Donate My Organs, Cremate My Laptop

A close friend of mine died. No misbehavior, no illness, no violence, no stupidity, no suffering, no warning. His heart stopped. He was about my age -- who expected him to die? To be accurate, everyone except those weird download -your -ass -onto -a -zip -drive -and -freeze -your -head -ex -hippie -geeks expected him to die someday -- but no one expected him to die this soon.

He had been in L.A. temporarily, and I was part of the team of sobbing friends who boxed his stuff to send back East. We puzzled over his laptop. Would there be flames that might be inappropriate for his family to read? Would he have wanted his girlfriend to go through all of his saved e-mail?

We didn't worry too much. He was a brilliant, kind, sweet, thoughtful man, and although we didn't look, I'm sure his computer contains no surprise pain for his loved ones.

But what about you? And if that doesn't freak you out enough -- what about me? Man, oh, man. Do you want everyone cursoring through your files when your alibi days are over? What about those last couple of gifs you downloaded? And if you don't die as clean as my buddy, how would your "Favorites" list look on CourtTV?

Police can cop things from the scene. Wills may take too long, or get contested. If a chosen sibling can get there first, grab the machine and sift through it -- cool. But you might want to make all your friends and family promise that the first one on the scene will reformat the hard drive and destroy all the backup.

No discussion, no committee -- just do it the second you start dropping to room temperature. If there's a chance you're a post-mortem Kafka, put the evidence on a well-labeled disk and keep it current. And if you've got someone you love or hate -- drop them mail now and get it out of the way.

You don't care who gets your money; the government will steal the bulk of it anyway. You don't care if your bowling shirt goes from Goodwill to Melrose, where a nose-ring will wear it ironically. But your computer, man -- that's the closest thing we've all got to a soul. And we're all not as pure as my friend, Barry.