a little white god i can hold in my lap

Mon dieu, il est arrive! One beautiful, angelic, unmarred little ibook has arrived, dropped off by the ebay stork. Or so i hear from my brother, who was in charge of directing the stork. The series of events went as follows:

DAY 1
Me: I'm considering buying an ibook.
Brother: That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard.

DAY NEXT
Brother: Hey, I've been researching ibooks and perhaps your idea was not criminally stupid. Perhaps there may be something to this "macintosh" thing.

DAY THE FOLLOWING
Brother: Okay! Here's what's happening. There's an auction on ebay for YOUR computer -- it has to be your computer, it's awesome, and it's cheaper than you can get it online. You have to bid for it. If you won't bid for it, I will. Or can you bid for me, actually? I'm at a bar.

And so, the harmless plan to replace my decrepit and w-less laptop, hatched with my co-worker T. only a few weeks ago and which T. and I were perfectly content to keep idly batting back and forth ("should i buy one?" "yeah definitely. should i?" "oh yeah." ... "should i?") cost me $950 because I made the mistake of informing my brother. Ah well.

T. and I spent this evening doing my taxes. If our figures are correct, and they should be dammit because (a) bitch azn!, (b) bitch scored in the astronomical on her most recent standardized math test, and (c) we totally used a calculator and everything, I should get enough back from various state and federal governments to pay for the beaming, beneficent white god and take T. out to a celebratory dinner and apologize for calling her "azn" and "bitch."

In non-laptop related news, I've been thinking about Camille Paglia. Now, Swarthmore as a general rule was the kind of place where you could engage fellows in discussion on just about any topic or personality. But every once in a while, I found, I encountered a topic or personality about which/whom conventional wisdom was so ingrained that there was no discussion to be had. Instead of discussion, fellows substituted a dismissive "pff!" sound. David Horowitz? "Pff!" And so on.

What I can't recall is whether Camille Paglia is a "Pff!"er. Andrew Dvorkin, RIP -- her too. The fear of the dismissive reaction keeps me from raising the issue, or perhaps I should say 'spectre,' of either. But in the two interviews I've linked, I found myself finding Camille somewhat charming, even as I giggle at her Goodyear blimp of an ego. It's mostly due to her snarky disdain for theory, but still, please tell me, am I going to lefty hell? The kind of hell filled with shrines to President Tom Delay and where wednesday night standby West Wing is stripped from the air and replaced with conservative christian apocalyptic fantasies?? (Oh wait ...)

It's hard having to think for myself. No, really.