20 most worthless pieces of junk: #10 -- books in a Kindle world

There's something about books. For a guy like me, raised in a pre-Kindle, pre-personal computer world, they represent an information delivery system that is convenient, portable, and remarkably sensual. Admittedly, leather-bound first editions have a mystique all their own, but even the most humble pulp paperback is a wonderland of smells and textures. While many people probably cringe at the slightly-musty, sour-milk scent of a cheap tome, I always get a little thrill as soon as I catch a whiff of a freshly-opened book.

My passion definitely shows. The walls of my living room, bedroom, kitchen, and daughter's room are all packed with books. Like me, my wife is a book junkie, which means that we need to regularly police our collection, lest our minor addiction become a major problem. Every couple of months, we trek down to a used bookstore or the Salvation Army with armloads of books, culling the collection in order to make room for more.