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A little less than a month ago, I bought a new MacBook. I'm sure it's superior to my five-year-old G4 in hundreds of ways that I will never know or care enough to appreciate, but so far I've only managed to notice that it's ... not the same. Typing is more slippery--there's none of that reassuring vestigial typewriterish resistance behind the barely raised letters and numbers. Both shift keys are intact, the screen isn't smeary, and the whole apparatus isn't encrusted with crumbs and cat hair. There's a built-in camera so I can (entertain the horrifying prospect of engaging in) video chat with friends and loved ones. No one has yet photographed this computer to illustrate a magazine story about, like, "Bloggers: What's Up with That?" When I use it to access the Internet, there are no effortful whirring sounds, no spinning wheels, no hesitations. I never have to force-quit half the programs I have open in order to make one of the others work. Really, it should be no problem at all--really, I should be eager--to transfer my music and documents and programs to my new computer so I can get the old one out of my life forever.

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