Get Thee Behind Me, Satan

In a haze of exhaustion and meeting battle-weariness, I made my way to the local Apple store last night. After the utter geekdom of the tech conference a week ago, I began to think of all of the possibilities that a come with a laptop. (In general, these all involved sitting in a sun-drenched coffee shop somewhere, drinking the world's best latte, writing fabulous prose on a sleek titanium number. Isn't it sad that that's the best I can come up with? I should at least be able to envision myself as an international assassin a'la Angelina Jolie in Mr. and Mrs. Smith or something...) So, I did a bunch of research (which includes surfing websites, chat boards, and exhanging many many emails with the goddess of all things Apple--Lee). All of which resulted in the same conclusion: I have to go and play with them to really know if I can switch. What if I can't adjust to the track pad? I adore the deep action on regular keyboards (as I did on my parents' old typewriter)--what if the shallow sponginess of notebooks makes me cringe? Thus, the in-person visit.

HUGE MISTAKE.

If you've never been in an Apple Store, be warned. They are well lit and clean and white and there are all kinds of things to play with. The people who work there wear all black, go by names like "Scooby" and have piercings. It's the total "My computer makes me a rebel" hard sell. And I ate it up. With a spoon. Because I'm a pushover like that.

So, I slapped down the plastic and came home with this:

(That sound you hear is of the heavenly angels' chorus.)

It is beautiful and fast and has a glossy screen that totally enhances the quality of the picture. The keyboard lights up. In sleep mode, the indicator light pulses like the thing is breathing, for crying out loud.

I feel a bit like I've just eaten an eight course meal, with the middle six progressively more French, more haute, and more drenched in butter. Despite this bloated feeling of indulgence, everything is super.

Feel free to justify my spending habits in the comments.