| WHEN YOU WISH UPON A
STAR
We, as humans, desire silence so that we can
better focus on our work, and yet we also require noise to reassure us that
all is operating properly. It's no wonder we can't stand ourselves. We're
fussy.
Last week, my dad digitized some old home movies,
and burned a couple DVDs for me and my brother to take home. These included
extensive footage of our family's 1988 trip to Walt Disney World, which was
a very formative experience in our young lives. After that trip, I made an
unspoken vow to devote my life to researching and developing newer,
more-sophisticated methods of leisure and escapism. As it is now nearly 19
years later and I haven't really done anything with my life, I think I've
lived up to that promise.
One thing I noticed, watching the footage dad
shot of Walt Disney World -- we kids barely featured into the footage at
all. There were two instances where we were actually on-camera, each lasting
less than a minute; the rest of the footage is of the park itself. Not that
I hold that against him -- we were all under the spell of the place. I haven't
been to Disney World in the last 13 or so years and can't testify to any
major changes, but back then, it was most assuredly the happiest place on
earth.
For us kids, anyway. Dad got several hours
of the park experience on our camcorder, and while we kids may not have been
in many of the shots (dad's explanation for our absence from the footage,
probably true, was that clean park shots would be more-entertaining to watch
when we kids inevitably played the tape over and over again upon our homecoming),
the footage that remained represented nearly the entirety of every attraction
we were on during that visit. The days were extremely hot, and dad's camcorder
was NOT one of those dinky mini-VHS or digital jobs that you can hold in
one hand. No, dad's was an over-the-shoulder model, and weighed twenty pounds
if it was an ounce. The battery packs alone, if thrown, could knock a grown
man out cold.
There's a portion of the tape that's grown
to legendary status in our family, and because I'm pretty sure neither of
my parents actually read this journal, I feel safe in reporting it. Now --
it's general knowledge that my family's West Virginian, born and raised,
and as such, it's natural that a certain amount of mountain-folk accent will
creep into the edges of our voices from time to time when we let our guard
down. It's generally pretty mild, and most members of my family who do not
actively live in tar-paper shacks are never outed on it.
However, there is a moment on our vacation
tape -- it occurs at night, as we're riding the Skylift -- when my mother
opens her mouth to make a simple observation about the "20,000 Leagues Under
the Sea" attraction we were passing over at the time -- specifically, "That's
that ride we rode, the submarine ride" -- and then has her vocal chords,
judging by the surviving audio evidence, briefly taken over by powerful alien
rays originating from the deepest part of the Ozarks. There is no way to
convey the depths of this accent via text, but imagine what it would sound
like if a sound itself could go barefoot, marry its cousin, spit
tobacco juice, and spend all day sitting on its front porch, in a rocking
chair, holding a shotgun loaded with rock salt, and you'd have some idea
of the strange vibrations that escaped my mother's mouth that day.
Here's a helpful breakdown:
Thet's thet rahhd wee ro-uhd, thuh
sebb-merr-een rahhd
So, naturally, the whole family has teased
her mercilessly, since. Now you can, too! Send your good-natured ribbings
to Norm's Mom, c/o spookingtons_@_gmail.com! I'll select the very best ones,
and if they're REALLY good... well, that's my mom you're talking about, so
I'll have to beat you up.
Shame on you.
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