Speaking Kansan

A commenter asked "Will you speak in Kansan more often?"

And so, I will oblige with a brief primer on Kansan, so that readers from other parts of the globe may comprehend.

Note to reader: There is a book called "How to Talk Midwestern", but since it covers only a basic lexicon, rather than grammatical and phonetic rules, I will illuminate you about some of the arcane and underlying laws governing acceptable forms of resident speech within the State of Kansas.

I personally think that generalizing the multitudinous and interesting dialects of the Middle States as a single language (Midwestern) qualifies as a gross over-simplification of a complex and fascinating region, which might lend itself to stereotyping and "making fun" of the inhabitants of these noble regions.

Something that I would never do. And so --

A GENERAL GUIDE TO PRONUNCIATION AND GRAMMAR WHEN SPEAKING "KANSAN"
The main thing to remember when speaking Kansan is to move your lips as little as possible, and to speak as if everything is coming from under your tongue or directly from the nasal cavity. Try this -- grit your teeth, hold your jaw completely still, speak rapidly in the "under the tongue" mode, and move your lips as little as possible as you say:

"Shelley, do you want another beer?"

If you are speaking Kansan correctly, this should emerge as:

"Shuhli, d'yuhwannotherbir?"

Also, remember that Oranges are pronounced "ernches", and Oil is pronounced "erl", as in "erl-well".

Keep firmly in your mind that there is no true "O" sound in Kansan, only various diphthongs -- Cows are "kieows", Hours are more like "owers" (although this doesn't completely grasp the sound)-- these words are pronounced in the top front of the mouth through the nasal cavity, skating through the diphthongs as quickly as possible (but again, without excessive movement of the lips and jaw, which will surely mark you as a faggot in the Sunflower State).

The only place where a long "O" is appropriate is during a campfire sing of "OH, give me a hohm, where the buffaloh rohm . . . "(Home on the Range is the State Song of Kansas --even though it does not include the word "Kansas" at all, and was the subject of a lengthy lawsuit, concluded in 1935, which supposedly confirmed that the song did actually originate from Smith County, Kansas, even though an Arizona couple sued for rights as the original authors).

You are also allowed the use of a long "O" when pronouncing "Pee-Oh-Nee" (stress on the "oh"), because that is a furen flahr ehnuways.

In nearly all other cases, simply ignore the long "O" while conversing.

In most words, vowels should be glossed over briefly, or eliminated altogether if possible.

For example: Wichita is "Whichtaw", Emporia is "mporeuh", and Topeka, the State Capitol, is "T'p'kuh".

Contractions should be employed uniformly, and shortened to the greatest extent possible.

"Wouldn't you" should be truncated to a rapid form of "woodenshoe" -- like so: "wudnchew?" (I was literally thumped on the head by a diction coach every time I pronounced it in Kansan while rehearsing for a college production of Jean Genet's The Maids in Mporeuh -- a break from humor here -- that is a true story).

Did not = Didn't = Dint
Aren't You = "Rntchew"
Haven't = "Hant"
and, of course:
Are/Am Not = "aint" -- (Never say "ain't" -- you mother will faint, your father will fall in a bucket of paint . . . . )

Vowel substitutions are a must. Most "Ah" sounds will become "uh" -- as in "uhmer'can" -- (of or pertaining to the United States), "restrunt" (where you eat), and the "dahllur" with which you will pay the "weytruss".

Your vowel substitutions will be effortless and intuitive if you remember the cardinal rule: Move your jaw and lips as little as pahss'bul. It's windy and dusty in many parts of Kansas, which may have led to this thrift of mouth movement -- perhaps in order to prevent entry into the oral cavity of june-bugs, rag-weed pollen, or other airborne particles, such as cattle (during tornado season).

When pronouncing "dollur", clip the "r" as short as possible. Otherwise, people will think you're from Ill'noise (As an old friend from IL used to say: "Illuh-noy, where we give you all the Rrrrrrrr" -- as in "gimeeuh dollurrrrr" or "git'n'thuh carrrrr".)

The low under the tongue or high nasal cavity placement of the dialect is often a matter of personal preference, but generally falls into gender specifications -- males more often using the under the tongue projection, females more often using the high nasal projection. This allows residents of the area to identify the gender of another person fairly easily, even if they r talkn on the telphun wee-uth suhmun they nuhver me-aht beefur.

As you advance in your understanding of Kansan, you will begin to notice certain anomalies to these patterns. (By the way -- do not use the word "anomaly" in the company of real Kansans -- they may think that you have contracted a life-threatening disease.)

For the intermediate to advanced student, here are a few hints: When an individual is attempting to make a point, diphthongs and vowels may be stretched to unbelievable lengths and detail.

Example: "Nayuu --t hayut is uh geh-noo-ayeen Ayh-mehr-ee-can mayed ah-toh-MOH-beel."

Translation: Now, that is a genuine American-made automobile.

Memnonic Aid: With diphthongs held longly, the speaker feels strongly.

My best recommendation for a listening study of Kansan dialect is the scene in the movie "Trains, Planes, and Automobiles", wherein Owen, the son of an associate, picks up the two errant travelers from a motel in Whitchtaw.

"Yu th-shaur currtuhn fellur?"
Close-captioned for the hard-of-Kansan: (You the shower-curtain fellow?)

"Hur furrst baybee cuhmowt sighdwuhys. She din't screem ur nuthun'."
(Her first baby come out sideways. She didn't scream or nothing.)

And a wonderful sample of emphatic-diphthong-making-a-point mode:

"Gee-it yore lay-zee buh-uht owt thuh truhck". (Get your lazy butt out of the truck.)

-------------------------------

Enough. Enough. I think you get the point.

In truth, I feel glad that I was born and raised in Kansas -- "wheat basket to the world" -- geographical center of the continental United States.

I adore the physical land (if not the theological/philosophical territory) of the State where I entered this incarnation -- it has weighty limestone buildings and big skies rolling with gigantic thunderheads, cows and creeks and cottonwood trees and copperhead snakes, and sorghum and wheat and silos, and real sweet corn, and fences of wood or barbed wire or stone running over endless expanses. In Winter, everything is a million shades of gray and yellow and brown, and the Flint Hills roll into the distance with god-knows-how-many other strangenesses hidden among them.

I have sketched, or painted, or dreamed, this one building alone a thousand times:

I have thoroughly enjoyed the strange distinction of originating from the great state of Kansas. It seems to carry some sort of automatic "bonafidia" -- whether I meet a person from Seattle, New York, London, or Warsaw -- when I say that I grew up in Kansas, the first question is uniformly dependable and ridiculous -- "Do you know Dorothy?" (An irony, as this was also a "code question" for "Are you queer?" in the days when I was first coming out.)

When I think I can get away with it, I reply: "Yes! Did you know that there is a life-size statue of Dorothy and Toto in the exact geographical center of Kansas?" (There isn't, but I think this is a great idea for promoting Kansas Tourism.)

Dorothy, as it turns out, is an excellent icebreaker for conversation about the weird work I do. I would go so far as to say that she is the metaphysical spokeswoman for the State of Kansas.

She (and her house) was lifted out of one world by a spiraling wind (much like the ones that may create crop circles), carried safely to another world of preternaturally colored and shaped people and things, met and defeated a witch, ventured forth down an unnaturally-hued trail with a talking scarecrow, lion, and metal/mechanical man, exposed a fraud of a wizard after having her nails done, and returned home safely, only to discover that the whole adventure was an OOBE (Out of Body Experience).

So, most non-Kansan people who hear that I was born and raised in Kansas seem willing to accept, without question, that I must be:

1. Hardy And Capable (Of weathering twisters, evil witches, fraudulent wizards, flying monkeys, drought, and Bob Dole. Which I am).
2. Woo-Woo/Other-Worldly in a down-home, Auntie-Emmish way. (Which I am.)
   
3. Salt-of-the-Earth-Ish (Which I also am. I can fart without apology, and work without complaint.)
4. A General Survivor (This perception is much enhanced if they know that I have known I was a lesbian since I first learned the definition of the word at age 12 from a County Health office brochure, and have been a "practicing lesbian" -- practice makes perfect! -- since age 19, and that I didn't leave Kansas until age 22.)

I can't say that I haven't capitalized on these assumptions from time to time. Not in any way that is harmful to others, but, say, in the certainty that flashing my birth-certificate wallet-card, notarized by the Attny Gen of KS, might be helpful when crossing the border into Canada or Mexico. Or, perhaps more importantly, when returning home to the US of A -- because I can say, in all honesty:

Eye Ehm Ay Geh-Nu-Ey-Een Ayh-Mehr-Ee-Can!