Blog #12 Media and Messages

One of my favorite, occasional little treats to myself is go to the library and check out an Agatha Christie book on CD. I have tried to read her books but they just don't seem to move me. Either that or the British style of writing doesn't jive with my American ADD. The teleplays on PBS fall short also; somehow the acting is too... British. Not Monty Python British but Masterpiece Theater British, alright, boring. But I love to listen to the stories and my imagination goes wild imagining the English cottage by the sea and the murder and Mr Poirot solving the case. I never come close to solving the case, but it is a wonderful 4 hour escape while I am stuck in traffic.
Now, trying to keep this PG, while my wife and I were dating, we IM'd each other while we were at work a few times, and wow! A lot of fun! Things were said that wouldn't have been said in person. I'll stop before I get too far, but that email from her during the day was so comforting and fulfilling. Sure, I would be seeing her later, and most likely going on a date with her, and even with her mother accompanying us on several occasions, but the email was different.
In my younger days, single days, I would go see movies and then read the books. I felt like the movie was the rough draft, the broad strokes of the idea, but the novel was the whole picture. My expectations were already out of the way by the movie, now I got to find out what the characters were thinking, what their motivation was.
Most of us have seen the old, brown newspapers our parents or grandparents kept of really important events, like the moon landing or Kennedy's death, and for me, the news just has more meaning in a newspaper. The newspaper documented the assassination and you held it and read it and it became Kennedy's obituary. In print it was sealed forever. Except for seeing the devastation of September 11th on TV, internet news and television news has become just a soundbite, another sensational event in between Burger King and Car Dealer commercials. Nothing against Princess Diana, but a great person died at the same time, who gave her life to the cause of suffering people all over the world. But the sensationalism of the death of a princess overshadowed the passing of Mother Theresa. Who had the time to go to the store, get a copy of the paper that day and save it?
A good conspiracy theorist will tell you it's a plot to distract us from the real garbage going on. But I wonder if there is some truth to the fact that rapidly changing headlines and blockbuster movies every week and a constant bombardment of useless information is a medium to manipulate the masses.

Blog #11 Reading Response

I am commenting on the article Is Google Making Us Stupid by Nicholas Carr. In humor, I'd like to say that I started to read it but then got a text from my boss and then my mom called and then 24 came on and I simply scanned it and the next few hundred words are inane drivel masking as analytical b.s. But, I actually went to the mall (no sound system, less distractions), had a Caramel Latte (alright, and a chocolate donut!) and read the entire article in one short sitting.
Mr Carr makes a great case for the internet age being responsible for giving us all a mass case of ADD. As more inputs to our brain pop up, he believes, the less time we have for lengthy, critical readings. In my own life I can bear witness to this. In my twenties I read Herman Hesse, Anne Tyler, Tom Wolfe, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, and several Dostoevsky novels, to name a few. These novels are not known for their knife edge, thrill a minute style. And then I discovered Robert Ludlum and Jack Higgins and my hunger for spy novels increased. Now I crave the likes of Vince Flynn and David Baldacci, because it has to be fast, has to move me from the start. My wife wants me to read Dr Phil's books, nothing wrong with that, but his style is on the same excitement level as watching lettuce wilt. So I understood the article very well.
I liked how he gave examples from the past of the invention of writing and the printing press and cited examples of their critics. It's funny to think about being against writing now, but Socrates' fear that we would start to forget things and not rely on our brains, or intuition, is rather profound. I mean, someone had to be the first one to crack an egg, cook it and notice it tasted good. What about the hind end of a pig? Did instructions appear from the heavens saying that this meat and swiss cheese on rye bread would be good? And what about potty training? Whether you believe in a creator or an evolving race, reading a book and trying to train the kids at 3 or 4 has got to be the wrong way to go about it! Maybe we have been missing something. Maybe the answer to all these questions is in the brain and writing has muddied the answer. Cats don't read books to know that mice are what they are supposed to eat. (Perhaps the previous questions document my ADD perfectly).
Overall I found Mr Carr's article very entertaining and informative. This Google idea of an intelligence insert for the brain is a bit scary though. But maybe it can be useful in helping people remember all their password for all their distracting web locations.

Blog # 10 I Love Technology, I think

I believe I am right at that point where I am going to turn into an “old person” concerning technology. (I used to be a counter helper at Lazerquick and was severely frustrated having to show old people all day long how to make a copy. And don't get me started about old people in the express lane at Safeway!) Don't get me wrong, I love email and the internet (Monty Python in English class!), I sarcastically dismiss newspaper salesmen at my door, and am completely paperless in billing and things, but something is missing from our lives. I can't tell you how many times I have seen a mother on a pointless cell call and wanted to say, “would you hang up and deal with your kids?” The reading from Remix about the lady who is online all day really scares me. There is a disconnecting from reality that is going on. I scanned a book in Kinkos once called, The High Tech Lockout. It was about the reality of applying for work in the new millennium and never being able to contact a real person. I find this highly irritating, and seem to be suffering from this alleged lockout, since it's been almost three years since I have worked steadily. But, in all fairness, there are many of my own dealings where I am glad I can just leave a voicemail, send an email, or not respond to a message. Gone are the days when you could knock on a person's door and they had to answer because they knew you knew they were at home.
Technology seems to be everything: all our entertainment, our daily functions, our finances and now, even our relationships. I am frustrated that my parents don't have email and I am expected to call them and talk to them. But I would hate for my children to think of me like this. It's only on rare occasions I run across someone who is tech free – see I don't even have time to spell out the whole word! And these people seem like oddballs now. But I admire their spirit and their stance. One day I will sit my kids down and explain life in the 60s and 70s, rotary phones and tvs with a huge channel changing nob.

Blog #9 The reading response

The fans are screaming as I leave the dressing room and head for the bus. And scream they should, we totally rocked Chicago the last three nights. I grab my “precious”, the 1969 Fender Telecaster once played by Neil Young at Woodstock and sign few autographs. Up the bus steps and into my private little suite, and the band is headed to Detroit for 2 sold out shows at the something arena. The drive gives me a little time to write. James Cameron wants me to nail a theme song for some new movie of his. And he promised me a cameo. He says he likes our rough style and raw energy and it fits his vision for the film, something called Avatar. Must be about technology or something, online games or MySpace. Crap, after Titanic, I thought he'd try something a little bit more elaborate.....

Oops, sorry, just daydreaming there. Spending time in my “avatar”, or as we called it in the old days, imagining, or having a secret identity. Yeah, the good old 70s when we were forced to go to burger joints and hang out. And you couldn't “text” your friends to have them meet you there. If you were late one day after school, you just missed out. And then, the horror, you went home and did something called “playing outside”. Oh, it was miserable! Using tree branches as weapons and restaging the Battle of Iwo Jima in our huge backyard with some of the neighborhood kids.

I am commenting on the first 3 readings, Alter Egos: Avatars and Their Creators by Julian Dibbell, where he describes what it's like to create an online character for gaming, and the sensation it gives him, being someone who he is not. Also the Facebook article and Someone to Watch Over Me, where Theodora Stites gives a graphic picture of her extensive networking endeavors.

The rock star was my Avatar, before I knew what the term meant, a way to escape the fascism of my parents and the abuse of my father, mainly the trips to the woodshed, a literal one, and a leather belt. My avatar was very detailed in his creation and personality, even though he was just a friend in my head. One day when I “grew up”, and shortly after seeing U2's Zoo TV concert, I decided to write a novel about the guy, kill him at the end and then I would be done with him. Well, good thing I had a swing shift job and a lousy marriage, so I could come home at midnight, write till 4 or 5 and then sleep and go to work. 10 months and 5 rejection letters later, I had a 440,000 word albatross I wasn't quite sure what to do with. I could have self published if I had $5000. But at least I did kind of exhaust the idea of the character. This was in the early 90s before the tech explosion and online gaming communities came to be. And maybe that's a good thing or I would never have escaped fantasy and tried to exist in the real world.

I consider myself a moderate Facebook user and I don't have a MySpace page. The best thing about Facebook has been finding some old friends, but I am just not getting the response I need to my highly witty posts. Nor can I seem to convince others that my man crush with Brett Favre during this NFL season was highly sarcastic. But it is strange how these things dominate culture, and isolate us to our private dens where we type and network but have no real contact. I think this point was brilliantly portrayed in the movie WALLE, with the shipmates using their screens to communicate, even when they were 2 feet apart.

Blog # 7 Reading Response

I am commenting on the Remix reading, the four assumptions about love and romance, and the David Sedaris article. Catherine Latterell breaks down the assumptions that love conquers all, that chemistry equals love, that true lovers will be soul mates, and that love is forever. She uses some examples from culture to explain that these assumptions can be just like the fairy tales that highlight the assumptions, not quite true in the real world.
In my experience with my wife Rebecca, we are still in love, still dealing with our two children and daddy's unemployment and anger management recovery, but a more accurate mantra for us would be, "compromise conquers all". When that is in place the peace and sanity comes to deal with whatever life throws at us and gives me (an extreme type A driven type) the patience to respond to the Queen of "stop and smell the roses".
Chemistry equals love, we all assume. Well, high blood pressure medication, and Paxil are controlling my "chemistry", thank you very much. ADD has wreaked havoc in our home and while we are hesitant to medicate that, we both have an understanding that certain things just are not going to get done when we want them to.
Rebecca is my soul mate. When we were dating we talked about anything and everything, laying out our lives together, planning our future. Seven months into our marriage, we both lost our jobs, got pregnant, bought a house, almost lost it, then I had a mid life crisis and now we are putting the pieces together. Getting both kids to sleep by 10 and watching a movie is a good day in our marriage! She has a major complaint that we just don't talk like we used to. And part of me grieves, while the other nagging part says, “get real”.
True love is forever, Latterell claims, is the last assumption. I say that what lasts forever is what is cared for, strengthened, cherished and adored. What lasts forever is the resolve to keep going when life throws Hell at you, your kids poop all over the rug, you're not sure how to make your house payment, but somewhere in your day you remember the woman you married is the same woman who is staring at you now, wondering when you are going to pull your head out of your behind and get on with life; let go of all the crap that was done to you and just BE HAPPY. If you wake up each day and at least want to try, what you have is forever.

I loved how David Sedaris commented on the normal things that happen in a relationship. I mean, how exciting would it be if Disney made Cinderella 2 and the highlight of the movie was potty training Junior Charming? Or if in all the romantic comedies you see, if the sequel contained the starlet gaining weight when their children were born or someone like Matthew Mcconaughey going to an AA meeting, then meeting with his pastor or somebody and then sitting down and crying, feeling like he just might have the strength to keep on living? But these are the things that can strengthen and enhance love, and at the same time can tear love apart.

Blog #8 Annie's Song

You fill up my senses like a night in a forest,
Like the mountains in springtime,
Like a walk in the rain, like a storm in the desert,
Like a sleepy blue ocean.
You fill up my senses, come fill me again.

Come let me love you, let me give my life to you,
Let me drown in your laughter, let me die in your arms.
Let me lay down beside you, let me always be with you
Come let me love you, come love me again.

Let me give my life to you,
Come let me love you, come love me again.

You fill up my senses like a night in a forest,
Like the mountains in springtime,
Like a walk in the rain, like a storm in the desert,
Like a sleepy blue ocean.
You fill up my senses, come fill me again.

I chose to analyze the melodic 70s pop song Annie's Song by John Denver. Number one, I have always liked it and number two, I sang this to a lovely young lady one night while out with some friends and, well, I proposed soon thereafter. In analyzing this song it is far more than a simple pop love song. He's not stating that he wants to hold her hand; she doesn't drive him crazy in some hormonal rush; she fills his senses! More than fresh coffee and bacon smells incredible first thing in the morning, she fills him like the mountains in springtime, like a night in a forest (probably before he saw The Blair With Project). According to Wikipedia, he wrote this song in about ten minutes after skiing a difficult run and was filled with inspiration, looking at the nature around him. He thought of his wife and quickly wrote a number one hit. Well, the couple divorced eight years later, but the song lives on.

Does it reflect the assumptions in Remix? You bet it does! His love for Annie, to have written these words, had to be eternal, an epic, Romeo and Juliet love. Her very being fills his mind and soul. Is sexual love in here somewhere? Probably, but higher than this is the selfless, sacrificial love in the lines "let me give my life to you" and "let me die in your arms". And there is chemistry, tons of it. This isn't some coffee house floozy, this is John's wife (for the next eight years anyway). Any casual observer knows that John loved nature, was vocal in environmental causes. So this great passion was wrapped around his relationship with his wife and he immersed himself in her like he did "a walk in the rain". I believe he is saying that Annie was more than his soul mate, she was his soul, she was his world, his mountains, his ocean, his forest and he was shouting to her from across time, "come let me love you".

Of course the song assumes love is eternal and their love is the rock on which their world is built. Their love can conquer anything! But, in my opinion, that is the greatness of the song. Okay, they didn't last forever, but they could have. And along comes the mushy, romantic, poet lover me one night and bellows the song out to a girl I had known for maybe two weeks and our relationship is sealed forever in the stars. I'll buy it! All of the cheese and the strings and the harmonies and the imagery, the good and the bad, make this a perfect love song. Annie's Song is not an essay like the two gay men watching the movie, one sentimental, the other bored. It is a state of mind; its own Rocky Mountain High if you will. Is pecan pie healthy? Is it recommended by the American Journal of Medicine for long life? Will it save the planet and heal the oceans? Or is it just a mouthful of heaven, and the memory of its wonderful taste lingers on, so that when you think of it days later, you smile?

Blog #5 Reading Response to My Filipino Roots

I chose blog about the article, My Filipino Roots, by Alex Espinoza. Alex details the facts of his heritage, his mixing of roots and the fact that these have no real bearing on his current identity. His indifferent environment and homogenized community shaped him more than the facts of his birth. He concludes by saying that he doesn't really care about his heritage.
He so reminds me of my best friend, Steve. Born Hiep S Tran in Vietnam during the war, he once told me the courageous and inspiring story of how his mother's faith in God brought them a miraculous escape to the US. His parents are wonderful people and always have some tasty Vietnamese dish to offer me when I come over. And when I call and ask for Steve, they say, “Hiep, he no here.” They escaped the war, yet embrace their heritage.
Hiep changed his name as soon as he got here. He now goes by Steve, prefers Burger King and hates talking in Vietnamese and only does it around his parents. He is so classically suburban American, and would never date an asian looking girl.
As I ponder the sadness of this lack of identity for one's roots, I remember that I am half German and half Scottish. I love German food and my grandmother taught me a few choice German phrases. I'd like to visit someday, but as far as passing on these roots to my sons? As far as Scotland, I loved Braveheart, and recall Mike Myers describing the persona of his Scottish father: happy one minute and could turn cranky in a split second. Am I like this because I'm Scottish or is it just my melancholic personality? I did want to get married in a kilt, until I found out a real one was $1000. I'd like to visit Scotland one day too, but just don't see the importance of being Scottish, especially if I have to eat Haggus!
So I am an American. My roots are in the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution. Of course they are also in Sesame Street and Mr Rogers, the Brady Bunch and the Bee Gees. As sad as it may sound to some, I believe in 200 years Star Wars will be on the same fabled level as Paul Bunyon and Davy Crockett. And my community is my family, my church, my actor friends, whose values come not from the collection of facts and locations, but from places in the heart.

Blog #6 My Community

In the year 2002 my life changed forever. That was the year I left bachelorhood and became a member of the Robinson Family Community. The Caruthers family was a loose collection of wildly different children my 2 parents adopted. When we grew up, we left, and when no one else was left, Mom and her husband moved to Arizona.
The Robinson family is very strange. When I first met Rebecca’s parents, their standard of acceptance was listening to her Father recite “The Butthole Poem”. The rules are really simple, even though I fought them at first. Everything belongs to the family, especially the grandchildren, and Grandpa is the head of the family, even when he is doing everything Grandma tells him too. My house belonged to them, and if they fixed a sink, then they could use the garage to paint their truck. Boy did I fight this! It seemed intrusive and manipulative and I even went so far as to call the police on my father in law when he knocked on the door, demanding his possessions. Oops, did I leave out the part where I gave his wife a stern lecture about interfering in our affairs, kicking her out of my house. Oh, and how could I forget that my second son was just born and we had to move the next day and I had just “fired” my help.
Well, things settled down and I realized that these people, whether I liked it or not, were my family and, more than that, they were my community. My wife calls her mother 2 and 3 times a day and her sisters at least once a day. And everyone is made aware of what everyone else is doing, their struggles, their joys, what their kids are up to. And every year, there is a birthday party for every member of the family. So, I am a Robinson now. I have listened very carefully to my father in law as he explains that, as the paternal figure, he takes on the responsibility of watching over the family, in prayer and in actions, like fixing cars and garbage disposals. And when he is over, fixing our station wagon, in the rain and the cold, I am out helping him, listening to his stories, his sermons, and his advice a little part of the little boy inside of me is happy again. I realize that these are the values I have wanted all my life, a close family, one that looks out for eachother.
Oh, did I mention he “knighted” me at my wedding?

Blog #3 Reading Response

I chose the reading, “Nerds: The New Players” for my strong identity with this group of people. The brief article cites Tobey Maguire and Harry Potter as examples of the new nerds and states that it isn't just nerds versus everyone else nowadays. The line, “Now there's no way to tell who gets the last laugh” is one that I applaud. He goes on to cite Tina Fey and Bill Gates as examples of nerds who made it big. And he makes the point that not every nerd gets to be famous.

I am a nerd. I am now proud of the fact. I used to deny it. But I have seen every single Star Trek movie (and most TV episodes) and every single Star Wars movie, as well as read several ST and SW novels. I love The Lord Of The Rings and wish I could find a nice Dungeons and Dragons group to join. And I was even thinking of becoming a Math major my first week back at college. I am a nerd.

I came from David Douglas High School in suburban Portland in the late 70s where it was very black and white. Nerds were nerds and the “cool people” were into sports, cheerleading and being popular. Little did they know some nerd in California, the biggest one of all, was at that time developing the system that each one of these people would store their data on! Nerds got called names and they got outcast and beat up. The names were mean and usually were gay slurs. If you were in Drama you were most likely labeled gay, whether you were or not. Boy did I love it when I was in the Army and some of these tough guys dropped out of runs. And this 130lb dork that used to play barbies with his sister, hated fixing cars and didn't even have a girlfriend till I was 18 would just laugh and tough it out and finish the run.

So I am glad that nerds are now taking over. I can't see them all, but I see film trailers where groups of nerds are the good guys in the story. And they are not all skinny and handsome. I see groups of friends my fifteen year old nephew has and they seem very comfortable in their nerdiness. Which is very good news for me since I raised two mommies boy nerds. Video games help I guess. You can be a hero playing Guitar Hero on a piece of plastic. In my day, if I was seen playing my tennis racket to Kiss or Peter Frampton I would have been pounded. Nowadays you can go on youtube and end up with your own TV show for being goofy.

Blog # 4 Who I Am

I am James Allen Caruthers.

I am the son of... I don't know. I am adopted. And somewhat afraid of finding them.

I am my mother Martha, I am artistic, naïve, critical and one hell of a drama queen. She taught me to read and to love school and to be a gentleman.

I am my father Jim, the angry, drunken man I hated in my teens, accepted in my twenties and then loved in my thirties. He taught me to be anal, to pack, to love math and architecture. Because of him I got beat up as a kid. Because of him I treated my wives like shit, lost the first one and damn near lost the current one. But I have no greater example of how prayer, faith and a new life can totally transform a man.

I am my friends Kevin, Jim and Donn, who opened new worlds to me, and at times I was at odds with them, thought they hated me or wanted nothing to do with me. But now, at 50, i am at peace with them and talk with them, if only on Facebook.

I am the music I love, the books and movies that have inspired me. I have been Bruce Springsteen, George Bailey, Kevin Costner, Bob Dylan, Jim Morrison, Ronald Reagan, Jimi Hendrix, Vincent Van Gogh, CS Lewis, Jack Bauer, Gilligan, Bill Cosby, Mick Jagger and Anthony Hopkins.

I am my friend Scott and the US Army. One great life experience that lead to an Eternal experience. High school was an irrelevant puff of smoke. The Army is what gave me confidence, training, a career, a wonderful experience and a wife... for a few years anyway. Scott introduced me to Jesus, who I thought was a redneck at first. And, after five years of procrastinating and being afraid to be one of “those people”, I said yes to Jesus, whom I still picture as Robert Powell in the Franco Zeferelli film.

Therefore, I am Jesus. The words I love say that He is in me and I am in Him. My life is hidden with Him and in His Father. I will live forever with Him in a paradise that, right at this moment, sounds a little annoying. They also say that except for Him, there is no other way, which means that, according to my beliefs, many will go on and not know Him and will be tormented... and I still am having a hell of a time with that one, pardon the pun. And this meeting 21 years ago has shaped my life, even at times I dream of being in the back seat in an empty car that is steered by no one and is going forward recklessly. This eternal confidence in a loving God does not blend well with, nor does it obliterate, my extreme lack of confidence in this planet and it's people, especially me. I hunger for His will, yearn to know Him, to walk like Him and have his compassion and understanding of people. And at the same time, grow to be bloatedly full of His yapping and constant nagging at my conscience. I don't want what He says and I can't hear Him when I desperately need Him and feel abandoned. And I tune him out. Just the same way I did my father at age 15. And there is a little guilt and there is overeating until those things make me sick and I come home to His love. And I remember why I said yes.

I am Larry Huch, the meanest son of a bitch currently on Christian TV. I was taken in by the cult of his personality and learned faith, learned to serve, was given an opportunity to act on stage, and I found my drug. Soon the golden statue cracked and once I knew the man, I hated the man, and all he stood for. I felt raped, abused, used, violated in my mind and my wallet and damn near tossed the whole thing away. I am his anger, that was masked as being driven and being a prophet. I am his doctrine and it is one Hell of an exorcism to rid myself of all the phony, outright lies of his faith and teachings on how to get from God.

I am Rebecca, my wife and my teacher, my example of how to smell the roses. The sweet young girl I met while doing a play. Who teaches me to control my temper at the same time she teaches my son. She teaches me to let go, just like she teaches my son. And I feel for her, especially when Toby and I are having tantrums and throwing things and screaming, “why doesn't it work”?
I am her love. I am her softness. I am her childlike faith, I am her rose colored glasses... and I pray that one day soon I will truly see as she sees and put on this love, this softness, this grace and faith, and ADD silliness in the face of an angry, critical world. And I will have an ice cream cone and watch all the other ants destroy themselves while I hold her hand and we walk through life happy and content.

I am my son Toby. The one who spoke to me at the ultrasound and said, “Hi, I'm Toby!” He is the first being that I know that I am truly related to and he is a slice of me, and all those who are me and have made me. I laugh when he laughs. I cry when he cries. I scream when he screams. He swears when I swear. And when I see him draw, or tell a morbid, yet wild story, or explain how he needs a cheeseburger and ice cream in the most expressive and dramatic way, using his whole body to tell it, I see the seed of me. The seed my parents didn't care to or didn't bother to recognize. And I want so much to water him and nurture him with my love and understanding. Protect him and cuddle him and shelter him from the horror flick that is Earth. But at times I get so mad at him, for the incredible crime of being himself, which is being me. And I laugh as I tell him to ask for help, knowing that it is something I dread.

To look in the mirror is not to see who I am. Who I am is who I have met and known. I don't know who I would be without these people. To miss out on any one of them would be a lesser me. Even though I swore at times, if I could go back I would avoid most of them. I see that I am stuck with them. I moan at the idea of calling my mother and father regularly, even though they are both states away, yet they will live in me till I die. What they did right I will try to do. What they did wrong I will try not to do. And if I fail, can I really think that I am somehow better than they are? Smarter? Have more knowledge and resources than they had? If I succeed, I am still no better. For they are many someones also.

Blog #3 The reading response

I read all three of the readings, but am focusing on the Joshua Bell article. It gives the account of world renowned violinist Joshua Bell performing at a Metro station in Washing DC. One morning he came and performed for 45 minutes during morning rush hour, at a station where a lot of federal employees are getting off their trains and heading to work. And here is my response (which may be a shitty first draft, but deadline is near and my wife really needs me to do something with the kids):

Dear Mr Weingarten,

I have read your article on the Joshua Bell incident and I have one thing to say to you, “thank you.” Yes, sir, thanks to you and your driveling, incessant, super sized value meal of a wordy, portentious article I now have the perfect piece to read my kids to sleep at night. First of all, this experiment is really hardly worthy of the three sentences I wrote describing the incident to my English Instructor, so this part is not your fault. They take a man hardly anyone knows (no reflection on his amazing talent) and stick him in the middle of a bunch of idiots going to their offices to continue their twisted mission of dragging this country even further into a bureaucratic quagmire it already is. OF COURSE THEY DIDN'T KNOW WHO HE WAS!! These people probably think Michael Bolton has talent and no doubt think that Michael Buble is the next Sinatra! You might as well have taken U2's Bono to a conference full of senior citizens trying to maximize their retirements and getting investment and medicare tips. Bono could walk right up to them, introduce himself, start singing “With or Without You”, and they would argue that Cher's husband died years ago and this man is an impostor! For God's sake, at least put the guy up on the Mall, with a little bit of commercialism around him, have some people listen who aren't tunnel-visioned. I would listen. I wouldn't know who he was. I'd probably contribute, myself a former street guitarist with slightly less talent than Mr Bell. So there's that.

Now, Gene, we come to you. And I do appreciate the background on Joshua Bell. You set the story up very well. But all those words to say basically nothing more than “famous guy plays and isn't recognized?” This is worthy of a Pulitzer?! And this bloated, triple-decker cheeseburger of excess vocabulary and portentious phrasing was just an excerpt? My God, what else was there to write about? Did you mention his shoe size, his favorite movies, the color of every passing stranger's socks in the full article? A Pulitzer? And you gloss over the fact that some Brazilian nitwit with no heart and soul calls the police on street musicians? Holy crap, Gene, this is the real crime of the story! Your writing is dull and it was a pain to read this article. I am reminded of a scene in “Amadeus” where the King says to Mozart, “too many notes”. And I am sure that you would see me as a bumbling king and no doubt envision your self as the Mozart of words, but I say to you, “too many words!” Were it not that I HAD to read this, I would have tossed it before the second paragraph.

Have a great day, Gene,
Jim Caruthers
Vancouver, Washington

Blog Post #2 The Movie Titanic

In 1998 I worked in a two person office with my good friend, Sarah. She is a James Cameron and Leonardo DiCapprio fan who saw Titanic twelve times. I saw it twice and thoroughly loved it. Also at the time I was living with 2 other guys and lived 2 blocks from a theater, so when I got bored or they were too loud I would walk over and see it again. I was a fan of the Titanic in High School and even built a model of the ship. I could tell you all the facts, and my only criticism of the movie is that I wanted them to delve into the facts and the politics of White Star and why the ship sank.

My impression of the film was an overwhelming love for the story of Rose and Jack. Being an artist myself, the story of Jack was highly romantic and inspiring: his lifestyle, his carefree attittude, his experiences drawing. I loved seeing the ship, even if it was computer generated. And, let's be honest, seeing Kate Winslett in the nude was not the most unpleasant part of the movie. Knowing a lot of people who are Christians, I heard how raunchy it was and that there was an unneccessary sex scene. I just tuned these people out. I had drawn nude models in college and after two minutes the fact that they are nude is no big deal. You are learning to see forms, and draw negative spaces, and you realize it's just Sue, and she's nice and she comments on your drawings. Granted, I may have enjoyed the female models more than the male, but most people would agree the female body is more artistically designed than the male. In summary, I totally wanted be Jack, loved his character and every time I saw the movie, it was a wonderful escape for 3 hours, where I lived the life of Jack.

Enter my lovely wife Rebecca a couple years later, and we are on a date, driving in the country and this movie comes up. Rebecca is a nice Christian girl and, sometimes, I am a nice Christian guy. She comes from a nice happy, Christian home, I come from a very dysfunctional, highly non-christian home and had my experience with God later in life and am still kind of working on it. Her view of the movie was quite different. She described the scene with Kate as soft porn, found it offensive to women and questioned how I could enjoy it. At one point she even asked me, “What if it was your daughter? Would you enjoy seeing her topless?” I was at a loss because I loved this woman, but she made me feel like a dirty old man for seeing the movie so many times. I believe we reached an uncomfortable truce and moved on. But there was no way I could relate my experience seeing the film, and the scene where she is drawn, as very romantic (the artistic definition of the word), very tastefully done and not offensive at all. In all fairness, I would have my boys leave the room if the scene was on, but they are 5 and 3.

So there we were, two people who very much love each other, have so much in common, cannot wait to get married and start a family... and yet this movie, for 15 minutes one Sunday, divided us. Both of us from completely different backgrounds and experiences, both of us seeing two different things based on our social conditioning.

First assignment - Introduction blog

Hello, my name is Jim Caruthers. I am 47, tired of being unemployed, and am enrolled in college again, in the accounting/business field. I have been a Graphic Designer and still freelance, but the field is highly competetive and I desire to move on.

I have a lovely wife, who I met doing a play in Aloha, OR. Both of us being actors, we had a medieval wedding and had our family dress up. My father in law knighted me; and we had our pastor dress as a cardinal and recite the funny speech from The Princess Bride. We have been married seven years, and have 2 extremely healthy and active boys.

My likes are football (especially this time of year), reading (spy novels), cooking, acting, being silly, being sarcastic, music (of almost any kind), art, poetry (the kind that doesn't rhyme), playing guitar, singing in my car, going to the beach and playing with my kids. I absolutely love coffee and have a fetish for arranging and rearranging things. I also love to organize things. And I am an Asian Buffet junkie!

Oh, boy! Now the fun part! I happen to be one of those weird people who has a long list of specific, and bizarre dislikes. Rent the movie High Strung and observe Steve Oedekirk's character: he is me! I dislike grocery shopping (except at night when all the people are gone), people who don't know where they are going on the roads, people who "camp out" at places I need to be (once at Safeway-bane of my existence-a lady took five minutes to pick a pound of hamburger, and it was the last thing on my list).
The rest of my dislikes are loud noises, fake people, warm coffee, warm baths, warm hot tubs, non alcoholic wine (for pete's sake, just drink grape juice!), food that doesn't look like the picture, going to my bank and having them treat me like they are doing me a favor, pushy salesmen, commercials that are 3 times louder than the show, retarded beer commercials while I am watching sports, overcrowded theme parks, overcrowded anything and liver. And the king of all my dislikes, the thing I just hate the 3 headed bejesus out of is hot weather. And I consider anything over 75 hot!

I am very happy to be taking this class because I have always thought of myself as a writer, have even written a novel, and love to write. Maybe from now on when I think about what I want to be when I grow up, I will remember this.

Welcome to me, world

Hello, and welcome to me, world! I am 47 and just going back to college!