Disneyland Dells

One
I’m going to Disneyland — and by “Disneyland” I mean Oregon, Wisconsin, for a Rockapella concert in April. I debated long and hard about this one. For a while I wasn’t convinced I cared to make the five-hour drive to see something I’ve seen before. However, I want to see a regular show after getting the Christmas version last time out, and I’m itching to hear some of their new songs. So I’m going, and I’ve enlisted MixMaster AK as my co-pilot.

It’s another one of those deals where I’ve sent away for tickets via snail mail. Sent away, as if for sea monkeys from the back of a comic book. *Shakes head.* They could probably set up an e-store or PayPal ticket sales system in about 5 minutes, but that would take all the down-home fun out of it.

Two
Internet, take note: the word is “whoa.” W-H-O-A. As in, “Stop, horse!” Not a logical spelling, I realize, but one I’d like to see brought into general use nonetheless. I know “whoa” because I’m from the Wild West, where it’s a staple of both practical cowboy vocabulary and cutesy cowboy-themed billboards. When I see variant spellings splashed all over cyberspace, it’s like seeing a friend’s name spelled Christie instead of Kristi: I know what it means, but it just ain’t right. So let’s all lessen the “whoa” woes with a quick spell check, okay? Thanks, pardner. ;-)

Actually, my mother, who still lives in the Wild West, says “pardner” instead of “partner” in all contexts, as in “Little Bobbie Smith is now a pardner in a big law firm in Rapid City, and aren’t you sorry you refused to go to the prom with him?”

. . . Okay, I made that example up. None of the boys who grew up to be lawyers — I can only think of one offhand — ever asked to pardner me at the prom. My prom dates grew up to be a Wyoming State Trooper, an accountant-turned-teacher, and a graphic designer, respectively.

Three
So far I have eaten 10 Tootsie Rolls this morning, and it’s not even 10:00 yet. Where, exactly, are Tootsie Rolls on the new food pyramid?