In the Lap of Happiness (Cigar Smoke 2-14-08)

Well, I hope you guys had a nice Groundhog Day. I bagged me a couple of the critters and had a nice barbecue. They grill up pretty nice. However, do NOT eat the fur. I spent two hours and 126 toothpicks getting that stuff out of my teeth. My teeth aren't brown and oily anymore, but I do smell like Bill Murray.

As many of you know, a few months ago I had my Mac laptop stolen from me on a United Airlines flight. It was very painful, and many of you commiserated with me, and I deeply appreciate that. Outside of shooting your dog, I can't think of anything that would hurt more.

Because a lot of you have not been able to go on with your lives, I thought I should give you an update. When I presented my case to State Farm, my insurance company, they kind of jerked me around a little bit. They said, even though the computer cost $2,300, it was now worth only $1,700. And because, in my Mr. Laris wisdom, I had a $1,000 deductible policy, all they could give me was $700. So I swore, cried, threw something, and then I took the money.

I tried to find another computer on E-bay but it just didn't work out. Some guy named FLOATERBUTT from Georgia sniped me and won the bid. And I tried a couple other bids but, like my love life as a younger man, it just didn't work out. So I decided to be something I never have been: smart.

I waited until after Christmas to get some great deal from Apple on a new laptop. Me — Mr. Expediency, Mr. Have-it-Now or Pee-in-My-Pants — actually waited until after the holidays to buy something. And you know what? It didn't do jack for me. So I say screw maturity. The double-hey-hey-hell with maturity. I didn't feel that good even faking being mature. It made my underwear tight.

But eventually Steve Jobs figured out how to get into my wallet … again. They just came out with a new laptop called Mac Air. It's that slim-ass computer that fits in a legal envelope. I think it's only a half-inch thick. Kind of like Jimmy Carter and Al Gore's brains fused together. Anyway, it cost $1,799. So I scraped together the extra $1,100 by postponing Marge's heart transplant surgery and not donating to charity this year.

Well, it arrived the other day. This nice young Fed Ex guy delivered it, and he said, “Aren't you that old fart who writes that Cigar Smoke column?” I said, “Well, yes, I am the old fart to which you refer.” And he said, “Well, I will think of you every time I fart in the future.” Jeez. You think that is in the Fed Ex public relations handbook?

So I rush inside the house, put the package on the table, take out my itty-bitty pocketknife with the broken blade and slit open the box. What can I tell you? The Mac Air is beautiful. It's silver and shiny and smooth and sexy and slimmer than things that are thicker than a half-inch. I love it. It's perfect. So I made it even more mine by renaming it. Mac Air doesn't do diddly for me. I call mine Mac Lanky. Yes, I am whimpering.

So now I am back in laptop land. I am like all the rest of you laptop lovers. I can whip out Mac Lanky at any time and compute your ass off, buddy. I no longer have to be content with a desktop computer inconveniently located all the way back in the back of my house where Marge lets me have a room of my own that I call a home office and deduct an eighth of the square footage of the house and pretend for the IRS that I do business things back there.

I feel so much more secure now. I turn on the television and put my new laptop in my lap. There's just something sensual about putting something in your lap. Yes, it would probably be better if it was breathing, but we do what we have to do. So now I can watch “Lost” and know exactly why Sawyer is shooting some guy I don't know and Jack is kissing some woman I can't remember and the sexy babe, I think her name is Kate, is looking back over her shoulder wondering why in the hell Jack is kissing that woman instead of her. And right before Hurley drives that van into the enemies' den of badness and saves that Arab dude and the Japanese guy before the psycho leader of the others can order Charlie to be drowned in that secret offshore submarine tank complex, I can check my email. Is life good or what?!

Or say they go into some back-story where Jack is looking at coffins, or Locke is jumping off a 10-story building, and some Australian woman is being aghast because she hears her long lost lover in the emergency call — I can play Scrabble on Mr. Mac Lanky. I love this country.

So now I am back. I have my laptop. I already have a password on it so if some bastard steals it (I still think it was Steve Bass), he won't be able to use it. I'm going to get laptop insurance too. Not for my computer. For my lap. Somebody steals my lap, I am in big trouble. OK, I'm also getting that LoJack Laptop deal.

If someone lifts Mac Lanky, Lojack will tell me his address, and I am going over there and I'm going to take out that lowlife. How am I going to take him out? I'm glad you asked. First I will tell him about the plot lines of “Lost.” That should stun him for a while.

While thief-face is stunned, I will throw my iPod at his face. Then I will throw my iPhone and hit him in his mouth and then I will throw my Kindle right at his nose and then I will throw my Palm Pilot right into his neck. Then I'm going to sling my SlingBox right into his weak forehead. Then, while the blood is trickling down his head, I'm going to call that Fed Ex guy and have him get my desktop computer from my home office and bring it to me right away so I can drop it on his nuts.

That's what I'm going to do.