Me: “Are the shows included with admission?” (As if I’d actually sit down for a blue grass show.)
Bill: “I should hope so. For $60, they better let us piss in the bushes if we want.”
Dollywood was one of the few things I HAD to do while in Tennessee and there is no way can I do it justice by typing up a recap on my phone. So instead I’ll just share the photos I took with my phone and do it up proper-like from home.
Fuck yeah, country blouse things! All the Dollywood employees wore either checkered shirts or pioneer dresses. I should also note that the average age of these fine laborers was about 65. It’s good to know I’ll have a place to work when I’m old.
Get high on the Beatitudes, Dollywood’s premiere Twilight-mocking establishment. There was a shirt for sale that used the exact Twilight font, except upon closet inspection it actually said TheLight with a tiny “Jesus is” above it. Amazing.
So I really shouldn’t have been surprised that there was an actual chapel (offering Sunday mass!) nestled into the forestry of Dollywood’s simulated mining towns.
“Don’t be an asshole,” Henry said when he saw me lurking near the prayer request book. What? I was only going to write “Please God, bring Dance Gavin Dance back to Pittsburgh.” And for my forged entry for Henry, “Please provide me with the courage to find a hairstyle that suits my molester ‘stache, differentiate between ‘to’ and ‘too,’ & block the entire decade of the 90s from my mind.”
Old people sitting in front of us on the Dollywood Express, poring over the daily schedule of shows.
“If we go to this one, we’ll miss that one,” the old wife sighed, dragging her finger along the schedule. “But we make the 5:00 show and leave a few minutes early to catch this other one,” she strategized, and it reminded me so much of agonizing over the Warped Tour set list.
Except this lady’s husband actually gave a shit.
Henry, Chooch, Bill and I were there from about 11:00 until the park closed at 7:00, and we were sincerely dragging by the end. Except for Chooch, who went on to be a hyper son-of-a-bitch back at the room until he finally passed out at 10:30.
Dollywood fucking ruled except that I didn’t hear “Jolene” once all day. We did, however, hear a very worthless Dolly cover of an equally worthless Collective Soul joint.