By definition a ‘Peeve’ is something that you find annoying. A ‘Pet Peeve’ would be something most annoying. But there are some peeves that are so benign that they barely register on the ‘Annoyance’ scale, still you notice and process with a level of disbelief. I can think of three, one is for real, one I forgive and one that’s just a distraction. In high school I took Drivers Education class, a 17 year-old senior who already had a drivers license. It was an easy A grade and you got a discount on insurance if you passed a Drivers Ed. class.
My pet peeve is drivers who switch lanes in heavy traffic while driving way-way too fast. Defensive driving was a big deal in the class. Our teacher reduced the idea to a simple rule; “You must believe that every car on the road is being driven by someone who is trying to kill you, so drive accordingly.” It’s like playing dodgeball with cars. Offensive (aggressive) driving belongs on a race track where getting there is not enough, you have to get there first and it doesn’t matter how you do it. But on streets and highways going twice the speed limit and cutting others off to meet your need for speed is extreme and not a good thing. I know I’m old and maybe that’s why I still pay attention to those defensive driving rules; observe the speed limit, keep close track of the traffic behind you, keep a safe cushion between cars. Yes, I get annoyed by aggressive, speeding, lane changing drivers.
The 2nd peeve is not a serious peeve but it can be annoying. As much as I appreciate my I-phone sometimes I hate it. I see well enough to keep my drivers license but reading fine print, I don’t even try anymore. My I-phone has a (zoom) app with a sliding zoom feature but it’s like a camera, it can’t take pictures of itself. Many texts have fine print and I might as well call the person and ask them to read it back to me. I can try the ‘pinch-in’ move to zoom in but a mild case of arthritis is enough to lose that fine touch. I bump too hard and it’s like the phone sneezes and goes someplace I don’t want to go. All it takes is once and I am annoyed. I’m better with other apps like my Spanish/English translator but the ‘pinch-in-pinch-out’ is a challenge. The annoyance gets my attention still I remember to be thankful for all the other good stuff I can do with my I-phone like texting photos and blocking spam numbers.
The 3rd peeve is not annoying so much as distracting. My dad had eight tattoos, three on one arm, four on the other and one on his chest. As a kid I was fascinated with pictures on flesh and the fascination never went away. In the military tattoos are common, so common they don’t raise an eyebrow. I remember guys who woke up with a dreadful hangover and a new tattoo that they didn’t remember getting. My ‘Tat’ was more about identifying with my dad than an alcohol induced act of ‘crazy’. What I wanted was a small, inexpensive, animal located in a suitable location. I accepted that it would be with me for the rest of my life and hoping for a long life the idea of a faded, washed out image on flabby, wrinkled flesh was a turn-off. So the small gorilla landed on my right buttox. It was high enough I couldn’t sit on it and the recovery was amazingly easy. Some of my amigos thought it was cool and copied with their own, better tattoos. One got a mountain climber climbing up and out of the crack of his ass, another had a target with an arrow stuck in the bullseye.
For the past 66 years ‘Kong’ has been living in obscurity under my jeans’ hip pocket. Only a few friends and family have seen him and nobody wants to bend over for a closer look. It’s never been big deal but it is a link back to my dad. But I like body art and often score it mentally like judges score gymnastics. To get a high score it has to look like it belongs there; I like leafy vines and flowers growing off the shoulder and down the arm, like it grew there. Don’t care much for flags, knives, names, symbols, anything that doesn’t fit the moment or needs an explanation. After many years of informal judging I consider myself a qualified expert. When I see half a dozen bad tattoos splattered up and down arms and legs I might roll my eyes and muse, “What were they thinking?” but I let it go without much thought.
My pet peeve is drivers who switch lanes in heavy traffic while driving way-way too fast. Defensive driving was a big deal in the class. Our teacher reduced the idea to a simple rule; “You must believe that every car on the road is being driven by someone who is trying to kill you, so drive accordingly.” It’s like playing dodgeball with cars. Offensive (aggressive) driving belongs on a race track where getting there is not enough, you have to get there first and it doesn’t matter how you do it. But on streets and highways going twice the speed limit and cutting others off to meet your need for speed is extreme and not a good thing. I know I’m old and maybe that’s why I still pay attention to those defensive driving rules; observe the speed limit, keep close track of the traffic behind you, keep a safe cushion between cars. Yes, I get annoyed by aggressive, speeding, lane changing drivers.
The 2nd peeve is not a serious peeve but it can be annoying. As much as I appreciate my I-phone sometimes I hate it. I see well enough to keep my drivers license but reading fine print, I don’t even try anymore. My I-phone has a (zoom) app with a sliding zoom feature but it’s like a camera, it can’t take pictures of itself. Many texts have fine print and I might as well call the person and ask them to read it back to me. I can try the ‘pinch-in’ move to zoom in but a mild case of arthritis is enough to lose that fine touch. I bump too hard and it’s like the phone sneezes and goes someplace I don’t want to go. All it takes is once and I am annoyed. I’m better with other apps like my Spanish/English translator but the ‘pinch-in-pinch-out’ is a challenge. The annoyance gets my attention still I remember to be thankful for all the other good stuff I can do with my I-phone like texting photos and blocking spam numbers.
The 3rd peeve is not annoying so much as distracting. My dad had eight tattoos, three on one arm, four on the other and one on his chest. As a kid I was fascinated with pictures on flesh and the fascination never went away. In the military tattoos are common, so common they don’t raise an eyebrow. I remember guys who woke up with a dreadful hangover and a new tattoo that they didn’t remember getting. My ‘Tat’ was more about identifying with my dad than an alcohol induced act of ‘crazy’. What I wanted was a small, inexpensive, animal located in a suitable location. I accepted that it would be with me for the rest of my life and hoping for a long life the idea of a faded, washed out image on flabby, wrinkled flesh was a turn-off. So the small gorilla landed on my right buttox. It was high enough I couldn’t sit on it and the recovery was amazingly easy. Some of my amigos thought it was cool and copied with their own, better tattoos. One got a mountain climber climbing up and out of the crack of his ass, another had a target with an arrow stuck in the bullseye.
For the past 66 years ‘Kong’ has been living in obscurity under my jeans’ hip pocket. Only a few friends and family have seen him and nobody wants to bend over for a closer look. It’s never been big deal but it is a link back to my dad. But I like body art and often score it mentally like judges score gymnastics. To get a high score it has to look like it belongs there; I like leafy vines and flowers growing off the shoulder and down the arm, like it grew there. Don’t care much for flags, knives, names, symbols, anything that doesn’t fit the moment or needs an explanation. After many years of informal judging I consider myself a qualified expert. When I see half a dozen bad tattoos splattered up and down arms and legs I might roll my eyes and muse, “What were they thinking?” but I let it go without much thought.
‘Kong’ my gorilla is a bad tattoo. But nobody’s going to see it at Walmart or anywhere for that matter, not even on a shorts & T-shirt day. My dad smiled and that was good enough for me. On a 1-10 scale I would give ‘Kong’ a 3 for its location. The gorilla on my butt is not news, looks more like a bruise than a tattoo and hasn’t come up in conversation in a very long time. A better name for him might be; ‘’Out of Sight, Out of Mind.’
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