There is a lot that I cannot do.

Open heart surgery looks particularly hard. Ditto brain surgery, rocket science, heck, even simple algebra is over my head.

But one thing I do know how to do, and very well I might add — all by myself — is go to the bathroom. So when I walk into a men's room at a fancy Manhattan steak house, the last thing I need is help. I don't need mouthwash, or Drakkar Noir or even a stick of gum.

And I certainly don't need someone to pump the handle on the paper towel dispenser three or four times for me. In short, I have no use for the bathroom valet.

None.

I don't want your cologne, or your Scope or your Doublemint gum. I don't even want your "How you doin'?" I just want to use the facilities in peace. I don't want to be guilted into throwing a dollar into your tip jar.

I shouldn't have to give you money for something I can do very well on my own. You see, I'd rather give that money to my server or my sommelier. I need help in getting my food from the kitchen to my table. I'd like someone else to go into the wine cellar and retrieve the bottle I ordered, bring it to my table, pop the cork and then pour it into my glass.

But help in the john? No, thank you. Don't want it. Didn't request it. Don't even want to think about it.

It's bad enough that the bathroom can barely fit two people as it is, I don't need to be squeezing by the bathroom valet getting in and out. Nope. Not interested. No, siree.

And how does one apply for the job as the bathroom valet anyway? Do you think they walk in to a club or a restaurant with a resume full of references for the job? How does one even request the position?

"No, Mr. Manager, not interested in waiting on tables, cooking or even busing tables. What I really want to do is spend six hours in the men's room handing out paper towels and sticks of bubble gum to men who are in dire need of a urinal. Now that's how I want to contribute to society."

I don't really get it.

And then there's that awkward moment when you use the bathroom for a second time. You feel the need to announce loudly enough for everyone else to hear that you were already there and "I got you last time."

Not to mention that the last thing I'm thinking about as I'm heading to the facility is bringing my wallet with me, "for the bathroom valet." Heck, I barely carry cash anymore as it is. Next thing you know the valet will have a credit card machine for tips.

So to the bathroom valet, the concept of the bathroom valet, the nightclubs and restaurants that employ the bathroom valet and the society that makes the bathroom valet even conceivable, I say Grrr!

They All Look Alike

Saw this great picture of Nicole Kidman in the New York Post over the weekend. I was thinking, darn, she looks better and better every year. And then I read the caption. The photo was of Jude Law's embattled honey Sienna Miller.

Sienna Miller?

She looks just like Nicole Kidman. In fact, that happens a lot. I interviewed Cindy Crawford at an Ultimate Fighting event and someone asked me what it was like to interview Julia Roberts. I said I never did. The person insisted that I interviewed the "Pretty Woman" star. I was flabbergasted. Could I have forgotten an interview with Roberts? I highly doubt it, but stranger things happen.

After further investigation, it was the Crawford interview the person was talking about. "They all look alike" he said. I agree.

If you think about it, a lot of famous women look alike. Reese Witherspoon (my girlfriend, as my wife calls her), looks like Kelly Clarkson. Emmy Rossum of "Phantom of the Opera" fame is interchangeable with "The Princess Diaries" star Anne Hathaway. Paris Hilton looks like Ruth Buzzy. Mischa Barton ("The O.C.") looks like Tom Cruise's paramour, Katie Holmes. Jenna Jameson, the porn star, looks like Pamela Anderson. Rachel McAdams ("The Notebook") can star in any Kate Bosworth ("Win A Date With Tad Hamilton") movie. Kelly Ripa (also my girlfriend, according to my wife), looks like Charlize Theron — well, not really, but she is my girlfriend.

Okay, I'm digressing big time, but you get the point.

Back to Miller for a minute. A lot of people might be wondering why she did not leave Jude Law after he had sex with the nanny. My theory is as jaded as Grrr!, so take it with a grain of salt.

While Miller is somewhat famous in England, did you ever hear of her before the Jude Law/nanny sexcapades? Nope. My theory is that the whole darn sex-with-the-nanny thing was a total set-up to boost Miller's career. Think about it. Everywhere you turn, you see Sienna Miller these days.

Law not only used the nanny for a roll in the hay, he also used her to manipulate the media into making his fiancee a star. Not bad.

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