Wednesday, August 3, 2011


Much like my tenure in the South, part of the acclimation process is making fun of learning the local dialect. There's been several instances here Down East where I flat out can't understand exactly what the hell is being said. But then again, maintaining cheerfulness in the face of cluelessness has been a reoccurring theme throughout my entire life, nomatter where I wind up. That attitude also tends to make interesting friends.
Maine has a veritable smorgasbord of influences thrown into the "New England English" mix, ranging from Canadian to Massachusetts. And as with Alaska, residing in a National Park destination really adds a lot of flavor from all the visitors from all around the world. There have been many evenings out & about that sitting in a restaurant, cafe or bar is a multicultural experience.

Whenever I travel I become more and more convinced Alaska really doesn't have a regional accent, at least compared to states in the Lower 48. One might assume a reason would be that it seems how so many folks up there are originally from somewhere else (excepting of course Native Alaskans), and that homogenizing influence could explain the gradual leaching away of any distinctive hallmarks. Can't speak much for the technical linguistics, but like so many cultural assumptions, my personal blinders probably prevent me from seeing what's painstakingly obvious to others.

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