A multiracial NYC teen deeply involved in the act of Keving.
My fixation on the almost otherworldly ordinariness of the name “Kevin” proceeds unabated.
I was sitting around doing nothing—not even relaxing—when I wondered whether it’d be worth my time to look up the etymology of “Kevin.” I assumed it was something Irish, so I took a quick peek, and yes, it’s Old Irish, whatever that means.
Yet I always feel unsatisfied with such cheap, facile, technically correct answers, so I took it upon myself to reclaim the name and turn it into a verb. I decided that “Kevin” was actually derived from the imaginary verb Keving. Since I was not involved in any productive, meaningful, or valuable endeavor at the time I came to this decision, I chose to define the verb “to Kev” as the act of sitting around idly without even being comfortable.
Ever seen Waiting for Godot? I was going to say that the two characters were Keving throughout the whole fucking play, but that’s not entirely accurate. Keving is even worse than waiting, because when you’re waiting, at least you’re looking forward to something in the future, whether good or bad. When you’re Keving, you’re doing as little as is humanly possible while still conscious.
At the time I came up with this definition, I was engaged in the process of Keving—or, if you’re prone to slurring your gerunds to make yourself sound “cooler,” I was Kevin’. In the peppery street slang so popular among today’s urban youth, it would be spelled either Kevvin’ or KEVN depending on your family’s gross yearly income.
So if you’re Kevin’, it’s like you’re chillin’, but without any of the relaxation. So the next time you meet someone and they say, “Hi, I’m Kevin,” your response should be, “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”
An elderly woman in a nursing home Kevin’ it up like there’s no tomorrow.