Luggage

I realized the other night, on the drive home from work, that I had a problem. A little red light on my dashboard was blinking, the one that tells you your copilot is a God-Damned Idiot and has not buckled their seat belt. I began to worry, not because my passenger was in danger, but because I had no passenger. Clearly, I have a phantom aboard my Toyota. Not that that's the biggest threat these days anyway.
After some brief tests, I realized my backpack, and therefore all that is in it, is enough weight to trigger the seat belt light. How heavy does that bastard have to be?
Eleven pounds.
Eleven fucking pounds.
Average weight for a newborn baby is only eight. What the living hell do I strap to my back that weighs more than a new human life?
Quite a lot, actually, the pack rat I am. iPod (with waterproof, drop resistant case), headphones, two types of deodorant, several old pay-stubs I keep forgetting to file away, compass (I don't know why) binoculars (for when I need to use the compass, I guess), vitamins, weightlifting gloves, antidepressants, Idea Notebook, schedule, whatever hardback book I'm reading at the time (this week: The Complete Sherlock Holmes), glasses case with spare glasses (and sunglasses!), and, on occasion, a 17.3" laptop that adds a further eight pounds.
Why do I carry so much junk? Because I like to be ready? Ready for what? A foul-smelling brightly lit monster that is actually friendly but disgruntled and disoriented, and needs to see something that is far away and then needs to know which way is north? Is it because I just keep my life in my backpack? How much does yours weigh? Wasn't this a message in Up in the Air, starring George Clooney? Yes, but he was a misguided dick in that film, so never-mind that.
Step on the scale! Share your weights and knick-knacks!