Quick-- Take Them To the Tower!

Some things America probably just needs to keep to itself. Among these, I'd suggest episodes of "Kath and Kim," our noseless Michael Jackson, and select tourists.

I have a tale to tell you about that last one.

About a decade ago, one of my buds and I took a trip to England. Oh, we had it all planned out for maximum vacay enjoyment!

Five glorious action-packed, Guinness-marinaded, art-infused, wax-museumed, Royal-Guard-pestering, tea-in-the-crypt-sipping, brass-rubbing, Tube-riding, Harrods-shopping, standing-stone-seeing, toad-in-the-hole-eating days in London, Bath and Stonehenge!

If ya don't need a holiday to recover after you come back, it just wasn't a good vacation!

Included in this trip were a couple of tours: a London city tour, a tour of the Tower of London, and a boat ride down the Thames.

And it was over the course of them, we encountered the... er... rich multi-dimensional tableau of American exported humanity.

I've often wondered why it is that the people who seem to know the least about things are the ones who always have so much to say on these tours?

Like the college girl who was chatting away to her boyfriend for most of our city tour, making it impossible to hear what the tourguide was saying. By St. Paul's Cathedral, as the guide showed us where the building was damaged due to Hitler's bombs, she paused long enough to hear the guide mention "World War II."

That's when she hit the guide with her contribution to English history:

"Well, England wasn't really involved in World War II... You know, like, not one of the major players...?"

The tourguide's mouth dropped open like an astounded codfish. But I imagine it wasn't the worst thing she'd heard during her career.

The worst thing might have been from a couple that my friend and I dubbed "The Plaids."

Mrs. Plaid was a 60-something lady in a plaid skirt and blazer. Mr. Plaid, a sixty-something man in plaid sports jacket and hat.

I imagine they thought they would blend right in once they got to Scotland.

The Plaids were a loud couple who, like the college girl, used speech as a soundtrack to life. Within five minutes, everyone in London knew all about them.

They were from the midwest and given the scope of their European tour, it sounded less like they were touring, and more like a whirlwind takeover.

They'd already been able to check off Italy, France and Spain from their list, they said, and once they hit the UK, they were headed onto Norway before heading back home to Flatland, USA.

Herb Plaid fancied himself a skilled photographer. Yes, he'd spent an evening with his high-tech photography equipment trying to get the Eiffel Tower to hold still and say "fromage." Herb was a perfectionist, Doris Plaid said.

"He also took pictures of that famous river there... you know the one... what was it called?... The Seen?"

So, as these sorts of things go, it wasn't much of a surprise that, when it was time for our boat ride down the Thames, we found the Plaids placed at our table.

We strained to hear the guide over the loudspeaker as Mr. and Mrs. Plaid oohed and ahhed over boats and bridges and ducks and oh, stray Newcastle bottles... Mr. Plaid pushing us aside with his telephoto so he could get the perfect shot.

And then we came to the Tower Bridge and the Tower of London. The guide announced them over the loudspeaker and pointed off the proper side of the boat.

The Plaids, however, were still talking, so it took a moment to register. We had just passed the Tower of London when when Mrs. Plaid got really excited:

"Look! Is that it? That must be the Tower of London."

"What? Where?"

"There! There, see?? Up ahead!"

"Oh yes! There it is!" And Mr. Plaid leaned all over us again to get a shot of...

"The Tower. A Thistle Hotel."

It was printed on the side of the building in bright lights.


It's since changed hands. Which is nice, really. Because that means the Plaids had forever captured on film the deep enlightening history of... a hotel chain.


So tell me, folks, about your funny tourist experiences!

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The Tudor Bunch -or- "It's the Story of a Lovely Monarch"

I had the good fortune to see comedian Eddie Izzard perform last night. This man's hysterical take on world history is a little like a trip through a carnival fun house; nothing looks quite right, everything you know is turned upside down, and you can't wait to see what's in the next room.

So as a little tribute today-- and to follow through on that "Kings" part of the Of Cabbages and Kings-- I give you the only part of history Eddie Izzard HASN'T covered--

And the only area of knowledge I have worth sharing. And that is the reign of Richard III of England.

Aw, stop yer yawning-- I promise, it'll be funny...


It was the early 1480s-- the period known as "the Messy Ages" in England.

• The French wanted England for themselves
  

• Groups within England wanted a bigger piece of the pie and chips

• And Sauron was building his army of Orcs to take over Middle Earth...

(The little-known Orc power-struggle is represented here by mushy peas.)

Edward IV had inherited the throne from his pious yet slightly dim father-- we all know how that can happen. And Eddie 4, he was a bit of a ladies' man.

Eddie 4 was tall and handsome-- plus he was the king-- so for the purposes of our discussions here, he was the MARCIA BRADY of this story.

Now his little brother was Richard, Duke of Gloucester. Richard was small and without the flash of his brother, but he was smart as a whip. So basically Richard was the JAN BRADY in this tale.

Well, Eddie 4, he did some kingly things: a battle here... a rebellion quelling there... a WHOLE LOT of ladies of the court. And during this time, Richard fought loyally for him, and governed much of Northern England.

So Eddie 4 grew old, and caught a few diseases, and got hit in the nose with a football. This ruined his looks and eventually killed him. And it became clear to everyone that his pre-adolescent son-- who would be Eddie 5-- would be taking over the throne.

Until Richard announced:

"Hey, wait-- information has just come to light that Eddie Junior and his kid brother are actually illegitimate. So I'll be their Protector and run the kingdom until this whole thing gets sorted out.

Cheers, folks."

And the boys were sent to the Tower of London, which had fewer souvenir shops then, and they never were seen again.

Now, at this point, there are two schools of thought.

One is that Richard-- hating that everything had been "Edward, Edward, Edward" all this time-- stole the throne and snuffed the boys and thought no one would really notice...

Because, you know, they didn't have YouTube then.



And the other school of thought is that Richard really was this super-nice uncle who wanted to protect the boys from potential French usurpers, and he either:

• Smuggled them out of the country to safety
• They were murdered by traitors to the king, or
  
• They died of an excess of lollipops and puppies.

Anyway, Richard ruled until 1484. But during his reign, he did some very good things:

• He was a smart strategist
• The commoners began to prosper under him
• And he really gave the Orcs what-for

But then Henry Tudor over in France decided to finally make his play for the throne. And during the Battle of Bosworth Field against the Tudor sympathizers, Richard was killed-- really ruining Richard's day.

As a marketing person, here's the part I find really interesting...

Once Henry Tudor became King Henry VII, Henry Tudor's people were like a cross between today's political spin doctors and journalists for the Weekly World News.

I mean, they'd do ANYTHING for a story, say ANYTHING to make Richard III look bad, so the people would forget they were actually doing pretty well under his reign. Why, they'd publicize headlines like:

"'King Richard in Cahoots with Space Aliens,' Says Abducted and Probed Serf..."

"'Richard III Married My Ox,' Reveals Upset Farmer..."

"Corpse Shows King Tricky Dick Had Second Evil Head"...

Anyway, so one day Henry Tudor and his people noticed all these portraits of Richard III lying around the National Gallery and Henry said:

"Hmmm... This guy doesn't really LOOK evil. In fact, he looks like a fairly decent guy. That won't do at ALL!... Let's give him a hump on his back, and a withered arm and a squinky eye!"

And the king's portrait artist, always up for an artistic challenge, started to get into it. "And devil's horns?"

"Okay, devil's horns," said Henry.

"And a mustache?"

"A mustache, then."

"A pearl earring!"

"No, I believe that's another painting."

So they forwent the pearl earring, but did get on with much of the other stuff, and that is why today, with this great technology we have, we can see that many of his portraits were actually altered to give Richard one raised shoulder, and an angrier expression, and devil's horns.

And with an enthusiastic smear campaign that still permeates history books today, the Tudors went on to reign enthusiastically for many hundreds of years...

Meaning-- that's the way they became the Tudor Bunch.

(For those seeking actual information on Richard III wholly unrelated to Brady Bunch metaphors, I suggest you look at the following books:

• The Princes in the Tower by Alison Weir
  
• Royal Blood by Bertram Fields
• Richard III, the Princes in the Tower by A.J. Pollard

And check out the revisionist views at the Richard III Society here.)


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Henry Tudor tried to rub out the existence of Humor-blogs after he was done with Richard III. But you can see, they're still alive, well and mostly free of devils' horns.