I am a right-wing rock and roll girl, actually. Well, sort of.

Pnin is in the desert with Frank Buckley and a bunch of judges talking about law and economics. So I am here in Arlington by myself for a week.

Yesterday, there was a spider in the bedroom. I was momentarily freaked out by the thought of having to kill it. I contemplated putting up a Facebook status update asking if someone local was willing to come over and kill it for me, and/or making a few discreet phone calls to nearby friends. But I thought better of it, remembering the above scene, and decided to (wo)man up and kill it myself.

My spider-killing weapon of choice was a biography of the Duke of Wellington that happened to be lying by the bed. Only after I'd done the deed did it occur to me that I really ought to have used a copy of National Review. We have a bunch in the magazine basket downstairs, actually.

This incident may or may not prove that I am more Vulcan than either Annie Hall or Lori Gottlieb.