Good-bye Dell. Hello debt.

Forty-five minutes of my life on the phone with Dell Customer Care today. Why: My computer won't turn on. Why is this: I don't know.

I first bought this machine back in 2004. It was a rough transition, but eventually, just like my dishwasher and garbage disposal, it quickly became something without which I could not live. Oh sure, the virus control software is a pain, makes the system slow to a snail's crawl, and the fan is always running, and if you actually have it on your lap, which isn't, I don't think, unreasonable, given the fact that it's a laptop, you suffer third-degree burns after ten lousy minutes. But it was mine. Not bought on credit, after all, but on love. And a school financing program.

Still, it's not much use to me if it sits there like a damn log. I probably should have known better, but I dialed the customer service number, prepared for any catastrophe they could throw my way.

The guy on the phone's first question: "If the computer isn't working, how did you get the e-mail for our tech support?"

I answered that there was another laptop in the house. "Then why not just use that one?"

(I know. I didn't believe my ears either.)

Anyway, the tech guy had me do everything but make the machine a damn cup of coffee. I took out the hard drive. The memory card. The optical drive. The vas deferens. Piles of electronic guts were surrounding me, and still, nothing.

I unscrewed. I rescrewed. I lost screws and then I found them. I swore like a sailor. I breathed heavily while on hold, just to register my displeasure when the guy got back on (showed him). I pushed buttons and prayed to heathen gods, all to naught. The Inspiron 5160, which I've hailed as a life-changing purpose all these years, sat smugly, like a seventh-hour senior waiting his date with the prom queen.

The verdict: One new motherboard, priced at about $560.

"What does a motherboard even do?" I asked skeptically. "Do I absolutely need one to run this thing?

I didn't pay much attention to the answer. Something about it being the metaphoric transmission to the computer's so-called engine or something. But hell, I once kept my fanbelt running with a pair of nylons. Don't tell me that in the 21st century, we can't juryrig a soup can and a rubber band to do the job for us.

Apparently not. My order, while not placed, is sitting on account, ready for my authorization.

So I'm sitting here in my kitchen, feeling dehydrated and strung out, like I'd crawled through the attic to fix the wiring in 100-degree heat instead of simply sitting in my chair, bent over a recalcitrant computer. And I'm figuring, $560 for a damn motherboard that might buy me another year, but will ultimately crap out as well? It might be time to go the Mac route.

I hate even saying that. It's like a surrender of sorts: the revolution I led against Apple Computers back in the 1990s is finally over. Buying my Ipod was bad enough; buying a Mac notebook is the final step. I've no idea what my aversion is to the Apple: you can still use Windows, you can work on just about any network you want, it's a total revolution, it's got enough memory and power to run a nuclear sattelite, blah blah blah. Maybe I've got an unfair ethos built in my head concerning Mac users--they're yuppified, latte-swillers, electronic namby-pambys who know nothing about the joys of awaiting your downloads over a slow, clunky internet connection. That's not good enough for them. They want their music now. They're not content to wait another ten minutes for illegal downloads. God forbid they have to lift a ten-pound machine hot enough to fry an egg on, oh no. The kids might get hurt.

It's probably time to ditch such thinking. Even if it's true, it doesn't do me any good. I love lattes.

So, in addition to home renovations and whatever else has to be done at the new place, I apparently have to scrape up enough dough to buy a new computer. And then join the revolution. Weeping.