Literary Pet Peeves

For my 25th birthday my mother gave me a copy of Lynn Truss's Eats, Shoots and Leaves, a book about common grammatical errors. It was written by a linguistic stickler for others who share a similar passion for proper grammar. It made my top list of favorite reads, not least of all because it pleases my inner anal retentive editor.

Given her taste in gifts, it should come as no surprise that my mother writes a weekly column for her local newspaper. She dedicates a closing paragraph each week to one "literary pet peeve." I helped brainstorm ideas, keeping Truss in mind, and my mother has included most of my suggestions in her column.

Since I was the mastermind behind most of those literary gems, why not include some of my favorites in a blog?

Pet Peeve: a minor annoyance that an individual identifies as particularly annoying to them, to a greater degree than others may find it.

That Wikipedia definition exemplifies one of the very literary pet peeves I'd like to list:

1) Using inconsistent pronouns in the same sentence.

• "Them" refers not to a single individual, but to a group of people with a minimum of two persons.
• The political correctness surrounding the usage of he/she frightens many writers into defaulting to a neutral description, often at the expense of grammatical accuracy.
  

2) Misuse of the apostrophe (').

• The biggest culprits are "its" and "it's." It's a common error, I realize, but it's really quite simple. "Its" is possessive, like "his" or "hers;" one does not write, "his's" or "her's." Conversely, "it's" is a contraction for "it is." Simple, eh?
• I used to work for a business whose graphic designer made a sign which read "Welcome to Belly Up. Box office located downstair's." The mental grammar sirens immediately blasted and I covertly told the owner. Unfortunately for me (fortunately for him, though), the sign was replaced with the correct use of the word 'downstairs' (sans possessive apostrophe) before I had a chance to photograph the evidence.
• Take caution with your apostrophes, or you may upset the hippo's...
  

3) The use of the word "irregardless" in any context.

• I have heard on several occasions, and even read on a few, sentences beginning the the following fashion: "Irregardless of the fact..." or something along those lines.
  
• The accurate segues include "regardless" or "irrespective."
  
• Somewhere along literary path, the two correct usages merged, creating the illegitimate misnomer which has become the commonly accepted, though ultimately incorrect, irregardless.
• Even writing the extra two letters makes me cringe.
  

4) Saying "for all intensive purposes" in lieu of the correct "for all intents and purposes."

• This may sound odd, but I have heard it on more than one occasion. In fact, and I admit this reluctantly, I uttered the improper form of the expression well into my teen years.
  
• I recently discovered via Facebook that a high school crony also made the same mistake.
  
• Our mutual friend noted this and asked, "what, dare I ask, did you think was an intensive purpose, anyway?" We offered similar sheepish responses: a shrug, a grin and, "I dunno, a really, really intense purpose?"
• As far as I know, there is no such thing as an intensive purpose.
  

5) Replacing "it's a dog eat dog world" with "it's a doggie-dog world."

• "Dog eat dog world" refers to the animal-like instincts of humans, who often hurt others for their own interests (not unlike dogs, at times).
  
• I don't know what "doggie-dog" means, if anything, but I'm fairly certain that this malapropism emerged before the popularity of Snoop Doggy Dogg.

These examples hardly scratch the surface of daily misuse of the English language. In fact, an entire blog could be dedicated to literary pet peeves!

In the meantime, do yourself a favor: pick up a copy of Eats, Shoots and Leaves, if you haven't done so already, and get better acquainted with the rules, even if you break them. Especially if you break them.

Silly Rabbit

Every relationship has baggage: exes, children and debt are the usual suspects. When I started dating Jeremy, the baggage I unwittingly adopted included two bands, a construction business and a stowaway rabbit.

Yes, a RABBIT. Like Roger or Bugs--or even that creepy, tripped out Trixster--only 3-dimensional and less verbal.

He's actually more like the Cadbury Bunny. Although, despite my patience, I've yet to see him lay a creme egg. If he did, I would undoubtedly have more use for him.


Admittedly, I expected a more masculine pet from a rugged rock and roll drummer who swings a hammer everyday. He refuses to chop his long hair or shave the mountain man beard because they enhance the authenticity of his hardcore look. Yet, after bloodying his knuckles on a snare drum during every show, he goes home to kiss his bunny wabbit goodnight.

Apparently, the incongruity escapes him (and, fortunately, he doesn't read my blog. I told him that I'm writing about rock and roll bands in this week's post, which isn't completely untrue.).

At any rate, why couldn't he just have a pit bull called Spike, or a boa constrictor named Lucifer? What about a tarantula?

• Something tough that oozes testosterone and announces to the world, "I'm a bad ass."
• Something threatening and somehow associated with leather jackets, whiskey and The Hell's Angels...those are bad ass, right?
• Something that strikes fear in small children. Or even big children. Anyone, really.
  

(*One of these things is not like the others...*)














Instead of a vicious canine, deadly serpent or lethal spider, I'm trapped with a harmless little creature incapable of scaring anything larger than a dust bunny. In fact, the small children it should be terrifying want to come over after school and play with it!

To my disdain, I'm forced to share my living space with an 11-year old, floppy-eared rabbit named Bonham, a moniker as fluffy and sweet as the animal itself. Jeremy named him after John Bonham, his idol and the late drummer for Led Zeppelin (NOT, as I had initially assumed and somewhat feared, Helena Bonham Carter).
As if that makes living with a rabbit that doesn't pay rent any better...

Perhaps it would if it played the drums like Bonzo.


I have no right to complain. I mean, I have a rabbit, as well, but mine is the kind that belongs in the goody drawer. I guess I'm bad ass enough for the both of us.

Bunnies invoke visions of pastel Easter eggs and Saturday morning cartoons. What kind of ammo is that? Many girls may find it endearing, but when I said that I wanted a sensitive guy, what I had in mind was someone who would write me a song (or a drum solo, in this case), or pacify my PMS with chocolate and hugs. I really need to be more specific.

Perhaps I wanted a sensitive guy because I'm lacking in that department? One time my emotionally delicate rock star was cooing his geriatric pet--at nearly 80 in rabbit years, Bonham is the Hugh Hefner of, uh, well, bunnies, as it were--and suggested I "feel how soft Bonham's fur is."

I responded by fetching my pair of rabbit fur-lined leather gloves, compared the texture and insisted that mine were silkier.











Needless to say, that retort didn't go over so well.

However, when Bonham pees on my favorite pillow, I comment that he will make a lovely pair of gloves someday. Those lucky little drumming feet make for great spare parts, as well.

Not unlike children of broken families caught in the middle of disputes, Bonham has faced his share of threats and manipulation (solely on my part, I'll admit). He has even been the scapegoat (scape-rabbit?) from time to time. I warned Jeremy that if he ever cheated on me, I would pull a Glenn Close a la Fatal Attraction on him. He has suffered night terrors of boiled rabbits ever since. Harshness aside, it does make for powerful leverage.









The worst part is that Jeremy is convinced that rabbits--especially his--are wise (and I quote). I don't know where or how he drew this conclusion, but I'm guessing Winnie-the-Pooh. Has he not observed his beloved pet over the years? If he had, I feel fairly certain that he would withdraw such an absurd claim.

I have heard that owls possess mythical wisdom. Not rabbits, though, literally or symbolically. To be sure, I placed a copy of Heidegger's Being and Time in Bonham's cage, yet he had nothing intelligent to offer in return.

I'm reconsidering the plan to send him to the Himalayas to meditate under the tutelage of Tibetan monks. Clearly this wise guy isn't up to the task.











At my request, Bonham has his own room in the new apartment. However, Jeremy feared that he may be lonely in his own living quarters. To remedy the solitude, I purchased a stuffed bunny and put it in the cage for simulated company.

Little did I expect this inanimate object to be Bonham's friend with benefits: he has had more sex with his new stuffed buddy in the last month than most creatures have in a lifetime.

In the midst of a phone chat, I heard Bonham's telltale cage rattle from the other room. My friend heard it from her end and asked about the raucous. I told her about bunny's renewed passion for life in his later years, joking about spiking his Timothy hay with Viagra.

She aptly replied, "Well, that is what rabbits do." Indeed. Perhaps they are wiser than I realized.