Sir Monkeypants and I are moving in October, and we’ve started packing already because we want our current house to look nice and streamlined and IKEA-like for the sale, and also because soon my belly will be too big to allow me to bend over any boxes. We’re starting with our books because we have hundreds of them, and we’ve been totally inspired by the decorating show Clean Sweep to get rid of crap. On Clean Sweep the people always have dozens of book boxes that come out of their unbelievably overstuffed offices, and the organisation people are always saying stuff like, “Good work so far; now, I want you to take these ten boxes of books that you’ve already been through and cut them down by at least half again.” So we are quite determined to be tough.

So far we’ve been through about half of our books, and I had a personal goal of eliminating at least 25% of them, and we’ve actually been dumping about 30%, so that’s pretty good. I’m amazed at myself; I used to think all books were precious items, to be long cherished, and that a huge library was the mark of a cool person. Now I just look at all the stupid titles I regret buying over the years and shake my head at the state of modern literature. We’re trying to only keep books that we would either recommend/lend to a friend, or would re-read ourselves.

This is what I’m getting rid of:

• crappy novels I bought based on hype, including Nick Hornby’s How To Be Good (more like How to be Bad — har har!) and Jonathan Franzen’s The Corrections (horrid, depressing, and boring novel)
• university textbooks that I can no longer understand, let alone use for anything practical in my job
• cutesy books from my junior high school days featuring photos of teddy bears having picnics and trimming Christmas trees
• pretentious books of classic poetry I bought as discards from my high school library
• just about every book club book I’ve ever bought

That last one is especially sad. I must say I have to declare my 3+ years as a book club member as a bit of a failure. I think lots of people in my club got into it because they wanted to be exposed to new authors, or new types of books that they wouldn’t normally read themselves. I know I had dreams of getting to know several new authors that I’d just love. But I’ve found that most of the people in my club like different authors/styles than me for a reason — I just don’t enjoy the kind of books that they do. As a result, I’ve would up reading lots of stuff I wouldn’t normally read, but I hated all of it. I think if I ever join a book club again, I’d make sure it was a) very small and b) included only close friends that shared my taste in books already. That way, we can actually recommend stuff to each other that we might actually like.

Certainly next time we do a book purge, I want to be saying a lot more of, “Oh, I loved this book!” and a lot less of, “Man, this one really sucked.”

I’ve tried really, really hard to wean myself from reality television. I’m happy to report I’ve stayed away from American Idol, The Bachelor, and Average Joe, but I’ve been completely unable to stop watching Survivor, and I actually think that The Amazing Race is one of the best shows on television.

And now, I feel I’ve sunk to a new low, since I’m highly attached to The Apprentice. But in my defense, I don’t actually care about how any of the remaining contestants fare or who wins the so-called “prize.” I just can’t get enough of watching Donald Trump.

I used to think he was a total buffoon, and all I really knew about him was dish on his high-profile divorces and money troubles. Now that I’ve seen the show, I still think he’s kind of a goof, but he’s much smarter than I originally gave him credit for. I guess that you don’t get to be a multi-millionaire without being able to read people to some degree. Plus, I love the fact that he embraces his great wealth and goes straight for the maximum cheese. The shot of him walking in front of his airplane in the opening credits cracks me up every time, and his golden apartment must be seen to be believed — yet the man has no shame whatsoever. He’s so confident in his position and wealth, in fact, that he has no qualms whatsoever about telling people they suck, and to stuff it, and that he cares nothing for their petty issues or concerns. He’s all about the bottom line, bad comb-overs, and gilded coffee tables.

Now that’s my kind of guy.

Before Sir Monkeypants and I had kids, I had a secret list where I kept all the stupid reasons why I thought having kids would be a bad idea. Some were silly, some were serious, but eventually, I had an answer to all of them and we went ahead and had The Captain.

One of the reasons was the overwhelming fear that 18 years (at a minimum) of constant responsibility brings. You can never turn off the worry machine for a second; you can’t just sleep in when your kid is hungry and crying and needs a diaper change. Eighteen years seemed like an awfully, awfully long time.

This morning I watched Captain Jelly Belly work hard, with great concentration and determination, for several minutes to figure out how to open a cereal box, unroll the plastic inside, reach in and get a piece of cereal. I was so proud and awed that I actually thought to myself, “18 years of moments like this just isn’t going to be enough.”

I guess I’m hooked.

Today on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire (I wonder if all my posts will refer to game shows?), the following question came up at the $8000 level:

What author is credited with coining the term “Generation X” in his 1991 novel of the same name?
a) David Foster Wallace
b) Bret Easton Ellis
c) Nick Hornby
d) Douglas Coupland

I got excited because the correct answer is Coupland, and I really like his writing and own all his books, so it was a cheesy way for him to get some free publicity. But I also thought that this question was way too hard for the $8000 level, because very few people I meet have ever heard of the book or its author, and have no idea where the phrase came from. I imagine that even fewer Americans know about Coupland, because he’s Canadian.

And I was quite right. The contestant had no idea. She asked the audience and the breakdown went like this: Hornby, 29%; Wallace, 28%; Coupland, 26%; Ellis, 17%. Then she used her phone-a-friend and he told her it was Wallace, so she went for it and blew it. I think the audience should be able to handle any question below the $32000 mark, so clearly this one was way off.

If only I were a writer on Millionaire. Ah, there’s a dream career for you.

But yay, Coupland! He’s cool.

Today I was watching Family Feud (stay-at-home moms get to do stuff like that). The following question came up:

“Who is the most famous person living today?”

I immediately answered Michael Jackson and Madonna, and maybe Tom Cruise and Julia Roberts, or even Harrison Ford, who FameTracker cites as the sun in the solar system of fame.

But the only entertainment personality who actually made the list was Michael Jackson, and he was the last entry, at number 5. The top four answers (which the people playing actually did come up with) were: George W. Bush, The Pope, Bill Clinton, and Saddam Hussein. Even after Bill Clinton was revealed, tipping me off that there were possibly people to consider who aren’t famous for their pretty faces or cool wardrobes, I couldn’t think of anyone who could possibly be considered more famous than Jim Carrey.

That made me think that my whole idea of what makes a person famous is way out of whack. I think it comes from having a subscription to Entertainment Weekly and Chart magazines, instead of one to Time or MacLeans. Back when I was still writing for Sidekick, I used to have two sets of friends that I used as fame-barometers. One set knew the major stars in Hollywood — your Matt Damons, say, or your Drew Barrymores — but didn’t know much about character actors. I used them to determine who was and wasn’t too famous for the Hey, Who Is That Guy? column. Another set, who will definitely remain nameless for their own protection, loved movies but never, ever paid attention to the stars. They had Tom Hanks and Arnold Schwarzenegger down cold, but often when I talked movies with them, they’d say stuff like, “Who is Renee Zellweger again?” and “Which one is Ben, and which one is Matt?” and “We’ve made an exciting new find for your Hey, Who Is That Guy column — a little known gal called Reese Witherspoon!”

At the time I felt I was all superior to both these couples, totally in touch with the galaxy of stars out there. But now I realise that I’m just a big ol’ geek, and other people care about stuff that has actual meaning, like say, politics or religion. I guess it’s true that your average person on the other side of the world has a more likely chance of knowing who George W. Bush is than Nicole Kidman.

I definitely blame Entertainment Weekly. Not that I’ll be giving up my subscription anytime soon.

“TurtleHead” is a phrase that, as far as I know, was invented by my mother. Whenever one of her kids slept too late or too long, and woke up with that disoriented, dry-mouth, headache-y feeling, she’d tell them they had “turtlehead.”

It’s been a really, really long time since I had turtlehead. Having a baby will do that to you. But I did get seven consecutive hours of sleep last night, the most I’ve had since Captain Jelly Belly was born over a year ago. Turtlehead can’t be very far away!