www.grandbohemia.com

dtcom landingJust wanted to give a shout out to friends and neighbors, I’m moving the blog OFFICIALLY over to http://www.grandbohemia.com as part of the arts triptych that is dougtennant.com. Please stay with us!

Advertisements

June 24, 2013 at 11:39 pm Leave a comment

Tongue embedded firmly in cheek, Merry Christmas!

As I was visiting mom in rehab this evening an old familiar Rankin/Bass favorite came on the telly. Yes, it is that time of year again: ho, ho, ho, and I am compelled to share with you a story, a tale, a reckoning.

All my failures in life can be directly attributed to Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer. It’s true. I was a very impressionable age in the sixties when Rudolph was new and magical, and I was a sucker for those claymation messages which seemed so benevolent on the surface.

The first misconception– Misconception? No, it really is an outright lie. If we’re going to be frank about the devastation caused by this innocuous misfitschildren’s holiday entertainment delight, then let’s call it what it is. The first LIE is that it’s okay to be a misfit. This is not true. Rudy and his new best friend Hermey actually become heroes because of the quirks that make them different, and everybody loves them. And we know this is not how real life operates.

The message about friendship that really stuck with my 6 year old self after watching Rudolph is that your best friends will betray you and call you names if you make any startling revelations about yourself, so it’s better to keep your piehole shut! I mean, come on, Hermey wasn’t an outcast because he wanted to be a dentist. Hermey was an outcast because he preferred to wear his hair with that stylish and rather attractive extreme half-bang, which swooped sharply over one eye, rakish and defiant, with a pointy edge that could lacerate the unwary if he wasn’t careful. In my first career as a hairdresser I emulated that bang on many old ladies, many, many old ladies. And of course it was impossible for Hermey to NOT like Rudolph when that lucky buck was styling bling like a neon beezer. We all know that Hermey’s real problem had everything to do with being a fussy little pansy, but nothing to do with teeth, and that Hermey found screen life later in the person of David Hyde Pierce.

I believed that one day I too would be rescued from my solitary melancholia by a similarly outcast fellow who would join me in a compulsively affirming choreographed song about embracing our nebbishy selves and spitting in the world’s eye! My constant efforts to engage others thusly reinforced my own image as weirdo and a person who fails to recognize personal space.

The next lie that was perpetuated by Rudolph and taken to heart by untold thousands was that there is always tomorrow. How many of us became a little deer named Clarice in our dreams, with those huge, impossibly soft deer eyes (which were probably so deer-like because she was a deer) singing sweetly about how you should believe in your dreams come what may. Yeah, just what my father wanted me to believe! The man is telling me at 8 years old to learn a trade, become a mechanic, and I’m pretending I’m Clarice wafting through frozen crystal landscapes like doe-colored chiffon. I clung to that belief through all the angst of my growing-up years, telling myself when the chips were down that “tomorrow is NOT far away!” Isn’t that just another way of saying, “I’ll think about that tomorrow. Tomorrow is another day!” Clarice was a beautiful dreamer, Scarlett was queen of denial. What a fine line between vixen and venison. Get your head out of the snow belt, Clarice! Tomorrow is TOMORROW, it’s always 24 hours away, and you’re not getting any younger waiting around for it. Time keeps on slipping, slipping, slipping into the future, and one of these days your fluffy white tail will be droopy dried out jerky. Ditch that bubblegum bow on your head and SEIZE THE DAY, dear! And when you run away from that bully buck dad of yours, don’t go looking for Rudolph. You run and don’t stop until your little hooves hit Berkeley where you can learn to be a dissident and overthrow the tyrant Claus! (OK, it WAS the 60s, after all)

The third Rudolph lie cloaked in charming childhood innocence is that when you’ve run away from home and are lost in the wilderness, a kindly and forgivingly eccentric woolly wildman will come along to escort you to safety. You can excuse his oral fixation with his pickaxe and climb into bed with him, but stay alert long enough to beat feet when the Sandman claims your best friend the pansy who is obviously okay with the situation. Douse the light indeed!

And while we’re visiting the Island of Misfit Toys, I have to ask, because I’ve never been able to figure it out. What the heck is up with that King Dawntreader. Or Muckraker. Moonraiser. Whatever. That lion king, he wouldn’t let Rudolph and his friends stay on the island because it wasn’t a place for living creatures. So what was HE doing there? Hello! Was he some kind of Zombie master or something? Were the misfit toys DEAD? Is that why that little ragdoll was there on the island? It didn’t look like there was anything wrong with her craftsmanship. She looked normal. She didn’t have square wheels, or polka-dots, or even a wacko name like Charlie. They didn’t allude to any defect like an over-active betsy wetsy. So I think she must have been a lesbian.

And finally, we discuss the true villain of the Rudolph Holiday Hoax: Mrs. Claus. Beware hatchet-faced old women who deride others for their looks and encourage unhealthy choices. Sure, “Who wants to see a skinny Santa?” and “Eat, Santa, eat!” are the words of a harpy who is obviously so crippled with self-loathing that she must sabotage any self-esteem in the castle. It is my personal theory that Rudolph’s Mrs. C is actually Santa’s second wife, a harridan who befriended the lovely Jessica from Santa Claus is Coming to Town and then murdered her and took her place, feeding Santa’s eggnog addiction and terrorizing the North Pole. She is probably the sister of Miss Almira Gulch.

And in the end what we can take from Rudolph is that when faced with fanged annihilation, the best thing to do is be a pig and resort to violence. These lessons I embraced in my youth continued to loom as markers on my emotional landscape until years of intense therapy wore them grudgingly away. Happy day for me! and yet for generations of holiday viewers, the lessons still deceive. How else can we explain Honey Boo Boo?

 

©2012 Doug Tennant, all rights reserved

December 15, 2012 at 8:49 am Leave a comment

When God Left the Building

When I was a kid at Minerva Elementary (known then as Mary Irene Day Elementary), they took God out of the school, and I never noticed. Because you know, it wasn’t like they dragged him kicking and screaming from the building. He wasn’t even sternly escorted by Mr. Jenkins, our principal, who in those days still administered cracks with a wooden paddle, the number of which was determined by the severity of a wayward student’s indiscretion. I didn’t notice when God left the building because truth to tell, it didn’t feel like he was ever really there in the first place.

I can remember going to eat lunch in the Cold Lunch Room, a side room from the cafeteria where kids who carried packed lunches were segregated from those who purchased the school’s hot lunch. And I can remember particularly in the third grade, the teacher’s aids who took turns watching over the students and who led grace at the beginning of each midday meal. Most distinct in my memory are Mrs. Jugo, a tall pale stern lady who wore straight line dresses that looked like they were made from upholstery material and who never smiled; Mrs. Holderbaum, first name Nancy, a petite swarthy Mediterranean who sparkled stylishly in pant suits and joked around with the kids; and most of all, Mrs. Dreher, a very large beach ball of a woman in bright cotton dresses with full skirts and bulging black flats who wore her shoe-polish hair piled high in massive loops with razor sharp spit curls pasted to her cheeks. Enormous hoops dangled from her ears and I believed she must be a gypsy. These were the ladies who instructed us to intone in a sing-song warble that sucked all meaning from the words: “God is great, God is good, and we thank him for this food. Ahhhh-men.” Mrs. Holderbaum would get us started and then dart out to the big room to check on things, Mrs. Jugo was the one who felt the burden of duty to castigate those children who failed to close their eyes, while Mrs. Dreher seemed to me to execute the whole ritual with actual distaste. Of course I also heard Mrs. Dreher revile children on numerous occasions and call them things like “little idiots” so I assumed she must be godless anyway. And I remember her asking kids, “Are you going to eat that?” and snatching morsels from their lunches.

Now I don’t mean to offend any descendants of these women and I don’t know that they were anything at all truly like the impressions left in my grade school brain forty-two years ago. I’m saying that these were the most obvious of God’s representatives in my school experience. And to tell the truth, I was raised in a Christian family, but we didn’t engage in a ritual grace at home so the chant we droned in school was completely pointless to me. Nobody ever explained this grace thing, just like nobody to my recollection ever bothered to explain the meaning of the Pledge of Allegiance, either. It was just another daily, meaningless exercise of corporate behavior. So the next year when grace was no longer dictated, perhaps we all assumed it was left behind with the other childish practices of third grade. None of the kids in my circle were aware that God had been forcibly removed.

So now days when I hear adults fuss about God being removed from the schools, I don’t doubt that what really irks them is the fact that they’ve been told what can’t be done. Teachers can’t lead all students in corporate prayer or worship to a God that the children may not believe in at home. Well, this is the United States and the founding fathers implemented in the Constitution that the state could not dictate the faith of its people like it did back in Mother England. I think we can all agree that was a good and fair thing, so the government can’t tell us all we must belong to the same church. Basic freedom of religion. So if I want my child to be raised Jewish I send them to Jewish school, or Catholic to Catholic school, but I don’t complain that they don’t get led in meaningless grace at lunch in a public school, because truth to tell, I’ve had enough trouble just setting my kids straight on the erroneous information they’ve occasionally picked up at church.

Does anyone actually believe those brainless chants of “God is great” ever kept a kid from turning to a renegade life of crime and cruelty? Don’t be ridiculous. It’s not the school’s responsibility to instill Christian values, and that can’t be accomplished by staff who may or may not be good Christians enforcing rituals that are never explained and lessons that are never clarified. The Sunday school movement itself was first intended for street kids who didn’t belong to a church and didn’t get any Christian education at home, from their parents. It was never meant to be the means of educating typical children in a walk of faith or Biblical knowledge, but I can tell you for the majority of kids I grew up with, it had become the expected source of Christian edification. Lucky parents were now exempt from the responsibility of teaching their kids themselves. Just like parents expect public school to pick up the slack in teaching manners, courtesy, honesty, and responsibility.

So all you angry screamers declaring that kids are shooting kids because God was removed from the school: God might be missing from the hearts of the people raising those kids. Because God can’t be removed from anyplace, but there are hearts he’s never been invited into. The fact is, Christian clubs and organizations are permitted and do exist on public school grounds, but they can’t be made mandatory for all students. And some of you screamers, watch it before you point fingers and place blame and deny your own responsibility, because I know what kind of example you set for your own kids. You’re most upset because someone is telling you they’re not going to do your job.*

Now. I will say there was one lovely blessed exception to my grade school God-experience, although I didn’t recognize it until years later. My third grade teacher was a wonderful woman named Mrs. Hahn, to this day my favorite of all teachers. She did begin each day of class with a prayer, but it wasn’t leading us to intone something we didn’t comprehend or agree with. She would just talk to God briefly and ask his blessings and protection on the day. It sounded a lot like listening to my mom’s end of a phone conversation with her sister, just talking with someone she knew. She never told us we had to talk to that guy, but it was nice when she did. And Mrs. Hahn would sometimes read us Bible stories, but she treated them like any other literature and would comment on lessons of kindness or strength of character. But mostly, and with no words at all, Mrs. Hahn loved and served with love, reserving judgement and anger. I never felt as safe in any other classroom as I did in hers, because she strove to behave as much as she could like the Jesus she knew. She never preached or expounded, she just lived. That concern, that acceptance, that love, I carry with me even now. That is what every child in public school should be blessed to experience. And that is the place God most resides in public school, regardless of any law. “God is good” can be stricken from the lunch room, but nobody can take him out of the hearts of those who know him.

***

*This attitude is most likely what my gorgeous niece Kristine was referring to when she said I’m “slightly arrogant.” I don’t think I’m better than other people, but I do honestly have a fairly high opinion of myself. Basically I just recognize my virtues as well as my faults, I know I am wondrously made, and I don’t believe in false modesty. Is that so wrong?

©2012 Doug Tennant, all rights reserved

September 15, 2012 at 5:55 pm 2 comments

And it was a really great movie!

Went to see The Avengers when it opened on Friday for a couple reasons. My friend Patrice Rittenhouse was an extra in the film and it was a rush to get to see it with her and some other friends. Very exciting! And I’m a die hard Silver Age comics geek who was dying to see my favorite super-team on the big screen. Just a couple of quibble points too insignificant to mention compared to everything done right with this movie! Totally enjoyable.

And then in the afterglow, I get to thinking (as I sometimes do), comics geeks are a rare breed when it comes to appreciating the incomprehensible. We want to believe in people who can fly, men who can cling to walls and women who can deflect projectiles with magic wristbands. We willingly suspend disbelief when it comes to a universe of mutants and androids and vigilantes. We understand the immeasurable power of Galactus, Darkseid, and the Beyonder. We will find ways to explain that a man could exist frozen in a chunk of ice at the bottom of the ocean, that other worlds can be accessed with the energy of a tesseract, that millions of years of creation can be accelerated into seven days.

Oops. Wait a minute. What was  that last one?

My grandmother used to say that children of darkness were smarter than the children of light. See, those in the dark will struggle to find a means of illumination, whereas those already in the light will just cling to the light and get pretty pissed about being challenged as to its nature.

I don’t believe there are irreconcilable differences between those who are science-minded and those who are magic-minded, because time has proven that magic really is only science that hasn’t been explained yet. Lightning was magic, electricity is science; a rainbow was magic, a prism is science; flight was magic, flight is science. Isn’t it possible that miracles unexplained are science we don’t yet have explanations for? Science theorizes the world took millions of years to be created, how hard is it for someone who acknowledges the supremacy of God to accept that one with ultimate know-how and engineering could condense the process into six days and then take a breather? Once it took two professors 2 years to build a computer that weighed 30 tons, and look at the cell phone in your hand today.

Can a human ever achieve the comprehension and mastery of science that God commands? Doubtful. From my perspective I acknowledge a couple things: primarily that there is a God, because I find it completely arrogant in a system where complexity of life forms exist in a pyramid to think that humans are the culmination; and secondly, that humans lack the capacity to function at a high enough level in their current state.

So it’s the comics geeks, even more so than the scifi or fantasy geeks, who can see the possibilities of Biblical truth. We know worlds where Thor and Hercules exist with Spider-Man and Ultron. Elijah taken up to heaven in a fiery chariot? We know teleportation and tractor beams. Samson, pillars of fire, the witch of Endor, it all happened. We just don’t know how, exactly. Not yet. And for those fixated on the religion of religion screaming, “It’s not science, God is supernatural!” let me say, yes, God is above nature. So far above he commands it. In ways we can’t begin to understand. But he does.

©2012 Doug Tennant, all rights reserved

May 8, 2012 at 11:32 am 5 comments