I fought the tablet, and the tablet won

Despite owning one, tablets are still largely a mystery to me. And no, I’m not talking about giant stone slabs, although frankly those would be more my technological speed. You don’t need a user manual when all you’re working with are a hammer, chisel and a chunk of rectangular rock.

It’s amazing how the very definition of the word “tablet” has changed so dramatically in recent years. For me, it once evoked images of Moses trudging down Mount Sinai with God’s commandments, finally providing his people some much-needed clarity on the whole murder issue. These days, a tablet is something you use to play “Candy Crush Saga” while waiting for your checkup at the dentist. Not quite as epic, I’d say.

That there’s now a tablet in my living room feels like a betrayal of some deeply held ideal. See, for years I was vehemently anti-tablet. I reckoned they were a time-waster, nothing but an oversized smartphone minus the ability to actually make calls. I bemoaned their contributions to dwindling attention spans, their forceful advancement of the virtual on everyday life. And I was right. People now fill every second of their downtime with touchscreen adaptations of Wheel of Fortune -- rather than, I dunno, sitting and thinking about stuff. Which people used to do.

Grudgingly, though, I came to admit that they can be useful. Sometimes. Ugh, I’m choking on the words.

My cautious acceptance of them began about a year ago, on a flight to Las Vegas. The two-leg trek out west was a lengthy one, and while I came prepared with the requisite book and Game Boy (yes, I still have a working one), a little variety is the best antidote for airline-inspired boredom. Prior to leaving, I thought I was really clever: I packed my laptop, reckoning I could just fire it up and surf the web, do some writing, maybe ask Google why suddenly I’ve had to trim my nose hair so damn much.

Soon after lifting off the ground at O’Hare in Chicago, I whipped out the trusty laptop, flipped up the screen … and then panicked. If you’ve ever sat in coach, you know how little space you have in front of you, and I quickly realized there wasn’t enough room to flip the screen up all the way. Instead of being open at a comfortable 100-degree angle, my machine was stuck at a useless 45 degrees. The only way I’d be able to see the screen was if I retracted my head into my body like a turtle and cut out eye slits in my chest cavity. Lacking the necessary surgical implements, this was out of the question.

At this point I had two options. I could admit defeat, tuck the laptop away and simmer in bitterness. Or I could fly into a rage, turn to the nice-looking man seated next to me, and punch him right in his nice-looking face. I chose the former. I think that was wise.

For the first time in my life I found myself thinking, “Boy, I sure could use a tablet right about now.” It would have been so perfect. How easy it would have been to lay it flat on the tray table in front of me and swipe and tap my way across the internet. If the mood had struck I could even have watched a movie on it -- one of my own instead of the dreadful fare they were showing on our tiny individual seat-back screens. Most of the airline’s offerings were box-office bombs starring once-famous sitcom stars with bad mustaches. I don’t know if you’ve flown the friendly skies lately, but they’re not exactly screening “Casablanca” on these things.

For my purposes, buying a tablet brand-new is pretty unjustifiable; I’d be shelling out hundreds of dollars for a seldom-used brick that can stream Stephen Colbert interviews and do little else. So to have one on hand for those rare moments of need, I decided to nab a used machine, thinking they couldn’t be that expensive. After all, we’re talking about a device that weighs less than a baby and boasts fewer features than a library copy of “Anna Karenina.”

Reality stinks. Even used, tablets often sell for $200 or more, which is money better spent on things that keep me alive, like groceries and Netflix. You’d think these contraptions were made out of solid gold and the tears of ancient dragons.

Short of robbing a jewelry store, starting a pyramid scheme or selling off my prized collection of Superman comic books, there were few things I could do to justify spending that kind of dough on a tablet. You don’t shell out 200 clams for something you anticipate using solely on airplanes, unless it’s a device that mutes the sounds of snoring coming from the narcoleptic dude who fell asleep on your shoulder five minutes after takeoff.

That’s what friends are for. A buddy of mine was looking to unload his and so I managed to snag one for cheap. Now all I have to do is mow his lawn for a month and iron his pleated khakis. That’s a fair trade, I guess.

Only now the tablet is mocking me. There it is on my coffee table, cackling, grinning devilishly as it plots to hook me on the two-dollar tap-and-swipe games in Google’s app store. “Soon.” it’s saying in its best Rod Serling voice. “Soon you’ll be whipping me out on your lunch break so you can check your Facebook feed and look up recipes for low-fat banana bread. Soon you’ll be face-timing with San Francisco tech geeks and shooting YouTube videos on a screen the size of a frying pan. Make no mistake, Lagasse: You will be mine.” It says all that and more, although that could just be the peyote talking.

Buyer’s remorse aside, it’s nice to have one lying around, just in case a need arises. If God ever gives me a new set of commandments, I’ll be able to carry them around a lot more easily than Moses did.