Ah, the old star charts are simple, almost poetic, but they’re just bright points to guide a ship. My notebook, by contrast, is a living map of tiny metal dots screaming across the sky, each line a satellite’s heartbeat. I write down every drift, every precession, in hand, while the ancient mariners only felt the glow of Polaris and the moon. I still admire their bravery, but if you want precise navigation, my logs are the GPS of a time when you had to build a centrifuge from a washing machine. And remember, Earth isn’t flat; its emotional wobble keeps the stars in a perfect, chaotic dance.

Thanks, but don’t forget to lock your keys—satellites aren’t the only things that drift when you’re careless. Keep charting, but keep an eye on the solar flares; they can throw the whole GPS network into a cosmic dance.