My room, in peak disarray, appears as a whirlwind of objects: Compact discs, magazines, baseball caps, forgotten cups of calcified Yoo-hoo from study sessions of semesters past, telephone messages scrawled circa Falco's reigning days on the pop charts (rock me Amadeus!) and enough loose chips and snacks to create the most eclectic trail-mix in history. It painfully reminds me of how I can often be a mindless consumer, a slave to the incessant stream of predatory advertising aimed at my demographic group. Most of us have more unnecessary stuff than you can shake a "topsy-tail" at.

The mess makes me think about a hitchhiker that Jack Nicholson's character picks up in the film Five Easy Pieces. She dreams of moving to Alaska, because there, she won't be surrounded by crap. Today, in the age of infomercials, the hitchhiker's anti-materialistic notions sound refreshingly appealing.

Try confronting a concrete situation: You are forced to move to Alaska, sentenced to a life of solitude, and you can only take three items with you (not including life-sustaining necessities). What shall you bring?

After minutes of deliberation, I arrived at a list of three essentials for my extended stay in the northern taiga and tundra. Keep in mind that your list may differ from mine, since there exists a quintessential cluster of three items for each individual, and you may wish to consult with a trained astrological professional before compiling your own personal cluster.

The first item I would take would be that wonderful blue device that has been bestowed upon the human race -- the Thighmaster. Isn't Suzanne Sommers extraordinarily persuasive? This marvelous piece of exercise equipment would keep my thighs toned and my biceps bulging in the snowy plains. Living in solitude is not an excuse to be unfit, and the massive layers of muscle the Thighmaster would afford me could serve as insulation during those chilly winters. Besides, when I go the way of all flesh and a pack of polar bears find my lifeless carcass, I would rather they had a meaty feast on a musclebound cadaver than a pittance of a meal on an emaciated one.

A guitar is my second object of fancy. I need not mention how rewarding it would be to expand my repertoire of Alaskan folk tunes, plus, if asked to do "Alaska Unplugged" for MTV, I would be well prepared. More importantly, if I am correct, a musical instrument is required when one wishes to tame wild animals, as I would plan to do. What could be more magnificent than an army of foot soldiers to do my bidding in the arctic? Ah, the glory! There would be bears building monumental ice structures in my name, and penguins carrying me on a glistening chariot of icicles! Yeah, I know there aren't any penguins in Alaska, but doesn't it sound nice though?

The third and final item that would go with me has been a fascination of mine for many years. The only way in which I can describe it does not appreciate its delicate beauty, but here goes: It consists of a frame with strings suspending five shiny, metal spheres that freely swing and collide with a captivating clicking sound that sends me reeling into a euphoric trance. You may have caught a glimpse of this marvel on a desk in a doctor's office while your little brother's bladder control problem was being discussed. Engrossed in the motions of the balls being displaced, my time in Alaska would pass quickly, and it would offer an educational lesson in physics so as to keep my mind sharp while in solitude.

If I could remain occupied in Alaska with these three contraptions of modern civilization, then perhaps I can limit the number of artifacts that clutter my life in the continental United States.

In fact, all of the crucial affairs facing our nation and world could be more effectively dealt with if more of us were less obsessed with material possessions. The way I see it, you can't claim ownership to any object; long term borrowing is a more fitting term. You can't take it with you, so why not focus on your spiritual self, which is yours forever.

OK, so maybe I haven't been frank with you. I was also planning on taking my collection of Gloria Estefan music with me. She's right though, the rhythm is gonna getcha. I have also grown attached to my Connie Chung Pez dispenser. Those little candies come out of her mouth almost as elegantly as the news. And don't expect me to go anywhere without my talking Webster doll. There's just something soothing about his voice.

Perhaps I have been too harsh with the three item restriction. Cutting down on material items cannot be done cold turkey. I think that gradual change is called for in this situation. I will discard one item from my room each day. However, the two-piece Mr. T pajamas count as two items! I've been meaning to clean up my room anyway, even if it means that a few animals will be out of homes.

So, toss out your cuisinarts and Rubik's Cubes (few of us could solve it without peeling off the stickers anyway) and pack your bags, 'cause it's time to move to Alaska!