoped no one would have the opportunity to look in the car. Lost and a fancy GPS system didn't go together.

The GPS unit became almost equally obstreperous, though, over Richard’s unauthorized route change, until they finally passed over some invisible cybernetic watershed between two possible ways of getting to their destination, and it changed its fickle little mind and began calmly telling him which way to proceed as if this had been its idea all along.

The funny thing about GPS was it didn’t always send you in the right direction. I knew that if I took a right and took Twelfth instead, I’d get there faster, so I turned right. Ozzy did not approve. “Wut the foock?” Did he just say the F-word? “Ya not even foocking listening.” “Ha! This is great,” I said to the dead naked guy. He ignored me. Ozzy was so entertaining

You don’t know where west is?” Sarah asked with disbelief. I wasn’t going to drop her to the ground. I was going to throw her. “Do I look like I have a compass on me?” Sarah waved a hand at the sky. “Can’t you use the stars to navigate?” “I ’m twenty-nine years old, not two hundred and twenty-nine. I navigate by GPS, MapQuest, or TomTom. Not the fucking stars, ’k?

The winds were howling out of the Northeast as the sport boat pitched and rolled in the angry sea. The driving rain went unnoticed as the waves crashed over the bow and top of the cabin. Radar and GPS saw what human eyes could not.

GPS?’ Calypso asked. ‘Godly positioning system.’ ‘That’s

Cinta sejati selalu datang pada saat yang tepat, waktu yang tepat, dan tempat yang tepat. Ia tidak pernah tersesat sepanjang kalian memiliki sesuatu. Apa sesuatu itu? Tentu saja bukan GPS, alat pelacak, dan sebagainya, sesuatu itu adalah pemahaman yang baik bagaimana mengendalikan perasaan.

The pain does grow less acute, but the insidious palace lie that we will get over crushing losses means that our emotional GPS can never find true north, as it is based on maps that no longer mention the most important places we have been to.

But the truly brilliant geocachers?" "Yeah?" he says. "What about us?" "They know it by its real name. Terra Firma." "Terra Firma," he repeats. At last, he slips his backpack off his shoulder. I know what he's looking for. I take a breath. "You don't need your GPS for this cache." His eyes don't move off mine; he's watching me so carefully. "You don't, huh?" "Nope," I say. Some things are meant to be kept - what you learn from experiences good or bad, smiles from an orphaned girl, a boy who is your compass pointing to your True North. So I look at Jacob full in the face with nothing obscuring him. Or me. And then I step closer to him. And closer. And closer yet. "Here I am," I tell him. "Here I am.

I have PMS and GPS, which means if you piss me off, I will find you.

Besides, the mhis that surrounded the compound could scramble anything from GPS to Santa Claus.

As I make a final right-hand turn onto our street, my GPS informs me that I've "reached my destination". "My destination," I laugh aloud to myself. My GPS doesn't know squat.

Because I’m no good with directions, but I’m really good with landmarks, so if you tell me to go north on Main, I’m fucked, but if you say, “Turn at that Burger King that burned down last year,” I totally know what to do, so we should build a GPS system that does that.

As far as the official mapmakers were concerned Three Pines didn’t exist. It had never been surveyed. Never plotted. No GPS or sat nav system, no matter how sophisticated, would ever find the little village. It only appeared as though by accident over the edge of the hill. Suddenly. It could not be found unless you were lost.

I'm still dropping dishes thinking in slow motion about the GPS woman in Mom's car. I imagine her beckoning me from outside the kitchen window illuminated like some robot-angel calling me forth to the Lexus where she will ferry me off to that planet of monotonous peace that special otherworldly place where all the residents are relaxed and confident and completely numb. Your life will. Get better in. Six. Point four. Million. Miles.

Did I say normal had left the building? At this point, I couldn't find normal with a flashlight and a GPS.

There’s a great episode of The Office in which this strategy lands Michael Scott and Dwight Schrute in a lake during a sales trip, Michael shouting, “The machine knows!” as he follows the GPS instructions and drives his SUV off the road into the water. I’ve watched a lot of good people drive their lives, their families, their churches, their communities, even their countries into a lake, shouting, “The Bible knows!” all the way down.

the insidious palace lie that we will get over crushing losses means that our emotional GPS can never find true north, as it is based on maps that no longer mention the most important places we have been to.

Some people have this sort of built-in GPS, a bit like cats. You can drop them anywhere and they can find their way home. Not me. I get lost in IKEA.

The GPS still has return coordinates programmed, although when I crank over the engine, I get the "reprogramming route" message. I hate the tone of these things-it manages to be mechanical yet condescending at the same time. All systems have it. Some frustrated engineer's idea of a joke, I suppose.

McIntyre hesitated, and for a moment the tall, gray-haired man looked almost boyish. "After all this time...don't you think you could call me William?" Amy and Dan exchanged glances. As fond as they were of him, they couldn't imagine calling their lawyer by his first name. He saw the hesitation on their faces. "Will?" Amy cleared her throat. Dan fiddled with the new GPS. "How about 'Mac'?" "Mac," Dan said, trying out the name. Mr. McIntyre looked wistful. "I always wanted to be a Mac.

GPS timing is incredibly precise; of all the problems in engineering, it’s one of the only ones in which engineers have been forced to include both special and general relativity in their calculations.

F*ck that - why is your GPS in your kitchen" "Because that's where I was when I took it out of my phone" "What the hell, V." Butch tightened his grip on his cell and wished there were an app that let you reach through a phone and b#tch slap someone. ~Butch and Vishous, Lover Unleashed.

God does have a perfect will. But it’s not like a straight path. It’s more like a GPS route. God has destinations for our lives, yes, but he also understands there will be detours, wrong turns, and delays along the way.

Single guys can easily simulate some of the joys of marriage simply by installing one of those GPS devices that use a woman's voice.

Neither train nor plane, neither GPS nor human caress can take you to the address of happiness.

I realized he had my car keys.“Hey, where did you get those?”“We found your purse at the Dairy Queen.”“How did you know it was there?”“The GPS.” He smirked, seeming more like the Jared I knew.“You have a GPS tracker on my car?

All right, yeah, sounds good, but I have no idea where they might be. Do you? Is that one of the gifts you have?" Shaylin asked. Aphrodite- "Goddess, you are brain damaged. No, I don't have a GPS inside my head.

GPs are almost the only doctors these days who understand all problems, can see the whole person…spend time with the dying…see things through to the end.

Right now there are thirty-one satellites zipping around the world with nothing better to do than help you find your way to the grocery store.

Asking someone else to drive your sports car is like asking someone else to kiss your girlfriend.

Intuition is the GPS of Life.

A veces pienso que me hace falta llevar un GPS para la vida amarrado al cinturón que me dé órdenes con voz autoritaria. «A la primera oportunidad, cambie de sentido.»

Just when the devil tries to steer me in the wrong direction I learn how powerful God's GPS really is. (Evil will not re-route my journey). He has mapped my success to the final destination.

This thing’s giving me an eye twitch,” Ranger said. “Can you get the sound off?” I started pressing buttons and the screen went blank. “How’s that?” I asked. “Babe, you shut the system down.” “Yes, but the sound is off.” “Reprogram it.” “No need to get testy,” I told him. “I don’t know where I’m going.” “I have a map. You just get on I-95 south and take the Springfield exit.” “And then what?” “Then you’ll have to pull over and reprogram the GPS.” Ranger cut his eyes to me and there was the tiniest of smiles on his mouth.

None of the locals seemed to notice the huge Greek warship hovering over the piazza, or the fact that Jason and Leo had just flown down, Jason wielding a gold sword, and Leo…well, Leo pretty much empty-handed. “Where to?” Jason asked. Leo stared at him. “Well, I dunno. Let me pull my dwarf-tracking GPS out of my tool belt.… Oh, wait! I don’t have a dwarf-tracking GPS—or my tool belt!” “Fine,” Jason grumbled. He glanced up at the ship as if to get his bearings, then pointed across the piazza. “The ballista fired the first dwarf in that direction, I think.

1.There are no rules, because life is made up of too many rules as it is 2.But there are three "guidelines" (which sounds less rigid than "rules"): a)No using our phones to get us there. We have to do this strictly old-school, which means learning to read actual maps b)We alternate choosing places to go, but we also have to be willing to go where the road takes us. This means the grand, the small, the bizarre, the poetic, the beautiful, the ugly, the surprising. Just like life. But absolutely, unconditionally, resolutely nothing ordinary. c)At each site, we leave something almost like an offering. It can be our own private game of geocaching( "the recreational activity of hunting for and finding a hidden object by means of GPS coordinates posted on a website"), only not a game, and just for us. The rules of geocaching say "takes something, leave something." The way I figure it, we stand to get something out of each place, so why not give something back? Also, it's a way to prove we've been there, and a way to leave a part of us behind.

Sometimes life carries you in different directions and you don’t even realise you’ve gone down a fork in the road; the great GPS of destiny has not followed the planned route and there has been no sign to indicate you’ve passed the point of no return. Life’s Bermuda Triangle is both myth and reality.

The changes that happen in the mommy brain are the most profound and permanent of a woman’s life. For as long as her child is living under her roof, her GPS system of brain circuits will be dedicated to tracking that beloved child. Long after the grown baby leaves the nest, the tracking device continues to work. Perhaps this is why so many mothers experience intense grief and panic when they lose day-to-day contact with the person their brain tells them is an extension of their own reality.

Some people (like singularly unhelpful and clearly underqualified physical therapists, unsympathetic GPs, and that supremely irritating second cousin who ate all the stuffing at Christmas) assumed that a lack of feeling in certain body parts shouldn’t affect sleep at all. Her insomnia in such situations, they said, was something she could easily overcome. Chloe liked to remind those people that the human brain tended to keep track of all body parts, and was prone to panic when one of those parts went offline. Actually, what Chloe liked to do was imagine hitting those people with a brick.

Livia leaped into the Escort and drove straight to Poughkeepsie Station, letting instinct and her internal Blake GPS be her guide.

I don't know how magical GPS works. I don't want to mess with the signal.

Basic trigonometric properties put forth by Muslim mathematicians serve as basis for how GPS systems work today

I realize that I am powerless to resist him. There's nothing I can do; this man has a GPS navigation system that takes him straight to the center of my heart.

We all need a moral compass. Before you say or do anything, check your inner G.P.S. by asking, "Does this show respect for God People Self?

And your three-year-old Ford Explorer,” Terezin said, “bought without your parents’ money, a proud statement of your independence—of course it has a GPS.

In fact, if general relativity were not taken into account in GPS satellite navigation systems, errors in global positions would accumulate at a rate of about ten kilometers each day!

We have become so trusting of technology that we have lost faith in ourselves and our born instincts. There are still parts of life that we do not need to “better” with technology. It’s important to understand that you are smarter than your smartphone. To paraphrase, there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your Google. Mistakes are a part of life and often the path to profound new insights—so why try to remove them completely? Getting lost while driving or visiting a new city used to be an adventure and a good story. Now we just follow the GPS.

Leo glanced back, his face streaked with soot. "Apollo, you sense anything?" "Why is it my job to sense things? Just because I used to be a god of prophecy-" "You're the one who's been having visions," Calypso reminded me. "You said your friend Meg would be here." Just hearing Meg's name gave me a twinge of pain. "That doesn't mean I can pinpoint her location with my mind!" Zeus has revoked my access to GPS!" "GPS?" Calypso asked. "Godly positioning system." "That's not a real thing!

Australia is filled with roundabouts and everyone drives on the wrong side of the road. In the end we decided to split up the work and I feverishly watched the GPS and yelled, "Left! Right! ROUNDABOUT!

Sometimes you will not be able to see where you are going; every step will seem uncertain. But know that as long as you follow your intuition and take baby steps, your soul’s inner GPS will guide you home. You will find that you will be the right person, at the right place, at the right time, doing the right thing, exactly how it’s meant to be. Trust your instincts. Living is about learning as you go.

As we sit here, continents are adrift, like leaves on a pond. GPS tracking shows North America & Europe currently moving apart at the same rate your fingernail grows, or about two yards in a human lifetime.

If we get lost, I enlist the GPS, which has the whitest voice of all. Chanel supplants it with her own impoverished GPS, reengineering each set of directions into phrases like 'Yo bitch, I said hang a right on Roosevelt" or " AH shit, you missed it again, now we gotta reroute this motherfucker. " She wants to launch an app called Hood GPS , to spare drivers from the robotic white voices in their ears.

Because I tried all those voice options, of course. Haven’t you?” She looked at him expectantly, as if scrolling through all the language and voice options in the GPS was a total must. “Frankly? It didn’t occur to me. I stuck with the first one.” She rolled her eyes. “There’s one in Klingon. I used to have it on when I drove my geekier friends to the yearly Star Trek conventions in Vegas. They’d translate for me.” He wasn’t sure which part of her statement was more disturbing to him: the friends that spoke Klingon, or the yearly visits to Star Trek conventions. Or that she had geekier friends. Finally he opted for one. “You have friends that speak Klingon?” She shook her head. “No. Not fluently, no. It helped a lot that from LA to Vegas is for the most part a straight line. You really don’t want to get lost in the Mojave Desert with a handful of bickering Klingons and Vulcans who can achieve global domination with a laptop but can’t figure out how to change a tire on the car.

Classifying depression as an illness serves the psychiatric community and pharmaceutical corporations well; it also soothes the frightened, guilty, indifferent, busy, sadistic, and unschooled. To understand depression as a call for life-changes is not profitable. Stagnation is not a medical term. The 17.5 million Americans diagnosed as suffering a major depression in 1997 were mostly damned. (Psychobiological examinations confuse cause and symptom.) Deficient serotonergic functioning, ventral prefrontal cerebral cortex, dis-inhibition of impulsive-aggressive behavior, blah blah blah: the medical lexicon boils emotion from human being. Go take a drug, the doctor says. Pain is a biochemical phenomenon. Erase all memory.

Take a left,” Corey said. He pulled out his cell phone, typing something into it. “Oh no,” Blake said, “You’re not calling your buddies for reinforcement.” “I’m logging into the GPS,” he said. “I’m checking for traffic issues so we can avoid delays.” “Oh,” Blake said. “Well, you can do that.” Stone, C. L. (2014-08-09). Liar: The Scarab Beetle Series: #2 (The Academy Scarab Beetle Series) (p. 296). Arcato Publishing. Kindle Edition.

When we commit daily to offering our love, living in integrity, truth and values, we are more easily in tune to live our purpose …. We live our ethical life in all aspects; family, friends and business. Our spirit and body are always with us. In IHood, we choose to honor spiritual behavior over that of our body.

instead.” “Do you really have to curse so much? And are you serious when you use terms like hit the pavement? This isn’t a movie or one of those weekly cop shows. Policemen and women, and investigators like Lizzy, don’t need to ‘hit the pavement’ now that so much information is at their fingertips. It’s not stupid. It’s life in the modern world. Pretty soon they won’t need to chase after criminals in high-speed chases either. The police will tag a car with a laser-guided GPS tracking system. Once the transmitter is attached to the fleeing car, the police can track the suspect over a wireless network, then hang back and let the crook believe he’s outrun

Over the past few months, I have become so dependent upon tracking my pizza online through Domino's Pizza Tracker, that I now understand the need overbearing parents feel to strap a GPS-enabled phone to their child. I am anxious about the whereabouts, well-being and safety of my pizza and must know exactly where it is at all times.

Ranger pulled onto the shoulder and reprogrammed the GPS system. “Lucky for you, you look good in a T-shirt,” Ranger said. “Lucky for you I don’t have a gun on me.” Ranger turned to me. His voice was low and even, but there was a whisper of incredulous disbelief. “You’re not carrying a gun?” “Didn’t seem necessary for us both to have one.

The DOJ’s efforts to cover up Ohr’s activities were unconscionable. And, so too, was Ohr’s conduct. Since his wife worked for Fusion GPS and contributed to the “dossier,” the relationship presented a disqualifying conflict of interest for Ohr who was legally obligated under DOJ regulations to recuse himself from any investigation in which his wife was involved.

From the pocket of her windbreaker he extracted what he falsely believed to be a portable marine radio, which along with two granola bars he'd pilfered from Honey's belongings after she was snatched by the club-handed lunatic. Shreave started pressing buttons on the compact gadget and barking, "Mayday! Mayday! There was no response from the Coast Guard pilot or any other human, and for a good reason. Except for its LED screen, the instrument in Shreave's possession was electronically dissimilar to a radio in all significant respects. Most crucial was the absence of either an audio receiver or a transmitter. "SOS! SOS!" he persisted. "Help!" The device was in fact a mobile GPS unit, as technogically impenetrable to Shreave as the Taser gun he'd found beneath Honey's bed.

And so many of the indies have partnered with Google to sell ebooks right from their own websites. These stores are embracing the “new technology” instead of hiding from it, because they realize it’s about the story, not the ink on paper. If you want ebooks, your local indie can sell you ebooks. If your local independent is hanging up posters saying that ebooks will kill everything, you should tag that bookstore as a favorite in your GPS doohickey. You’ll get great deals, because that store will have a going-out-of-business sale soon. Yes, even though you try to save it with a letter-writing campaign.

Okay, you know what? This was fun. But I could have done it myself. I could have driven here with my GPS, parked at the guardhouse, walked here, and been in the same barrel of shit as I am now. No, I would have been better off because I would have had a car. So, no, I don’t want to cut you into little pieces. It’s not my thing. But my God, if I were a cut-a-girl-into-little-pieces kind of guy, this would be the day I started.

No," she said, backing out of the spot. "We're going to West Virginia." I looked sharply at Dimitri, who sat in the backseat, in the hopes that he would deny this. He didn't. "I assume by ‘West Virginia,' you actually mean ‘Hawaii,'" I said. "Or some place equally exciting." "Honestly, I think you're better off avoiding excitement right now," Sydney pointed out. The car's GPS device directed her to her next turn, leading us back toward I-81. She frowned slightly. "And West Virginia's actually really pretty." I remembered that she was from Utah and probably didn't know any better. Mead, Richelle (2010-12-07). Last Sacrifice: A Vampire Academy Novel (Kindle Locations 946-952). Penguin Young Readers Group. Kindle Edition.

In the FISA warrant application to spy on Page, the FBI knew, early on, that Steele was not a credible source. They learned that his assignment from Fusion GPS was purely for political reasons to damage Trump. They also learned that his efforts were funded by Trump’s election opponent, Hillary Clinton’s campaign, and the Democratic National Committee. This alone should have been enough for the FBI to disregard Steele and discard his “dossier” as lacking reliability as the law demands.

I sigh. Because love is all around me. And I’m Ms. Lonely. And then my gaze is moving . . . I don’t have to scan the room to find Logan, I know just where he is—it’s as if my brain has a 24/7 GPS on him. But the crazy, awesome, amazing thing that gets my heart pounding so loud it drowns out the sound of the music? When I look at Logan St. James across the room, he’s not searching the crowd for threats. He’s not looking in front of him, so he’s ready for whatever may come. Instead, when I indulge in my daily Logan stare-fest . . . he’s staring right back at me.

Jenna’s family’s boat. “That’s great!” Bess exclaimed. “It’s very generous,” Marni said. “I haven’t decided if I’m going to use it or not.” “Why wouldn’t you?” George asked incredulously. “I just don’t know if I feel comfortable,” Marni replied. She paused for a second before continuing, “Besides, the GPS is on the fritz. I have to see if I can get that to work before I can make a decision.” “I bet I can fix it!” George offered enthusiastically. “She’s really good with gadgets,” I said. “Don’t you need to help Nancy find the figurehead?” Marni asked George. “Do you mind, Nancy? If you need help, of course I will, but if you two are okay on your own . . .” George gave me a hopeful look. It was a look I couldn’t resist, and honestly, Bess and I could handle talking to Connor by ourselves. “Have fun,” I said. George beamed. Marni smiled, still looking a little uneasy. “Hey, Nancy,” Bess said urgently. “There

I suddenly remember being about seven, riding beside him in the car, and asking him how grown-ups found their way to places. After all, I had never seen him pull out a map. "I guess we just get used to taking the same turns," he said, but I wasn't satisfied. "Then what about the first time you go somewhere?" "Well," he said, "we get directions." But what I want to know is who got them the very first time? What if no one's ever been where you're going? "Dad?" I ask, "is it true that you can use stars like a map?" "Yeah, if you understand celestial navigation." "Is it hard?" I'm thinking maybe I should learn. A backup plan, for all those times I feel like I'm just wandering in circles. "It's pretty jazzy math—you have to measure the altitude of a star, figure out its position using a nautical almanac, figure out what you think the altitude should be and what direction the star should be in based on where you think you are, and compare the altitude you measured with the one you calculated. Then you plot this on a chart, as a line of position. You get several lines of position to cross, and that's where you go." My father takes one look at my face and smiles. "Exactly," he laughs. "Never leave home without your GPS.

Breakthroughs in information and communications technology are leading to forms of dematerialization unimaginable just a decade ago. Consider smartphones. They require more energy to manufacture and operate than older cell phones. But by obviating the need for separate, physical newspapers, books, magazines, cameras, watches, alarm clocks, GPS systems, maps, letters, calendars, address books, and stereos, they will likely significantly reduce humanity’s use of energy and materials over the next century. Such examples suggest that holding technological progress back could do far more environmental damage than accelerating it.

Visual thinkers, on the other hand, see images in their mind’s eye that allow them to make rapid-fire associations. Generally, visual thinkers like maps, art, and mazes, and often don’t need directions at all. Some visual thinkers can easily locate a place they’ve been to only once, their internal GPS having logged the visual landmarks. Visual thinkers tend to be late talkers who struggle with school and traditional teaching methods. Algebra is often their undoing, because the concepts are too abstract, with little or nothing concrete to visualize. Visual thinkers tend to be good at arithmetic that is directly related to practical

We should note that almost every technological transformation of consequence has taken place under Western auspices—if not Western in the strict geographical sense, then Western in the notion of a cultural landscape shaped by free thought and the chance for profit. Even non-Western innovations, like stirrups and gunpowder, have been quickly modified and improved by Western militaries. Jet fighters, GPS-guided bombs, and laser-guided munitions are all products of Western expertise. Even the jihadists’ most innovative and lethal weapons—improvised explosive devices and suicide belts—are cobbled together from Western-designed explosives and electronics.

Accordingly, the word “Facebook” appeared in a full one-third of divorce filings in 2011. All of this provides excellent fodder for the 81 percent of divorce attorneys who admit searching social media sites for evidence that can be used against their clients’ spouses. For instance, all the data shared on Facebook and Twitter and all the cell-phone call records and GPS locational data that neatly recorded whose cell phone was next to whose and when become fair game in the battle royal that can be divorce proceedings. The pictures innocently taken of you at all those parties over the years, blurry-eyed with drink in hand, now become evidence of unfit parenting, a nugget of gold for opposing counsel during cross-examination.

Where the hell are we going, Jode?” I’d already asked for the location and marked it on my GPS. But I was feeling the seventy pounds of food and supplies on my back. The cadre in RASP would’ve given this hike their stamp of approval. “You told me remote,” Jode replied. “Remote requires a good bit of trekking.” “You mean hiking.” “No, Gideon. I mean trekking.” We’d been doing that a lot, Jode and I. I’d become a human autocorrect for all his weird British phrases. He usedfancy as a verb. Nosh meant food.Bum was ass. Loo was bathroom. And everything was either bloody, brilliant, or both, bloody brilliant,which to me only described one thing. Actually three: the color of my cuff, my sword, and my armor. They really were bloody brilliant.

If Your Presence does not go with us, do not bring us up from here.” (Exodus 33:15) As a reminder, where was here? It was the place of lack, adversity, stress, and hardship—the desert. Moses gave a reply that’s perplexing, even mind-boggling, to the average person. In essence he declared, “If I have to choose between Your presence and Your blessing, I’ll take Your presence—even if it’s in a place of lack and hardship—over Your blessing in a great environment.” Was Moses delusional? Had the desert sun distorted his sense of judgment? No. His internal GPS was set on what was best. It was directing him to make the best choice even when God was offering him a good choice, one that common sense and uncomfortable circumstances would have dictated he accept.

So the rules for attunement were that while the listener has responsibilities, so does the speaker. In turning toward, the speaker cannot begin with blaming or criticism. Instead, it is the responsibility of the speaker to state his or her feelings as neutrally as possible, and then convert any complaint about the partner into a positive need (i.e., something one does need, not what one does not need). This requires a mental transformation from what is wrong with one’s partner to what one’s partner can do that would work. It is the speaker’s job to discover that recipe. The speaker is really saying, “Here’s what I feel, and here’s what I need from you.” Or, in processing a negative event that has already happened, the speaker is saying, “Here’s what I felt, and here’s what I needed from you.” How do couples find that positive need? How do they convert “Here’s what’s wrong with you, and here’s what I want you to stop doing” into, “Here’s what I feel (or felt) and here’s the positive thing I need (or needed) from you”? I think that the answer is that there is a longing or a wish, and therefore a recipe, within every negative emotion. In general, in sadness something is missing. In anger there is a frustrated goal. In disappointment there is a hope, and expectation. In loneliness there is a desire for connection. In a similar way, each negative emotion is a GPS for guiding us toward a longing, a wish, and a hope. The expression of the positive need eliminates the blame and the reproach.

Adopting a career because it’s lucrative, or because your parents want you to, or because it falls into your lap, can sometimes work out, but often, after you settle in, it starts to feel wrong. It’s like someone else punched the GPS coordinates into your phone. You’re locked onto your course, but you don’t even know where you’re going. When the route doesn’t feel right, when your autopilot is leading you astray, then you must question your destination. Hey! Who put “law degree” in my phone? Zoom out, take a high-altitude view of what’s going on in your life, and start thinking about where you really want to go. See the whole geography—the roads, the traffic, the destination. Do you like where you are? Do you like the end point? Is changing things a matter of replotting your final destination, or are you on the wrong map altogether? A GPS is an awesome tool, but if you aren’t the one inputting the data, you can’t rely on it to guide you. The world is a big place, and you can’t approach it as if it’s been preprogrammed. Give yourself the chance to change the route in search of emotional engagement.

Following someone covertly, either on foot or by car, costs around $175,000 per month—primarily for the salary of the agents doing the following. But if the police can place a tracker in the suspect’s car, or use a fake cell tower device to fool the suspect’s cell phone into giving up its location information, the cost drops to about $70,000 per month, because it only requires one agent. And if the police can hide a GPS receiver in the suspect’s car, suddenly the price drops to about $150 per month—mostly for the surreptitious installation of the device. Getting location information from the suspect’s cell provider is even cheaper: Sprint charges law enforcement only $30 per month. The difference is between fixed and marginal costs. If a police department performs surveillance on foot, following two people costs twice as much as following one person. But with GPS or cell phone surveillance, the cost is primarily for setting up the system. Once it is in place, the additional marginal cost of following one, ten, or a thousand more people is minimal. Or, once someone spends the money designing and building a telephone eavesdropping system that collects and analyzes all the voice calls in Afghanistan, as the NSA did to help defend US soldiers from improvised explosive devices, it’s cheap and easy to deploy that same technology against the telephone networks of other countries.