Friday, December 14, 2007
Friday, November 16, 2007
One would think that there is nothing to hate about Tupperware. One would think that Mr. Tupper was really on to something when he invented those plastic, re-usable containers to hold last night's meatloaf, wouldn't one? Well, I'm here to tell you that one would be wrong to think that. If one had any sense at all, one would come to the conclusion, like I have, that Mr. Tupper has invented something so evil and diabolical that dogs around the globe are cursing Mr. Tupper's name for a lack of table scraps.
Let me explain my hatred.
My biggest beef with the whole concept is that only a small percentage of Tupperware actually gets used. According to no research whatsoever, only 6.8% of all Tupperware containers ever get used for anything. And I'm not just talking about for storing the leftover lasagna that no one will ever eat. I'm also talking about using it for catching that last little bit of water stuck in the drain pipe when you are cleaning out the hairball in the trap under the sink. I'm talking about not even being used to stash away the kids' Legos that hurt so friggin' bad when you step on them in the middle of the night. The biggest reason for not being used (again, based on pure conjecture on my part) is because you can't buy just one of these damn things. You have to buy a combo pack consisting of twelve different shapes and sizes. You only need one but The Man is forcing you to buy more than you need! Damn him and his marketing degree!!
More hatred comes from the mis-match between lids and containers. You think losing one sock is bad? I challenge you to match up all the Tupper-lids with all the Tupper-containers in your cupboard. It can't be done. For that matter, I challenge you to not get klunked in the head when you open your Tupper-cupboard and all the Tupper-pieces fall out on top of you like the ping pong balls used to do to Mr. Greenjeans on Captain Kangaroo. If you tell me that all of your various Tupper-pieces are neatly organized, I'll call you a dirty liar and never speak to you again.
The problem is compounded because there are some other bastards out there who have gotten onto the bandwagon and are selling competing brands to Tupperware. I'm not going to dignify them by mentioning their names here but, just like Kleenex being synonymous with "facial tissue", they will never be known as anything other than Tupperware.
And then the compounding is compounded because the pseudo-Tupperware doesn't "mate" with the real stuff. Got an off-brand container? Don't try to force the real Tupper-lid onto it -it just ain't gonna fit no matter how many times you kind of run your thumb around the edge trying to make it snap on there. So now I have 48 containers of various sizes and 57 lids of various sizes and none of those blasted pieces fit together and all I'm trying to do is get a stool sample from the dog to take to the vet! What am I going to do - walk in to the vet's office with a mis-matched lid/container combo that allows the whole waiting room to enjoy the aroma of Fido's little present? I don't think so! Let me have a little dignity in my life!
Let's be honest here, boys and girls. If you didn't eat the lima bean casserole last night, what are the chances that you will EVER eat it? If you feel like you need to Tupper-ize your leftovers out of guilt and because there are kids in Africa starving, just get over it. Throw the crap outside to the raccoons and squirrels if you aren't going to eat it. Before you call the ACLU or PETA or 60 Minutes on me, I'm not equating starving African kids with raccoons - I'm just saying that by the time those nasty lime beans make it to Ethiopia, they are going to be more heinous than they are now so don't lose any sleep over it. How many times have you wondered what that funky-ass smell was coming from the fridge only to open up a Tupperware container and find a brown, fuzzy substance the likes of which you haven't seen since you moved out of your college apartment? And isn't it easier to quickly put the cover back on and quickly throw the whole stinky mess away? Yes, I believe it is.
Even with the price of oil going up, you know darn well that the Tupper-people are making a boatload of money on this stuff. However, if we all join together and pledge to stop using all of the various Tupper-like products out there, the world will be a better place. We'll be swimming in cupboard space, the raccoons and squirrels will be well fed and our stress level from trying to match up square lids with round containers will go down to nothing. Lastly, and perhaps most important, we can stride with confidence into the vet's office holding Fido's stool sample in a Ziploc bag where it belongs.
Thursday, October 18, 2007
And how about when one of the high school punks is visited by another high school punk. Punk #2 may or may not be employed by the fast-food place but, either way, unless you actually remove all of your clothes in an effort to get noticed, the punk/friend will get far more attention than you will. Remember, Sporto behind the counter ain't getting paid on commission so he is more than happy to let you stand there, wallet in hand, while he blathers on to his little friend about the algebra exam in third period. And if it's some chick who is distracting Mr. Hormones behind the counter, you are better off raising a calf of your own, slaughtering it, grinding it into hamburger and grilling it on the barbecue that you built yourself, while tending the potatos that will be used for french fries.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
- The longer the counter at the place, the better the food. If it's just a couple of seats long, it's just a token gesture and the place probably actually cleans their griddle.
- If there is a lot of formica, vinyl and chrome, you know damn well their club sandwich is going to be great. However, if the vinyl isn't cracked, the place is probably owned by a guy who doesn't even work there, in which case the place will suck.
- When you open the bathroom door, does it bump into the toilet? If so, they will have the best cherry pie in town.
- The cook (not "chef") wears a white t-shirt with stains and a white apron with stains and the sweat from his brow is one of the main ingredients in all of his dishes.
Seriously, when was the last time you had a bad meal at a diner? Ain't nobody going to get all creative with chipotle at a place called "Bud's" so there are no surprises. What do you think is going to be on your ham and cheese sandwich at Bud's? I'll give you a hint - there's something from a pig and something a cow. You want more than that? Don't worry, Nancy (Bud's daughter who is working her way through school) will ask you if want "everything" on that before she puts the little slip of paper in that spinning thing that holds all the orders. Chips or fries are 99 cents extra and they come in the "basket" if you are really hungry.
Now compare that to when you ordered the Chilean sea bass at The Bistro. Besides that it took for-frickin-ever for Brooke to get your drink order and then re-appear a while later to take your dinner order, it was a little over-cooked, wasn't it? And you didn't know that it came with leeks, did you? Would you like to see the dessert tray? Sure, it all looks great but after spending $50 on a meal that will only carry me until breakfast tomorrow morning, now I can only afford a Snickers bar so I guess I'll pass on the White Chocolate Mousse. Despite Brooke's cleavage, the whole experience has a way of making me feel a little bit empty.Those expensive joints make a bit of a show of dropping off the bill (bomb?) on the table because when you're plunking down that much money, it's like part of the entertainment. There's a nifty little folder thing that has a little pocket for your credit card and the waiter may have written something gay on the bill like "Thank You". Not so at a good dive. After a big-ass burrito and a cold pitcher of beer followed by a stick of gum, your waitress slides your bill (1/4 the size of the hoity-toity place and yet my pants are just as tight) across the formica with the same fanfare that is usually seen while changing the paper at the bottom of the birdcage. Thanks? I don't think so - she has to get a plate of mozzarella sticks to table 4!
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Trivia abounds in our little world. Song lyrics, movie or TV lines, dates in history and gobs and gobs of it in the sports world. All beautifully useless! Name the last three Americans to win the Tour de France. Who was known as the Desert Fox? What movie is "I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore" from? You, too, can be that annoying guy at the water cooler (do offices still have water coolers?) with all the chicks hanging off of you because you know who Erwin Rommel is. See how trivia can change your life?!
Count the number of trivial pieces of information in this sentence: "U2's 'Pride' was written about Martin Luther King who was shot on April 4 at the Lorraine Motel in Memphis after MLK visited some union garbagemen who were on strike." The correct answer is 857. Is that what you got? You didn't? What kind of dumb-ass are you?! Again, on the surface, this is just a bunch of facts strung together, but when I call you a dumb-ass for not knowing all of them, it becomes trivia and makes you want to punch me in the nose. Regular facts don't cause normally passive people to strike out against others. It's only when useless information is presented in a smart-ass fashion does violence break out. And isn't there a lesson to be learned there, George W. Bush? And, just like the topic of Mary-Ann, don't get me started on labor unions....
I have to admit, though, that the sports trivia can get to be a little much. I was watching some lame sports trivia game show on TV the other day and these dudes knew everything about everything! It's one thing to get all jazzed up about a particular mainstream sport, but when you're rattling off the scores in the semi-final matches of the badminton world championships of 1964, there is no doubt that you also live in your mother's basement and sleep in pajamas with feet in them. How about if you focus all your brain power on curing cancer or something instead of being the mayor of nerd-ville?
One of the beautiful things about trivia is that there is a pretty good chance that the little factoid is complete bullshit. If you want to waste your time checking out Abe's breakfast condiment preferences, you go right ahead. In the meantime, I'll be over here hitting on your girlfriend. Same with Ginger - who cares if it's true?! The more inane (trivial, you might say) the snippet of info, the better! For example, did you know that a mouse's weight is equal to the square root of the length of it's tail? If you want to challenge me, just get out your little ruler and find yourself a mouse and ask him/her to hold still while you measure and weigh him. All I have to do is say I read it (or wrote it, whatever) on the internet and it instantly becomes legit. I have one word for you: Wikipedia. Who checks on that stuff? If I added some lies to an obscure enough entry, it will be spread around the world as fact in no time. Here's one for you: Jared (that irritating guy from Subway) used to be a woman. The next person who reads that in Wikipedia will be asking him to be the spokesman/woman for the Transsexual Times because it MUST be true if it's in Wikipedia!
Along with presenting trivia to your unsuspecting friends comes a certain amount of smugness. It doesn't matter to me if you aren't interested in my useless piece of information - I just like to feel superior knowing something that you don't. Did you know that Elvis had a twin brother who died at birth? You didn't? How can you not know that? What kind of dumb-ass are you? See how great that is! I feel better about myself already! I'm sure all my friends think that my brain must be running at about 113 % capacity even though they say that we usually only use 10%. They probably all think that my superior intelligence is due to my second toe being longer than my first toe. Which, of course, is completely true because I read about it in Wikipedia.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Thursday, June 21, 2007
For that matter, I prefer quiet to noise. As much as I enjoy some high-quality '80's hair band rock and roll, Eddie Van Halen can wear me out with his guitar playing. So, for me, people + noise = hatred.
This post was prompted by a trip to the car repair place to get our super-duper minivan a little more super and/or duper. The garage at least offers the service of taking you where you need to go while your car is being worked and they even pick you up when it's done. Nice! Not so nice was the old guy who blathered on and on about stupid stuff in his life as he took me into work. He covered about 22 topics in the seven minutes we were in the car together, including but not limited to:
his upcoming rotator cuff surgery
his previous rotator cuff surgery
the pain associated with his rotator cuff surgery
his wife's hip and knee replacements
his sister's 60th high school reunion
his nephew's career at GM
his vacation to Florida
During his prattling, I felt obligated to see "oh", "OK" and "Really?" because I'm such a nice guy. He also didn't have the A/C on and I was getting all clammy in the car. You're here to provide a service, Gramps, just get on with it. I'm more than happy to stare straight ahead while you chauffeur me around. Feel free to NOT talk to me.
And how about those long elevator rides with a total stranger? Those are the worst! You go in, you press your button and you proceed to watch the little numbers light up as you go up the building. Of course, you're not just going from the 3rd floor to the 6th floor. You gotta go all the way up to 52! Do I say something? What would I say? "Hot enough for ya?" "How 'bout them Tigers?" "Have you seen that fat guy in Accounting?" It would take an exploding thing of some kind to get me to make idle chit-chat with the other person (that's assuming it isn't a babe who is totally hot for me). Excruciating! If my little elevator buddy wants to talk to me, I might just hear him/her out, but chances are that he/she will just bug me.
I'm happy to report that I work in a two-story building so the dreaded elevator stand-off doesn't happen too often. Unfortunately, said building has a couple of long hallways and the chances of walking down one of them while someone else is walking toward you are pretty good. Damn that architect! So, let me paint a picture for you: I'm walking down the hall headed to a meeting or some other useless activity and pretty soon here comes another lackey doing the same thing. If I'm lucky, I'll have a piece of paper in my hand that I can (pretend to) be looking at, thus avoiding eye/voice contact with the other lackey. If that's the case, I can just kind of glance up as we are passing and mutter a "hey" and keep moving. If I'm really lucky, I will be on the phone and maybe just do the quick, upward head motion that is universally accepted as acknowledging the other person's existence and that's about it.
However, in the event that I don't have any papers in my hand and there is no real use for the phone, I am forced into a stare-down with the on-coming lackey. Do I stare straight ahead? Do I look at everything EXCEPT the person coming towards me? What if it's a babe? How do I check her out without being too obvious? Invariably, we get about 6 feet apart (the exact distance doesn't matter, both parties will know when it's time) and we both do the muttered "hey", making only the briefest eye contact. Oy, vey! I've had root canals that are less painful!
So, here's the deal. Unless you're a babe who is trying to get me in the sack (What?! It could happen!), please leave me alone. If you must say something to me, please just say that it's OK for me NOT to say anything to you - because I really don't want to, I just feel obligated to.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Friday, May 25, 2007
Monday, April 30, 2007
Deal or No Deal: Are you kidding me? Apparently, the name Greedy or Not Greedy was already taken. Here's the premise: There are a bunch of babes holding nifty-looking brushed aluminum suitcases full of different amounts of money up to a cool $1 million. The contestant picks one of the suitcases for himself and then picks a bunch more in hopes of narrowing down the suitcases to determine how much money is in the one he picked for himself. Along the way, a mysterious banker (seen only in silhouette to heighten the drama!) offers the contestant money to stop the whole process and go home. The now-bald-but-with-a-soul-patch Howie Mandel (of blowing up a rubber glove on top of his head fame) is your friendly host. So, anyway, these dumb-ass contestants are offered lots of money along they way. Way more than they would normally see while working behind the counter at the local Hallmark store. Most of the time, the greed gene kicks in and they turn down these offers in hopes of getting even more cash. And most of the time, they get screwed and end up with, like, $1.79 or something. And it serves those dumb-asses right! My last complaint about this show is that the contestants are not picked randomly. People are hand-picked to play so they can bring their families along to cheer them on (there is lots of good cop/bad cop dynamics going on within the family) and the women are usually babes themselves and the men are usually over-the-top characaters of some kind. And Howie is just bald.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Dig: How Little Time is Lost Between the Time a Team Scores a Goal in Hockey and the Time the Puck Gets Dropped at Center Ice.
So I said to myself, "Self, what is it that you dig about hockey if you are such a dumb-ass that you don't even know who plays what position." After much soul-searching, I realized that the thing I like about hockey is that when a team scores an all-too-precious goal, the puck is back in play before you can say Stevie Yzerman is the Man. Janet Jones (wife of Wayne Gretzky) might like to place a little wager on the over/under but that's beside the point.
Somehow, after a bunch of skating around, getting checked into the boards, losing teeth and getting into fights, the puck finds it's way into the net. Nice! The red light goes on, horns sound, fans throw hats (in the event of a hat trick) or an octopus (if it's the Wings scoring) and there is a change of players on the ice. But that's it. There ain't 16 commercials for things you don't need, there ain't much comment by the announcer dudes with their Canadian accents and there sure ain't a marching band or Janet Jackson exposing herself. Within about two minutes, those crazy kids are playing hockey again. Beautiful!
Let's pretend I looked up on-line someplace the average number of goals per NHL game and found it to be 4.3 (we have to pretend because clearly my time is too valuable to waste on such things). With so few goals, you would think that any time the netminder lets one through the five-hole there would be all kinds of analysis, discussion and general wasting of time. Isn't that what the NFL would do? John Madden would fire up his telestrater and blather on and on about who missed a tackle and the condition of the turf and the barometric pressure. There would be replays up the wazoo for even the most boring 2-yard run up the middle. And lets not forget the commercials. Some before the extra point, some after the extra point, some before the following kick-off and finally some more after the kick-off. The NFL isn't called the No Fun League for nothin'!
See, the kickoff after a score in football is to give the other team a chance to re-group and it's their opportunity to even the score. Not so in hockey. If I fire a 100mph slapshot past your facemask with the sweet paintjob, in about a minute and a half I might just do it again. You want your chance to score on me? You better win the face-off, punk, because I'm not going to "kick off" to you and just let you have it. Baseball is cool that way too but there is still too much time between batters with all that jockstrap adjusting and tobacco spitting. Basketball is dumb just because there are so many baskets made. Slam dunk? Big deal - wait a couple of minutes and it will happen again. And how de-moralizing is to score a goal, win the ensuing face-off and then score another goal all in the span of a couple of minutes. Super de-moralizing, that's how much!
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Anyway (or "Anyways", if you prefer), I dig pondering all those ancient mysteries about pyramids, Stonehenge and Bigfoot. I'm also going to put conspiracy theories under this umbrella: Who killed JFK? Did we really land on the moon? Don't get me wrong - most of the theories that are out there surrounding those two examples are pretty out-there but that's kind of what I like about them.
So, below are a few cool mysteries and my observations on same. For the sake of brevity (I'm sure you're disappointed...), I may do some combining and condensing:
Is it just me or are those some big-ass rocks those people were moving around?! That's just one angle of this deal - how did they move those big-ass rocks? The other angle is - what the hell are those big-ass rocks doing laid out like that? I could probably do some research to better educate my vast reading audience on how the big-ass rocks are laid out just right to capture the rays of the sun at the Summer solstice, etc. If I would take a few minutes to google "Stonehenge", I could make some insightful and intelligent comments about the whole deal - but that would be silly. Instead, I'm just going to summarize it by saying the whole thing is pretty twisted. Did they get it right the first time or did they have to let three or four Summer Solstices (try saying that with a mouth full of peanut butter!) go by and move the big-ass rocks a little bit each year to get it right? How about the aliens? Did they use their spaceships and some kind of space-crane or space-ladder to put those big-ass rocks there? What the hell were they even doing it for in the first place?! About the only reason I can think of to spend that much energy on something like that is if there is nothing good on TV. Again, I say it's just plain twisted.
I've been to the spot where he was shot. Kind of creepy. There is a little thing in the road that marks it. If you look "back and to the left" (Seinfeld reference!), you can see where Lee Harvey Oswald (Note the use of all three names. Killers of this caliber - no pun intended - are often referred to with all three names. John Wilkes Booth, James Earl Ray, Mark David Chapman.) shot him from the Texas School Book Depository. Grassy knoll is there too. On a related note, I had a grassy knoll once - a little penicillin cleared it right up! Yeah, so Oliver Stone presents a convincing case in his movie that there was more to the whole thing than Lee sitting in the window waiting for the limo to come around the corner. Ollie presents enough information to create some doubt in my little brain about the whole Warren commission report. And I'm OK with Ollie manipulating my gray matter like that. I don't think it's terribly important to know for sure who killed him anymore. Back in the day, it was certainly important to understand why in the world Jack Ruby made sure that old Lee wasn't able to speak up. Was Jack such a patriot that he must avenge the death of his president? I think not. Now, I just think it's cool to speculate. Even the boys on Mythbusters did a show about it!
Jon-Benet Ramsey Killing:
Killing a kid is just really awful. Plenty of theories out there but someone just plain old got away with it.
Landing on the Moon:
How many people have been on the moon? I'll give you a hint - If you bought a dozen doughnuts, each moon-lander-dude could have one. Of course, it would be tricky to eat it with the whole space suit thing going on, but that's beside the point. Some dolts out there think that the whole landing on the moon thing is staged. They use "evidence" like inconsistent lighting in the pictures, the funky zero-gravity walk that the moon-dudes use and the lack of stars in the background of the pictures to suggest that the whole thing was shot in someone's basement like a bad snuff film. Not sure what they are saying is the motivation for doing this. Believe me, a lot of cogs and widgets and stuff have to work pretty darn well to get a guy from Florida to the moon and back so I'm not saying it's easy. Cripes, we have enough problems making a decent car (see Ford Pinto, Chrysler K-Car and the Yugo) let alone a friggin' rocket! However, my glass is half-full today and I'm going to stick with the idea that, sure enough, we played a little golf on the moon.
Bigfoot, Loch Ness Monster and that goofy Woodpecker in the Everglades:
Love Bigfoot! How can you not? He was even on The Six Million Dollar Man. If you're on The Six Million Dollar Man, you have definitely arrived! Unfortunately, I don't think he is really out there. As a matter of fact, a couple of years ago a guy admitted to faking that movie clip that supposedly shows a She-Bigfoot walking through the woods. Now, that guy might be from the Jack Ruby school of buzz-wreckers but I'm inclined to agree with him: there ain't no such thing as Bigfoot. There are plenty of people who have "seen" Bigfoot or even a whole herd of Bigfeet and have casts of their footprints and stuff but, just like people who have "seen" UFOs, they often live in trailers and use words like y'all, yonder and seen (instead of saw) so they can't be trusted. Same deal with the Loch Ness Monster. I know Loch Ness is really deep and everything but I just don't think old Nessie is down there. As far as that stupid bird in the Everglades (or wherever) goes, perhaps if those people put as much effort into curing cancer we could save a lot on our public healthcare costs.
This one's a toughie. Fox Mulder was convinced that there were lots of UFOs flying around out there and I really liked The X Files so I'm having a hard time discounting his theories. And Close Encounters of The Third Kind was really cool, especially when Richard Dreyfuss was sculpting the Devil's Tower out of mashed potatoes. I've never seen a UFO or an alien (although there is a guy at work who is way freaky!) so I don't have definitive evidence that they exist. At the same time, "swamp gas" and "weather balloons" are used to explain weird crap in the sky all the time and that seems pretty flimsy to me. After all, what the hell is swamp gas? Sometimes after eating a big burrito, I get a little swamp gas but no one ever thinks that a UFO is flying out of my ass! More like a UFO flew up there and crash-landed! Just like I don't think that Bigfoot is really out there in the woods, I'm going to have to conclude that we are alone in the universe. I know it sounds egotistical but I'm like that. Everyone gets all in a lather about finding water on Mars and how it could support intelligent life. Well, I'm here to tell you that we got boatloads of water here on this Big Blue Marble and we got some real dumb-asses around here so don't let a little agua fool you into thinking that Mars would be a good vacation get-away!
So there you have it. You can draw your own conclusions but remember, if you use the word "yonder", you can't be trusted.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
All interviews with actors are the same, no matter who the interviewer is or who the interviewee is:
Interviewer: Tell me about your latest project.
Interviewee: Well, it's a period piece about a woman struggling against the rules that society has placed on her. It takes place in 1843 in a farming town that is run by a ruthless landlord.
I'er: I see. What did you do to prepare for the role?
I'ee: I really wanted to connect with the character so I spent a week living on a ranch. I even wore long skirts and a bonnet to milk the cows. The challenges that those women faced are overwhelming!
I'er: Wow! You really lived it! That must have been difficult.
I'ee: Yes, I had to be up everyday at 6am to milk the cows and slop the pigs. Then I worked in the fields until 3:30. At the end of the day, I made dinner for the ranch hands right alongside the rancher's wife.
I'er: That's real dedication.
I'ee: Well, I wanted to connect with the character -
I'er: Yeah, you mentioned that.
I have one word for you: blah, blah, blah! Who cares?!! I know there is an entire second industry surrounding the entertainment industry consisting of Entertainment Weekly, Entertainment Tonight and various other things with "entertainment" in their titles - and that just blows me away. You go ahead and make your movie. I'll plunk down my cash to see it (or not) and then you go make another movie. See how simple that is? Don't talk to me about connecting with anything and if you bitch about how hard it was for you to slop the pigs at 6am, you can just shut right the hell up.
See, here's the deal. Making most movies doesn't save the world. Yes, "Schindler's List" woke up a lot of people to the whole holocaust thing. And "Hotel Rwanda" isn't exactly about promoting tourism in that country. So those movies do have a positive affect on our consciences. But, even though I totally dig "The 40-year-old Virgin", it's not going to cure cancer.
So, below is how an interview should go for "Schindler's List:
Interviewer: Dude, that's hardcore.
Interviewee: Yeah, I know. That holocaust stuff is nasty. Nazis suck.
See? The movie says it all. You don't need no dumb-ass director or actor or actress telling you anything more about it. Perhaps if the movie sucks, the aforementioned director/actor/actress feels compelled to over-sell it. How many interviews were done for "Gigli"? Could have been a good indicator, don't you think?!
OK, so now let's see what an interview for "40-Year-Old Virgin" would go like:
Interviewer: Dude, that's hilarious!
Interviewee: Thanks, man. Glad you dug it! My life is pretty shiny right now and I owe it all to a stupid movie. I'm a pretty funny guy so this whole thing came pretty easy to me. A couple of times I had to get up at 9:30 but I called in sick the next day! Can't talk now - I'm meeting my agent at the Benz dealer - he has a red 2-seater all picked out for me.
The difference here is that the interviewee knows that his life is good and he's not afraid to chalk it up to making a damn funny movie. He ain't connecting with nothin'! Except maybe the cute teller at the bank where he shamelessly deposits his big fat paycheck. And he's smart enough to know not to bitch about getting his chest hair waxed because no one gives a rat's ass.
Lastly, I must harp on a particular phrase that the "bad" (read: one who takes himself too seriously) actors use. That phrase is "honing my craft". If I hear some dumb-ass actor talk about honing his craft one more time, I'm going to hone my craft right in his face! Your craft?! Are you making ashtrays out of clay now? Doing a little macrame`? Those are crafts. What you are doing is reading some lines and pretending to be someone else. Shoot, sometimes when I go to the bar and take my wedding ring off, I'm pretending to be someone else! Some people call that being a two-timing cheating bastard but, from now on, I'm going to call it honing my craft! I'm sure the wife will understand.
So, people of Hollywood, please just shut up and make your movies and TV shows. Don't blather on about getting into character and how hard it was to be a ditchdigger for 2 weeks during shooting because there are plenty of people out there who dig ditches 52 weeks a year and they don't go home to a big-ass house and a trophy wife and they sure don't pull down the cash that you do. And if you feel the need to hone your craft, you just do that in the privacy of a rest area bathroom!