In my family, my mother is notorious for her epic Rochester accent. It’s not slow and syrupy like a Southern accent. Or dark and murmur-y like a French accent. It’s more, like, how can I put this nicely … flat and nasal-y. Like Raaa-chester. Or paaants. On top of that, she is hilarious. Somet imes, unconsciously so. But most of the time, she knows exaaactly how to land a zinger. And that’s the energy she brings to the way she pronounces Utah. Not YOO-taw, but Yoo-TAAA. No matter how old I get, my mother still has the capacity to charmingly annoy me. Which is what happens every time she asks how things are going in Yoo-TAAA. So I found it particularly funny the other day when my friends called me out on the way I pronounced Alta. Naturally, I had to work the day they all got a half-foot of boot-top bluebird pow up there, which they dutifully posted on their respective Instagrams, all powder eights and woohoos and flushed faces beaming with gluttonous delight. All I did was ask how it was at Alta that day. Just to be polite. Not because I was jealous or anything. Kate, it’s AL-ta, they said, Not ALL-ta! Who the hell cares? I thought. I was just making conversation. I wasn’t trying to win a spelling bee. Even after living here for six years, clearly, I still have so much to learn. Nobody likes to look stupid. Or, at the very least, like an outsider. But cut me a break, will ya? I’m only human. I was just sounding it out like a normal person. I mean, I’m not the one who says RILL instead of REAL. Or FILL instead of FEEL. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. Some of my favorite people were born and raised here. They love to talk about their fillings or the incredible dill they got on on a pair of high hills on Main Street. Correcting them would be like judging someone back home for pronouncing CHILI, a suburb of Rochester, the way it’s spelled. You know, like the restaurant or the red hot peppers — instead of the way it’s actually pronounced: CHAI-lye. Or the way we pronounce the Rochester town of CHARLOTTE “sha-LOT.” If you said SHAR-lut, you wouldn’t be wrong. But you wouldn’t be a local either. And I know I’m not alone in my tomayta, tomahto ways. I decided to put it to the test with a real outsider. I called my mom. “OK, Mom, I’m going to spell some words and I want you to tell me how you’d say them,” I explained. She warned me that she was crunched on time before an appointment, but that she’d do her best. OK, first up is T-O-O-E-L-E. C’mon that’s too easy. TOOL. Nope, it’s too-WILL-uh, I say. Moving on. How about H-U-R-R-I-C-A-N-E? What? Well that’s HUR-uh-kayn. Hurry up, Kate. Okay, how about W-E-B-E-R? I’d say WEB-ur. Or, wait! I guess you could say WEE-bur. Ding ding ding! Nothing like a little deadline pressure to get it right. D-U-C-H-E-S-N-E. Hmm, that’s a tough one….[a few moments of silence] I guess Doo-KEZ-nee. Like that Kenny Dookeznee. He looks so haaandsome in a cowboy haaat. E-N-O-C-H. Oh, I know that one too: EE-knock! That’s biblical! God bless her, we’ll give her that one. M-A-N-T-U-A. Man-POO-uh, she replied without hesitation. No, T, Mom, M-A-N-T— Did you say P or B? Mom, I know it makes no sense, but it’s pronounced MAN-a-way. Man Away? What kind of name is that? Kate, are we done? I gotta go. She was incredulous. And also a woman who needed to be away. Just one more, Mom, I promise: A-L-T-A. Oh, that’s definitely AaaL-tah. Like aaaltitude. Or Aaal Pacino. Alta, it turns out, is the ultimate showcase of the flat, nasal-y A. See? My mom might be an outsider, but she is the rill dill. And, honestly, after six years, I’m starting to think I might be one too. I can say Tooele and Mantua like a local. But, I will forever say Alta the wrong way. Just to piss my friends off. And I’ll be happy to listen to my mom’s unmistakable Rochester accent pronounce “Utah” however she damn well pleases. The post Betty Diaries: The rill dill — how to talk Utahn appeared first on Park Record. ...read more read less