my royal grievance

You would think – in fact many do – that an Anglophile such as myself would be like a pig in mud this week. Every time you turn on the television someone is in London talking about THE wedding. Sometimes I confess I find myself without the effort to change the channel. But mostly it just makes me want to vomit.

I wasn’t a huge fan of the royal family before my all too brief London residency. And then what I acquired was more a fascination with WWII and the Blitz. From that I had a newfound respect for QEII. But the fact she and Diana were plastered on half the postcards in that city… well that’s as phony as the double decker pencil sharpener right next to it.

Having worked in museums for so many years, I have a love/hate perspective of tourists. A lot of the love comes from the fact people mindlessly turn over money to help fund the preservation of a house full of eclectic rooms so I can go back every summer and study a different shadow. I do appreciate some of the conversation from visitors all around the world, finding some fascination with the slice of their lives I observe in a fifteen minute interlude. But mostly to me, they are the public. Rushing through onto the next place. Only there for a brief hour to get a glimpse. Presuming in that glimpse they know more than I know. Or deciding they don’t have to respect the house or me by keeping hands at their sides and phones off.

I do, of course, realize that I am guilty of these character flaws when in every other location, I am the ‘public.’ I hope to catch myself doing it… but know I am guilty. Maybe that is why this behavior is like sandpaper on my skin. And why when people invoke that touristy crap when discussing and fawning over my favorite city, it makes me ill.

I do understand the love the English have for their queen – especially those who lived through the Blitz or close enough to it to appreciate how that family stood by their little island. I even respect Charles for his support of the arts and farming. I get the admiration… but I really don’t get the American fixation with that family. I really don’t understand.

Because… I thought we were all proud of the forefathers and the War of Independence and all that. I mean… we had a war to not have a king. So why are we so obsessed with all that pomp and circumstance we revolted? Why when people keep chanting about tyranny and governments stealing our money are we paying homage to the most needless expense of money and time ever? Not to mention all the needless expense of money and time covering it… when… oh, there were some deadly tornadoes in the south? Or an anniversary of a gigantic oil spill… brought to us by British Petroleum.

Yeah, whatever. It’s pretty. It’s that whole princess fantasy, right? That one day even a common girl can grow up and be drawn in a horse carriage to marry a prince so they can live in a castle. And what is more English than a castle? Because that’s what you do when you go there right? Go to Buckingham Palace and Westminster Abbey and eat all that crappy pub food.

So we can perpetuate the touristy stereotype of Great Britain. Sure… they help us by selling postcards of the Queen and Diana and tchotchkes of defunct phone booths. Yes, I have been a sucker for all those practices… but I suspect they are like I am at the museum. Giving a wry appreciative smile as I hand over my cash and then rolling their eyes as we live up to the tradition of stupid American. 

Then again upholding tradition is part of what weddings are all about.