Sep 112011
 

The theme of Dollywood is some strange hybrid of Colonialism, butterflies and mining. Is mining prominent in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee? I’m not sure, but this is Dolly Parton’s head we’re in now. And it kind of worked. At the very least, it made us feel quaint as our pockets were being raped by Dolly’s minions.

Still, I expected everything to be lacquered in pink and Aquanet.

We let Henry walk alone most of the day because his McNichol Hair was looking more like McHomeless Hair. Even Chooch knows to point and laugh.

But what’s not visible to the eye is Dollywood’s underlying theme of terror. These employees are trained to be alarmist sons of bitches while keeping a tight Southern smile perched on their face and making me feel like I’m the star of my own personal Final Destination. I collected three precautionary examples from my day at Dollywood:

  1. The train conductor: Henry the Elder and his apprentice in geriatrics, Bill, both seemed adamant about riding the scenic train. Bill especially — those flying elephants in kiddie land really messed with his equilibrium. And I think Henry just wanted to give his ‘roids a rest. (They had a pretty exhausting day and I believe they even sent out a few postcards bitching about it.) Plus, what better way to meet other old folk? They were lining up for the train by the gaggle. As the train was preparing for departure, the conductor’s voice boomed out of the speakers, imploring us to keep our arms and legs inside the train at all time and warning us quite gravely about the prospect of getting hot cinders in our eyes. Wait, what now? “This is NOT a reason to pull on the emergency rope,” the conductor continued. “I repeat, getting cinders in your eye is not considered an emergency. Simply tell one of us when we return to the station and someone will accompany you to first aid.” I was starting to want to get off the train. Instead, I pushed my sunglasses harder up the bridge of my nose and cursed myself for once again leaving my safety goggles at home. There was also a lot of doomsday diatribe going on about getting soot on your clothes. Bill happened to be on the phone during this and barked a fortuitously timed, “Who cares?!” just loud enough to make several passengers laugh. He probably had no idea, though, since he was lucky enough to not have to listen to the conductor’s spiel.
  2. The Birds of Prey show: We had just sat down under the small theater pavilion for what I thought was going to be a mild exercise in bird education, but instead we were treated to an urgent command to REMOVE ALL FOOD FROM THE AREA, HIDE IT, COVER IT, GET RID OF IT, THE BIRDS ARE TRAINED TO COME TO FOOD. Drinks were OK to have, though. “What if the birds are thirsty?” Henry lamely joked. But still, I found myself shoving my cup of water further away from myself. And then one of the trainers added, “Some of these birds will be flying low over your heads. DO NOT REACH YOUR ARMS UP AND TRY TO TOUCH THEM.” I’m glad they told me that because it’s instinctual for me to want to put my hands near something with talons. (I often have to resist the urge to jam my hands inside a paper shredder, too. There’s just something about the prospect of having my flesh julienned that makes me feel jubilant) And then there was another plea to remove all food from the area, but what I heard was THESE BIRDS WILL PECK YOUR PATHETIC MEAT SUITS TO DEATH IN WAYS THAT HITCHCOCK NEVER WOULD HAVE IMAGINED. Suddenly, the threat of being aerially pissed and shat upon seemed like a day of motorboating J-Woww’s boobs at the pool.
  3. The Tram: Isn’t it enough that we’re (I’m) already sad about leaving Dollywood? And now some dumb broad on the tram has to bring up what to do in the case of finding our car broken into, busted or stolen, so now instead of thinking happy thoughts about Dolly’s wigs and creepy awesome waiters, I’m now completely panicking about the state in which we’re going to find our car. Also, on the tram into the park, we were told that if we attempted to walk back to our car from the park and then changed our mind, TOO BAD because the tram DOES NOT PICK UP WISHY-WASHY WALKERS. Crawl back to your cars, lazy motherfuckers.

I have a pretty big fear of carousels that I don’t talk about very often. It mainly revolves around the disembarking of the horses/animals. I usually say things like, “No thanks, merry-go-rounds are for lamers” or “No thanks, I lost my virginity on a merry-go-round to a rapist in Boise; bad memories;” but for some reason I willingly was on board for a circular calliope-soundtracked jaunt. Everything was grand until it stopped and I found myself stuck. More like, paralyzed. Instead of attempting to slide off with grace, I over-thought the process, wrote too many mental blueprints, and wound up frozen with one foot on the stirrup thing (I am an avid horseback rider, you didn’t know?) and my other leg slung across the horse’s ass, clammy hands gripping the gilded pole like I was about to plummet to a stripper’s death. Henry took FOREVER to come over and help me, leaving me frozen in the most awkward, bestial position the Kama Sutra never endorsed and you can’t tell me that was an accident. NO, YOU CAN’T TELL ME.

Meanwhile, Chooch spent the whole ride heckling some little girl on a cat in front of him. Apparently, the carousel is as good an arena as any for some old-school shit-talking. Bill said the girl was giving it right back to him, which I’m sure Chooch could not get behind. At one point, I heard Chooch ask Bill how old he is, only to turn back to the girl and sneer, “Oh yeah? Well HE’S THIRTY-FIVE!”

I’m not sure what that proved, but Chooch sure seemed smug about it. I’m sure Bill was happy to have his age announced to all of the other riders. (There were like, 5 of us.)

Then Bill rode on a flying elephant, which surely rebuilt his esteem.

Bill was THIS HAPPY to be on a TRAIN in DOLLYWOOD. I couldn’t see, but I have a feeling Henry could have been found in the same position on the other side of Bill, probably daydreaming about jumping off the train to his uncertain death.

“The TRAIN? Seriously?” Meanwhile, he spent the whole ride barking orders for me to take pictures of every goddamn piece of scenery.

Some friendly motherfuckers.

Aside from all the old people, the park was pretty sparsely populated. This meant we could quite literally just walk on all of the rides, so since there were no lines to stand in, there were hardly any enemies to make. There was only one family that rubbed me the wrong way—they were the epitome of picture-perfect Christian family; the mom was even wearing a Cornerstone t-shirt and the dad had Flanders-hair. Even the offspring seemed tame and on short leashes. I bet they came to see the Smokies in their RV and have a ban on secular music.

I bet they sang hymns and wrote unironically in the prayer request book in the Dollywood chapel.



Henry and I partook in some swift nuptials* and then rode a ride about hillbillies perishing in a fire; both activities left a lot to be desired.

(*Jokes.)

We capped off the day with milkshakes made by the oldest women in the entire park. It took forever for them to make it, but when I started to complain Henry snapped, “That’s because they’re making REAL MILKSHAKES and they actually give a shit about doing it RIGHT so STFU.” God, the elderly sure do stick together. Kind of makes me look forward to getting old.

(I should note that it was one of the best milkshakes I’ve ever had. Old ladies pwn that shit.)

With the exception of the nervous breakdown Bill and I may have accidentally caused him to have by tormenting him when he wouldn’t ride the rapids ride with us, Chooch was pretty good all day. I guess I was too; Henry did a good job of keeping me fed and emotionally-stimulated. He even rode some shit with me! That almost never happens. In the end, it ended up being one of my favorite things we did in Tennessee, even though it was relatively over-priced. I didn’t get cinders in my eyes, soot on my clothes, shit on, pecked to death or car-jacked. I’d say that’s “winning” but aren’t I already enough of a douchebag?

Shit. Except that I forgot to buy a new outfit from Dolly’s Closet.

  6 Responses to “Dollywood, Part 2: Mostly Scattered Thoughts Because Blogging Is Apparently Too Hard For Me Now”

  1. Thanks for the great read….just what I needed before I went to sleep. Makes me kinda, not really want to go to Dollywood!

    Cheers!

  2. Well, crap. Now I’m scared of Dollywood. (I’m sure it’s awesome, even with burning trains and killer birds.)

  3. Eric wouldn’t do any of that stuff with me when we were in Gatlinburg. All he did was complain. :(

    PS: Yes, mining is big in TN.

  4. you are killing me:)))) I’m not a big amusement park liker. I find it interesting that every amusement park has the same attractions….I’ll update when I end up at German Lego land at the end of this month with 4 kids, by myself.

  5. Burning cinders in your eye is not an emergency?!
    Had to read the motor boating part out loud to Paul cause I was laughing to myself like a crazy person.

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