It's time for dinner at the Schweiber house. The family has exceedingly ugly dishes, with some sort of floral and latticework design. Barry rises even higher in my estimation when he insults fraternities. Mr. Schweiber seems like the sort of guy who would defend them, and sure enough, he does. Barry counters with a description of a fun little hazing ritual: "You have to pick up a meatball with your rear end and walk it to the other end of the room, and if you drop it on the way, they make you pick it up and eat it." I'm sure he's not lying, since I've had the misfortune of accidentally witnessing an event similar to that, although the prop was a 45 RPM record rather than a meatball. That's probably a little less disgusting than Barry's version, but not by much. Mrs. Schweiber presses Barry to name his major, and Mr. Schweiber asks how he's doing with the ladies. Barry says he's "playing the field" at the moment, which seems to please Dad -- who is, of course, a philandering piece of crap. Mr. Schweiber says, "You're a Schweiber man -- irresistible to the ladies!" Neal looks very uncomfortable with the turn this conversation has taken.
Daniel is trying to make his leather jacket look old and beat-up by whacking it, first with a boot and then with a hubcap. He should do what people do at my sister's alma mater when they get their leather school jackets: they have this tradition of throwing the jacket onto the sidewalk kicking it all the way home. I'm not saying the idea has any redeeming qualities, but it would be fun to watch Daniel do that, and it does seem to mess up a jacket pretty well. Daniel also tarts up his outfit with some strategically placed safety pins and holes. I wonder whether he knows that trick of wearing holes into your jeans with a pumice stone. Not, of course, that I was ever shallow enough to do that when it was trendy back in the '80s. When Daniel has achieved the look he wants, he screams at his reflection in the mirror and then moves on to doing his hair. He cracks a couple of eggs into a bowl and gets ready to put them on his hair. We never get to see that, actually, since I can't imagine that James Franco felt like putting egg onto his hair. I don't think I would, either. After all, hair products have come a long way since the original "punker" days. There's that crap that makes your hair look greasy and dirty as soon as you step out of the shower, so I'm sure that, by now, somebody's invented a formula more hygienic and easy to wash out than egg whites are.