A Gentleman Is Always Appreciative Of The Arts

I was the lead of my second grade play about "What I want to be when I grow up." Now, most people will cite something like this as a launching pad for a thespian career or as a moment of focused childhood anxiety, but being an extraordinarily stupid child I don't remember it being either. In fact, I don't really remember much emotion from my childhood at all, beyond embarrassment.

Even as the lead in the play I only had two lines:

• "Ahhh, Mom, can't I play Nintendo just a little longer."
• "Now I realize that I want to be an astronaut."

The play started off with an argument between my mother, played by the delightful Gwen Zadgel, in which I refused to go to bed, but did. I then fell asleep on the nurses couch that they brought into the auditorium. There was no argument about how "If I was an adult I could go to bed whenever I wanted" or "If I had a job I could be anything"... nothing. My character immediately caved. There were other plot holes as well. Now, mind you, the entire second grade was lined up on the chorus bleachers behind this once two-man show. When I fell asleep each person in the second grade would walk up to the microphone and say "My name is [name]. I want to be a [profession] because [reason]. I only remember one particularly: "My name is James Awexander, I want to be a geowogist because I want to study wocks and minewals." I remember thinking, "Kid can't even talk."

This was one of those two-hour elementary school play marathon and I must have fancied myself as something of a method actor because I remember thinking I had to lay perfectly still, because, of course, sleeping people don't move. This was exacerbated by the fact that the waiting line of children to get on the microphone walked past me and every single kid poked me, and asked "Are you really sleeping?" Looking back on it, it probably wasn't the best role, pretending to be asleep in my pajamas for two hours on stage.

The play ended with "Nate, it's time to go to school." To which I responded "I want to be an astronaut!" and ran off stage.

This was pretty bad, but it was better than being a bull in our kindergarten play about Mexico.

Mother's Day: A Gentleman Always Cherishes His Mother

I always get a little depressed working on Mother's Day. This is not due to the fact that I cannot be with my own mother [requisite flowers and poem were sent earlier this week, and morning call was made] but from working at "bow tie."

When I think of Mother's Day it is images of elbow macaroni glued to construction paper, or breakfast in bed with overly-diluted juice from concentrate and pancakes still liquid in the middle. Mother's Day to me is taking time away from the motherly routine of every day life to show your appreciation of that routine. Mother's Day has always been awkward for me ever since my mother has stopped providing motherly duties unto me. This is the feeling typified by "bow tie." Obviously, there are few eight-year-olds able to dig up the scratch for veal linguine at $28 a plate, so it is a lot of elderly mothers and grandmothers. "Bow tie" was just too quiet for the number of people we had. The awkward pauses and slumped postures of the mothers there were that of a funeral for the living. It had the feeling of, "Well, it's Mother's Day, time to go dig grandma out of the home for her spring time with us."

The only thing more insulting to a mother than forgetting Mother's Day would be to only remember her ON Mother's Day. Love your moms.

Travelate? A Gentleman Always Knows Exactly Who He Is.

The euphemism for my "bow tie" job is serving assistant, but most would know me as a busboy. I am the individual with the glazed over expression that brings you bread and butter, refills your water, and wishes your soul to eternal damnation if you ask me to box that half of a bite of fucking veal linguine.

"We're taking this home for our dog. He just loves prime rib."
"Hahaha.... I guess this really is a doggy bag then... hahaha"
Cue fake smile and me spitting in your dog's food.

Well, there is an individual at "bow tie" who is what I like to refer to as a wanker. Chronic masturbators lurk everywhere. Chances are if you have a bathroom in your office and more than 5 men someone has made love to themselves in that bathroom. Well B---- is a wanker. He will host a table of attractive women and then disappear for a little while claiming, "I had to wash my hands." But we know your secret B----... we all know.

Anyways, his girlfriend has the idea of being a personal traveling Pilates instructor. The plan is say Brooke Shields wants to go to the French Alps for a week, she would hire this young lady to go with her and keep her meat blanket body in shape. I thought it was a good idea, but needed a catchy name. After a shift of bouncing ideas off one another we decided on Travelates [the "lates" pronounced like the end of "Pilates"]. We were pleased with this name and Google it to see if it's taken. The first hit is Urban Dictionary.

Travlate:

A travelate is a person who can masterbate anywhere, he is not scared of a challange and will masterbate when he feels like it.

The look of revelation on his face was something in between "I thought I was the only one" and "My hidden shame, thy name is Travelate."