"In 800 meters turn left, then stay left, then...left"

J and I are different in a lot of ways. He likes bird watching. I like red wine. Stuff like that. One of the most marked differences between us, I think, is the way we plan for major events. While I'm good at scheduling the details of daily minutiae - dinner, for instance - my reaction to more monumental undertakings can be, well, more relaxed, shall we say.

Like when we moved, I didn't understand why we couldn't just throw all the stuff we owned in the truck really fast, and just have it over and done with. J, on the other hand, wanted to organize everything in an incredibly specific manner, and then pack it into boxes, then into the truck. I'm pretty sure his way was better. In fact, I think his way was the reason we were able to get the 343,873 tons of books we own into the U-Haul. Because, you know, they were packed nicely. Not in garbage bags.

The thing is, of course, that for a person like me, watching a person like J get ready for a big trip can be difficult. Not because he's doing anything wrong - not at all - just because I don't enjoy the process like he does. It's like how he doesn't like shopping at Nordstrom with me, even though it will greatly benefit him in the end and he knows it. Nobody's at fault. That's just how it goes.

But I knew this upcoming road trip would be a good chance for him to enterprise on his skills as a Highly Organized Planner and that, thanks to the fact that we don't have a strict schedule to adhere to, he could do this on his own time and I wouldn't even have to know about it.

Furthemore, a road trip, to boys, means gadgets. And because I know boys, I know that they think gadgets are AWESOME.

So I was only mildly surprised when J told me I should come check out the Prius yesterday and the car had basically been turned into some kind of space station.

Our new, portable GPS unit, which gives us ridiculously detailed directions in a female, British voice, was suctioned to one corner of the windshield. Our iPod was fastened to a vent and our XM radio was sticking up out of a cup holder, attached to a plastic contraption.

Which means we spent about 20 minutes sitting in the car in the driveway before we left to go out last night while J turned everything off and on, and punched in the final destination address on the GPS, even though we knew perfectly well how to get there, and then when the unit started talking, telling us to "turn right at the end of the road," like we'd done in order to get anywhere a thousand times before, he looked at me with a satisfied smile as if to say, "You see? We have arrived."