What's the difference between a guy in his early twenties and the homeless? After they drink a beer, the homeless are smart enough to recycle the bottle.

I'm kidding, of course. Guys in their late teens save beer bottles, too.

It's a common occurrence to walk into a college student's room and see a collection of empty beer bottles. Sometimes this collection features one beer in particular. Sometimes it's a collection of one bottle each of several different beers. Sometimes, there's no rhyme or reason as to which bottles have been saved and which have been discarded. But one thing is always certain - the total street value of the bottles is less than eight dollars.

A beer bottle collection is probably more common than baseball cards or stamps or comic books - yet there's absolutely no market for it. Because the collections are not simply of beer bottles - they're of beer bottles that the collector finished himself. I say "himself" because girls are usually smart enough to throw away their garbage.

If a guy told his friend he collected blown glass, that guy probably wouldn't be invited to the next Super Bowl party. But if that same guy were to mention he'd saved a few thousand beer bottles, his friend would probably say, "cool, can I see?" and "want to come to my next Super Bowl party?"

But glass bottles are kind of pretty. And I don't mean in a "that matches my shoes and my bag" way. Most people agree that bottles are just classier than cans. I don't recall ever seeing anyone with a great beer can collection. Or at least with a great beer can collection on purpose.

There is a variation on the beer bottle collection - the hard alcohol bottle collection. Usually this consists of a few empty bottles of Vodka filled with water to make people think they're full bottles of vodka. Inevitably, someone sees one at a party, drinks it and thinks its vodka, and then throws up all over the carpet even though they're completely sober. Or at least that's what happened at one of my parties.

People who drink because they like the taste of beer don't put their empty beers on a shelf. Usually because these people don't exist. People who drink because it helps them feel comfortable at parties don't put their empty beers on a shelf. Usually because bright red Solo cups don't look good on a shelf. People who drink in order to forget their problems don't put their empty beers on a shelf. Usually because they can't remember where they put their empty beers or shelves. The people who save beer bottles are those that drink for sport.

Collecting beer bottles is like hunters mounting their kills. Even hunters know that a deer head on wall looks horrifically tacky. That's why hunters don't go out and buy deer heads. They're not doing it to decorate - they're doing it to brag. Try offering a hunter a free deer head (assuming you have an extra one). They'll politely turn you down before going out to kill three more deer just because they're worried you may have finished off more than they did. The same thing happens with a beer bottle collector. It's not a coincidence that the words "deer" and "beer" are spelled so similarly. And if you are the type to collect the carcass of something you vanquish, make sure to at least wash it. Especially beer bottles. Put it this way - an empty Amstel Light should never look green.

One thing I noticed about beer bottle collectors is that they rarely move their collections. Despite my not having added to it in about five years, my baseball card collection goes where I go. But that is because I built it up over my entire childhood, and not just over a few good weekends.

I used to have a lot of beer paraphernalia, but I outgrew it. Well, the girls I date outgrew it. The girls I'm interested in now appreciate having a few drinks, but they'd sooner like to see a deer head on my wall than 99 bottles of beer. Which, incidentally, is either a pretty weak collection of empty bottles or a strange way to store full ones.

For those guys reading this that are also outgrowing their beer collections, or at least meeting girls that are outgrowing their beer collections, you may be wondering what to do with all of those empty bottles. For you, I have this piece of advice:

They're worth ten cents a piece in Michigan.

I believe strongly in freedom of religion. Let me correct that. I believe strongly in freedom of religions that don't hand out pamphlets.

I don't picture God up there at the temple mount saying, "I give unto you these ten commandments. And this brochure. I've only got this one copy, but if you need more, you can use the corporate account at Kinkos."

I'm writing this column in response to the rash of Jews For Jesus pamphleteers in my neighborhood. I use the word rash not because I view them as a disease, but because I bet they'd go away if I were to repeatedly cover them in ointment.

My problem with Jews For Jesus does not stem from my disagreement with their philosophies. My problem is their open and constant disagreement with mine. I'm Jewish, but I'd be just as annoyed by their presence if I were Christian or Muslim or Zoroastrian. If you've never run into any Jews For Jesus, let me help explain what they're like. Picture your friend who ALWAYS has to be right. Now hand him a stack of pamphlets.

The term "Jews For Jesus" is a bit misleading. You know what Jews For Jesus used to be called? Christians. That's right - someone came up with the idea of fusing the old and new testaments together long before a few guys did it on a subway platform. The term "Jews For Jesus" is an insult to Jews and Christians alike.

By definition, Jews aren't for Jesus. Once a Jew decides he's for Jesus ("goooo, Jesus!"), he becomes a Former Jew That is Now For Jesus. Or the Artist Formerly Known as Jew. The same goes for deciding to worship Buddha or Mohammed or Apollo or Elvis. If you find a new belief system that makes you happy, good for you. But you can't simultaneously keep the old one. In that way, religions are a lot like girlfriends. Unless you want to be struck down, you should really have one at a time.

Jews For Jesus is basically a marketing ploy. It's a way to convince Jews that they can still be Jewish and yet also support Jesus ("goooo, Jesus!"). And while some people may want to have their cake and eat it, too (what's the point of having cake without eating it?), that only works for me if the cake is kosher.

Imagine if there were people out there calling themselves "Christians For Moses." Do you see how ridiculous this notion is? This kind of marketing does not permeate other areas of our lives. There are no Met Fans For Jeter, no Democrats For Bush. Well, Clinton was, but in a different sense of the word (badum!). Most religions are based on the premise that they are divinely correct, and thus they don't need to market themselves. If marketers got their hands on religion, the new testament would have been called "Testament II: This Time, it's Liturgical."

The oddest thing about Jews For Jesus is where they've been handing out their pamphlets. The house call of a Jehovah's Witness makes sense - you're home so you may have some time to re-evaluate the path you've chosen. But I had a Jew For Jesus accost me outside of Shea Stadium. As if I'm going to say, "Maybe if I gave Jesus a shot, Leiter could get his fastball down. Alright, I'm in."

I like my religion - and not just because of all the holidays. I like it because it's mine, and I like yours because it's yours. Any belief system that preaches morality and honor and integrity is a good one, and I don't care if yours and mine don't completely match up. If we're both happy with them, cool. I have no problem with anyone's beliefs, as long as they lay off mine.

If there are any Jews For Jesus reading this and preparing to send me angry letters, then I have done my job. Not because I've made you question your beliefs - but because you'll spend that much less time handing out brochures.

I watched the Hulk this week. And as a lifelong New Yorker who has seen just about every disaster movie from King Kong to Independence Day, it's about time another city got its ass kicked.

I have nothing against San Francisco - I'm just tired of my city getting destroyed in so many different ways. I usually love watching movies that are shot in New York and spotting things I recognize. "Hey," I'll say. "That pizza place is two blocks from me!" It's not as much fun to say, "Hey - that pizza place was two blocks from me. Before the aliens took over. Now it's a Starbucks."

The Hulk was fun, though not in a monumental way. It was fun in the same way comic books are fun - a relatively simple plot, a clear difference between good and evil, and better acting if you say the lines in your head. Though unknown Eric Bana played a fairly convincing nerdy scientist, they could have found a better hulk than Jose Canseco.

During my 2000 stint as a Yankees employee, I got to know Canseco briefly, and the similarity between the two is uncanny. They're both known for pent-up aggression, the release of which leads to injuries and jail time. They both spent a significant portion of their careers in the Bay Area (wearing green), and they were both a great deal smaller until artificially enhanced by science. The main difference is that Canseco bulked up by choice. As a side note, am I the only one who thinks they cast Eric Bana because of his last name?

The movie stayed true to the comic book and the TV show in that when the Hulk changed, not all of his clothes ripped off. There is no better way to fight the baddies than in a three-foot pair of daisy dukes. How is it that he grows twice his size and the top half of his jeans grow with him? I could use a pair of those for Thanksgiving.

One positive about the Hulk's ever-expanding waistband is that he's ten feet tall and green, and it's good to have something covering him down there. Not even San Francisco is ready for THAT.

I don't want to give away the ending, because then you won't get to gloat when you figure it out for yourself ten minutes into the movie. And I won't comment on the plot, because I didn't see much of one. But I will ask all of you why the soldiers were so ready to fight this thing.

That's a common thread in disaster movies - American soldiers putting their country before their common sense. I've never been in the military, and I have great respect for those that serve. And if I was ever called to represent my country, I hope I would do so proudly - but only against other people. You could never convince me to attack a ten foot green thing in daisy dukes. But throughout the movie, soldiers do. What could possess someone to risk that kind of obvious bodily harm? Of course, these are the same people smart enough to continue shooting at something that swallows bullets.

"Shoot it! I swear, this time it'll work! Okay, this time! No? Maybe this time! Okay, now!"

However dumb the idea of a few tiny men in green shooting at one giant green man may be, the Hulk reinforced a few other things. One, people with mustaches are very stern. Two, no one in charge watches a movie before they distribute it (see if you can't find the GIGANTIC plot hole in the movie). And three, very few movies ever come remotely close to living up to their hype.

When I think of some of the best movies of the past ten years, I think of Office Space, Usual Suspects, and the Shawshank Redemption. Do you remember seeing a billion commercials for any of them? Do you even remember Office Space being in the theatre? These movies were not gigantic beefed up projects (see Hulk, metaphor for the). These were just good films - some with unknown actors and some with stars, but all with great writing. The Hulk, on the other hand, had no chance of being good - simply because we were told it was good from the beginning. The only recent movie I've seen that lived up to its hype was Star Wars Episode Two, and that's probably because Episode One was such a let down that anything would be cool in comparison.

If you want to make a successful movie, just make a quality film. With a few decent commercials and a lot of word of mouth, you might just be able to create a monster (see Canseco, metaphor for Jose).

It is oppressively hot right now. I'm okay with the smoldering and the sweating and the sunburn - but not the shorts. There are just some people better off wearing pants.

I'm one of them. I fully understand the harm of exposing other people to my legs. My legs are so pale and skinny it looks like I'm using toothpicks to serve my feet as hors d'oeuvres. Yet I sometimes still wear shorts. Frankly, I'm sorry.

I try to wear pants as often as possible. I even own a pair of really long shorts so that I can pretend they're pants. Really, it's so other people can pretend they're pants. I don't have to pretend - I know what my legs look like already, and I don't mind them so much. Mainly because I don't have to look at them head on. If I did, I'd probably need to buy a visor.

My problem is accentuated by the naiveté I had as a 15-year-old. When I started working out, I just wanted to look buff - in other words, I spent a lot of time working on my chest and arms without touching my legs. So now I have a regular-sized torso on top of my super-skinny legs. From a certain distance, I look like a midget on stilts. Picture the top-half of a He-Man figure on the bottom of a GI-Joe and you're starting to get the idea.

I know I'm not suited for shorts, and I can joke about it. If someone came up to me and asked for an hors d'oeuvre, I'd probably laugh. Even more that I cut-and-pasted the word hors d'oeuvre from the first time I looked it up in the dictionary. And when I cut-and-pasted it a second time to point out that I cut-and-pasted it. I'm not risking typing that thing again. Spelling, like wearing shorts, is another thing I just shouldn't do.

My point is that people need to have a sense of humor about their deficiencies. You will rarely find me in shorts - but more rarely you will find me with a short fuse. I admit my flaws - I'm proud that I'm honest enough with myself to recognize them. And one of them is legs better suited for a runway model than a grown man.

I was recently introduced to someone who learned I was a comedian. "Watch out," she said. "I've also been known to crack a few jokes." What she should have said was that over the course of her entire life, she'd told three jokes, all of which were so galactically appalling that they raised her to infamy. By telling me she's known for cracking jokes, she called attention to her poor sense of humor. Then while I waited for her to be funny, her quality jokes were in short (badum!) supply. I swear she told a joke just like that.

I know people who claim to be excellent listeners and monopolize the conversation. I've met people who talk about how great they are at poker and then leave the table in three hands. I've even come across someone who complained about how bored she was in class due to her vast intellectual superiority, which is obviously why she failed out of her junior college.

No one can be good at everything - we all have faults. But some of us accentuate them through a process of ignoring. Even those perfect people that you know--and we all know a few--have their flaws. Sure, they may be attractive, athletic, brilliant, and look good in shorts, but can they play the beat to Wipeout on their desk with their eyes closed? I think not!

I am good at enough things that I don't mind getting the short (badum!) end of the stick at others. I used to want to be the best at everything - I just had to be funniest, smartest, cutest, most athletic, and able to play the beat to Wipeout on my desk with my eyes closed. And the only two things I was actually the best at were over-promising and under-delivering. I couldn't even do that Wipeout thing so well. I always got the first few seconds okay, but then there were those three hard beats in a row that totally threw me.

I am much happier now that I've begun to admit what I can't do. And when the weather calls for it, I still wear shorts on occasion. But I am also fine with wearing pants when I need to.

And yes, that last sentence was a metaphor. Which is a much easier word to spell than hors d'oeuvre.