So, there you go. The iPad. It’s big, yet thin. Sleek, yet functional. A giant iPod touch, yet not a giant iPhone. Shiny, yet without an oily t-zone. But above all else, the new iPad is Magical.
Like a leprechaun inappropriately riding a unicorn. Or like a wizard casting a +10 firecrotch spell. Or like Canadian bong enthusiast/illusionist Doug Henning. Except not dead.
How do I know the iPad is Magical? Because Steve Jobs, Phil Schiller, and Jonathan Ive told me so during the iPad’s unveiling yesterday. Repeatedly. And then sent me spam about it being Magical. Repeatedly.
So, by Jove, the iPad must be Magical. Which means I will buy one. Because if it’s Magical, it will no doubt cure my busted pancreas. And that’s worth 500 bones to me. Heck, I’ll even spring for the 64GB 3G version if it means I can carbo-load on Dunkin Donuts without cranking up the insulin pump.
Semi-seriously, the iPad seems like a nifty enough device. I’d surely take one if someone gave one to me. Will I buy one? Ehhh, I dunno. I’m sure it’s handier to use for a lot of basic stuff—especially web fun—than my MacBook Pro whilst lounging on the divan. And the prices are pretty nifty, although the $130 bump for a 3G radio seems a tad much. It’d be quite handy for watching movies on a plane. And by "plane" I mean "commode."
But Magical? I’m afraid that’s just an illusion.