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!