Peeve Zoo

I shouldn't even step into a store after January 1st.  Definitely not drugstores or any store that sells cards, chocolate, candy and the like.

It happens every year.  Stores become infested with V.D.

Insert big Archie Bunker BTHHHHHHHHTTTTHHHT!

Suddenly too cutesy stuffed animals, red mylar balloons with declarations of devotion, ugly wrapped candy and chocolate hearts and flowers and disgusting cards are put at every checkout counter.  And PINK & RED everywhere!  

Oh!  It's V.D.

All the world loves a lover!

GAG ME!

What the hell does all this crap have to do with love anyway?!!

How did they come up with this as a representation???







Standard symbol of love should look more like:



Cards might read "I [brain] You!" or, to be fun, you might play with the word and say things like:
     "You [brain] me together" - (you bring me together)
      "I [brain] you nothing but love, baby!"

But it's not just this stupid symbolism that gets to me. It's the fact of the charade.  I find it hard to believe that people go through this every year - forced "romance."  What's even harder to believe is that, apparently, men somehow tend to forget the holiday.

But I digress.

It's the Happy Happy Joy Joy aspect that really sticks in my craw.

All the world loves a lover.

You're nobody unless somebody loves you.  (click on the video for soundtrack)




I love Halloween.

Oh, there I go again off-topic.

I recently saw one of the funniest (read: real) depictions of this holiday on the TV show Grey's Anatomy.

Young Dr.: So, anybody got any good Valentines Day plans?

Dr. Teddy Altman: My husband died in this O.R. a month ago. Dr. Yang performed the surgery I was in a seven hour surgery and didn't know that he died. Dr. Hunt kept that a secret. So I don't speak to him.
He wants a baby, Dr. Yang doesn't. So, they don't speak to each other. Even though they're married.
So. No.
How about you?

Young Dr.: My girlfriend and I . . . ugh. Nothing. Nothing.

This is what makes Valentines Day so infuriating. The stupidity of the celebrants. Young Dr., after listening to everything that Dr. Altman said, was about to launch into his plans and stopped after getting nasty looks (and perhaps a kick under the table).  People in love can be so utterly callous about those who aren't. All that talk about emotions and empathy seems to be chucked at the door while they rub our noses in their roses.

Joe Jones had it right in 1960 -



Ok, maybe not you my dear reader - I am referring to those other people, and to some in particular. 

You know the type - the kind who talk to fill the air, the kind who talk to hear their own voices, or maybe so they don't hear the echoing sound in their brain. 

No, I'm not against talking -- I'm all for communication! Conversation should be a lively exchange of thoughts between two or more people.  But sometimes, with some people, even while you're talking they're talking, or just waiting for you to stop talking so they can start talking.

This yen for yakking is fed by cell phones with unlimited plans.  Once "the talker" has talked out his/her last ear, she/he can just move on to the next victim.

But, am I being harsh?

Perhaps I am the strange one. I generally choose to talk when I have something of consequence to say.  Of course I understand the need for social intercourse (stop thinking dirty!) and basic pleasantries, but I refuse to fill the air space with speech for the sake of quieting some social discomfort.

The desire for social intercourse has been taken too far.  For some of these yakkers, when the phone just won't do, texting takes it's place.  Texting, Tweeting, FB'ing, etc. And yes, even blogging.  Chatter turns into a bombardment of text - and spelling and grammar are it's first casualties. 

Of course, I'm aware I'm not fully a part of the solution but part of the problem. 

In a recent movie, Elliott Gould's character, tells Jude Law's character that "Blogging is graffiti with punctuation."  I actually agree (please read The Cult of the Amateur: How Today's Internet is Killing Our Culture ).  So,  I have no illusions about my writing here or elsewhere on the web.  With my readership, it's more like a tree falling in the woods. Maybe it did fall because a few heard it, but it's of very little consequence.


Incessantly posting updates on what you've eaten for breakfast and your thoughts on the latest Kardashian crisis does not make you a celebrity, and it certainly doesn't make you interesting.

Talking gets in the way of my thinking - I don't even like dictating.  As soon as I open my mouth to "put thought to paper" the thought disappears.  I don't know how those writers do it who dictate entire books.  My most cogent thoughts are in my head, but something gets utterly scrambled between my cerebral cortex and my tongue. 

I do well when I am able to take the time to choose my words wisely, and even better when I say nothing at all.

A very wise man once said:

It is better to keep your mouth closed and let people think you are a fool than to open it and remove all doubt.

- Mark Twain (1835-1910)

I think he was quite possibly the most interesting man of all time.

No Smoking


Those words stare back at me from the seat back of the airline seat in front of me. Another warning glares above in the reminding me to buckle my safety belt. Of course I'm not going to smoke, I'm not a smoker – wouldn't dream of it! I do, however, remember a time when people did light up on airplanes –YES, right on airplanes!!! It seems almost unthinkable now. Children growing up today will have no idea of how it used to be. Going out to theaters and restaurants . . . well, anywhere . . . just about anyone and everyone was smoking. It was rolled back gently . . non-smoking sections were granted, non-smoking rooms, non-smoking locations like theaters, etc. became the norm. Non-smoking sections turned into smoking sections. Those shrank --- and are now regulated outside . . . most often within a designated area from normal traffic.

To me, the idea of smoking on an airplane seems as foreign an idea as standing up and singing the Finnish national anthem or doing a back-flip down the isle . . . or perhaps spitting. But wait! It wasn't so long ago that signs had to be put up in public places to remind people not to do such unsavory things such as spit. Now, of course, spitting still occurs (you in the rural South know that), but they no longer constantly post signs saying not to. I can only imagine how annoying this is to actual smokers!!! What if they posted “No Eating Doughnuts” everywhere? Wouldn't that just make you want to eat doughnuts? Just writing that makes me think about it. Damn elephant in the room!! People's minds are naturally contrarian. Put up a sign that says “Post No Bills” and you'll get not only signs, but graffiti.

Isn't it time to stop stimulating smokers like Pavlovian dogs to light up as soon as they get a chance?


Once the light switches off, I unbuckle my belt – just because I can.

What is it with tattoos these days?

I first noticed this when I was about 28. . .  every girl younger then me had a tattoo (and more and more of the odd-ball ones older then me were getting them).   

In the beginning, you rarely saw them, they were most often hidden -- in places I don't regularly show my Doc unless provoked.  Now, of course, they are popping out of backs of pants and peeking up over low decolletage.  Why bother getting one unless everyone can see it?? 

I trace it back to all those kids who had those fake rub-on tattoos that washed off.   I wasn't particularly fond of those as a kid, but at least they washed off! 

Growing up, I thought tattoos were for sailors, truck drivers, and motorcycle gangs.  The "Tattooed Lady" was still a thing for carnival sideshows.  Dating myself?  So be it.  Over the years  I came to a place where I was O.K. with a guy having a few tattoos . . .  taken on a case-by-case basis (it really helped if I knew that they were ex-military or something like that).   But, I still find an un-inked guy a gem. 

Youth rarely thinks of anything as being permanent, particularly in this culture.  We throw away everything from paper plates to disposable cameras.   No decision is ever final.   Now, with laser resurfacing, tattoos don't seem like the irreversible decision that they used to be.   But surprise surprise people!  #1: it's really expensive to do and #2: it's kinda like using those old erasable pens. . .  doesn't always work real well . . .  & it leaves a smudge! 

The natural tendency for young people to define themselves using objects has now been taken to extreme lengths (or eXtreme!!! as the case is always today).  In the 70s, the right pair of flares, a cool lunchbox, & a Farrah or Dorothy Hamill haircut could define a gal.  In the 80s, it meant buying designer jeans, shirts and purses, and making sure that everyone knew the label.   But labels can be faked, and often were.   

So, in today's economy, where "designer" items have fallen out of fashion/i.e. price range of today's youth - how's a kid to stand out from the crowd while fitting in with it?  Many who can't afford designer wear (and many who can!) now spend their money on expensively designed tattoos.  No better way to define oneself then by writing the label right on your body!

If you asked most young people -- "OK, I can give you a really cool haircut and style but you will be stuck with it for the rest of your life"  -- do you think they'd take it?    Perhaps.  But they should look through their parent's yearbooks and ask themselves how much they really want to be frozen in time.  

I have a hard enough time picking out wallpaper.

Anyway,  they should be so lucky to have that look "frozen".  Ever see an old-old tatttoo?  Time marches on -- and your skin is going to show it.  I personally find amusement in thinking of what reunions of these kids are going to look like in 30 + years.   You do not want to be working in the old-folks home some 50-60 years from now . . .  ugh!!! 

I do imagine that by that time, you won't find many inked youth.  Who wants to look like their old fart parents??  These parents will be stuck with the "velvet Elvis" class of art emblazoned across their bodies.  Face lifts will become passé -- people will want to do whole body lifts.    Remember - gravity is not a suggestion, it's the law. 

It's sad that there are no ophthalmic studies in the works to improve foresight. 

Ok, I suppose you might ask -- how can you make a "peeve" out of somebody's hair?

To that I say:  Have you seen this hair??? 

I could have just said "Justin Bieber" and been done with it, but when you get right down to it -- it's the hair that drives me nuts.   I mean, REALLY??!!??  

Guys just shouldn't look like they spend too much time on their hair.  Ok, it may be politically incorrect of me to say this but - it's gay!  Effeminate.  Girly. 

How much time does this kid spend under a hair dryer?? 

Now, I get that many guys do actually spend a lot of time on their hair -- and most do it in such a manner as to make it look like they don't actually spend that much time in front of a mirror.  Even so, most of these guys don't look like their mom probably laid out their clothes for them that morning. 

I guess the fact that I never swooned over any teen-heart throbs when I was a teenybopper means I should just take myself out of the equation here.  I don't get it. OK.   But -- come on!   Wait till they get a little testosterone in them please! Throw that tadpole back and let him grow some legs . . . . and cut that hair!

Another problem I have is with the basic hairstyle -- lets just hope this doesn't catch on.  For Chr!$#-sake, it's a comb-over!  Just wait - there will soon be 40-60 year old men with hair combed over their bald foreheads Bieber Style.   

I am not looking forward to getting hit on by a 50something Bieberwannabe.  When I look at a guy and think blow-job, I don't want to be thinking about hairdryers. 

Boys should look like boys -- not like something his sister experimented with at her last slumber party.

When I go to a drive through, I expect NOT to be confronted with PEOPLE.  Minimum Contact is what I want! 

Yeah, yeah!  I know  . . .   we all complain about the bad communication, yelling at the speakers, getting the wrong order, yadda, yadda.    Well, I've grown up with that.  I'm used to it.  It's what I want. 

Yet, an interesting turn of events has been occurring at many MickyD's; particularly at rush hours.  

There they are, with their clipboard calc/machines and earphone headsets - standing there wayyyy before the menu.  Yeah, I've been there before, sure I'm probably going to order the same thing again, but what if I wanted to check out something new???    So, I'm stuck.  I roll down my window . . . order the same-old-same-old.  

Whatever. 

And I miss yelling.  It was therapeutic. 

"NO, I SAID NO CHEESE!  YES,  MAKE IT A HAMBURGER, BUT YOU DON'T HAVE IT IN A COMBO, ONLY AS A CHEESEBURGER COMBO, BUT PLEASE NO CHEESE!!"

Now where do I go to yell??

A bumper sticker I'll always remember:

"IZ YOU LONESOME OR IZ YOU BLIND?
WHY IZ YOU SO CLOSE TO MY BEHIND?"

Most tailgating doesn't bother me. Actually, I guess it really doesn't happen all that often.  However, few things annoy me more then a truck riding my A$$ down a two lane road because they feel that not only am I not going fast enough for them, but they have the advantage of height, weight, and glaring chrome to breath down my neck.   

This does not amuse, nor does it move me.   I don't care if you're in an F150, my lil' Honda has every right to drive the speed limit (normally a wee bit above).  Go ahead, rev your engine and waste some more gas! 

I also like this bumper sticker:

"I BREAK FOR TAILGATERS"

Although breaking is not my usual go-to move, I find the idea amusing, and often find myself slowing down the closer a car gets to me -- particularly if in heavy traffic and I know the moron has no other option but to stay behind me. 

Of course, I accelerate if necessary. . . . . . Like if they try to pass.

Carma Chameleon