The television series "Lost" was one of my family's favorites. All of us would gather every Wednesday evening for the latest installments. I was often shouted down: "Dad, shut up!" or "Nobody wants to hear it, Taylor," because I couldn't restrain myself from opining. Partly because I was frustrated with the story lines. And partly because nobody on earth has more experience with all things "lost" than yours truly. I've lost almost every personal, important and required item that is needed in modern-day life. This includes house keys, wallets, expensive noise-cancelling headphones (many times), credit cards, smart phones, tablets, diaries, membership cards, carry-on bags and all sorts of identifications including my driver’s license and passport. Pretty much anything you can name that fits in your hand or can be carried by hand, I've lost it. Yes, I've also misplaced or mislaid my dignity and my mind, both relegated to the bottom of a lost & found bin somewhere in the universe. It's not hereditary, it's not an illness, but it isn't curable, either. At the same time, and this is where the word "luck" gets defined in my world, most of the items have been returned! I've had strangers call me from other countries who have recovered my phone; airline reps sending urgent emails with information about my lost wallet; one time a fellow comedian found my backpack in an airport parking lot, saw my name and contact information on it, and overnighted it to me without asking for anything in return! My latest fiasco just took place in Norway when I left my iPhone in a taxi at the airport. I discovered the loss right away, used a friend's cell phone to make calls, emailed everyone I could think of with my tablet, and sure enough, within a couple of hours the phone had been found and given to the cruise director on the Disney Magic where I had just finished a week of performances. It's on its way to me now, via FedEx, with whom I might as well have an annuity because I use them so often just to return lost items. I include my brain as having been lost. After the 14-hour flight back to the USA, I got to my car at the airport. I had apparently left it running the day I left, some 7 days before, so there was no gas. I called AAA and, even though it was a busy holiday weekend, a man showed up within an hour with a gas can. I headed to the closest station, filled the tank and drove to the beach where I would meet my wife who rolled her eyes when I told her what had happened. She understands it: I'm a lost cause.