Edward Lim, Former Teacher

Haywire

2012-01-23T12:18:00.001-08:00

Dir. Stephen Soderbergh

Mallory Kane will kick your ass. She may not share many words with you, but she will beat you into submission. As played by mixed martial arts fighter Gina Carano, Mallory Kane could be the long-lost sibling of the Driver, played by Ryan Gosling, from last year’s Drive. Both are silent, strong-willed assassins that are no stranger to violence and blood.

Soderbergh’s movie has a very cool sheen to it, mixing warm warmer hues in Barcelona and cooler tones in upstate New York to give the film a very modernist feel. He also employs a tilting and panning camera that he employed in Ocean’s 11 that provides a sort of voyeuristic, security cam feel to the movie. The film zips along across the globe accompanied by a bopping jazz score to help move things along.

Accompanying Carano is an expansive list of leading men including current IT guy Michael Fassbender, Ewan McGregor, Channing Tatum, Antonio Banderas and Michael Douglas. What’s lacking, however, is a unique and coherent plot. In effort to highlight Carano’s fighting skills, which are impressive, the decision was made to limit a cohesive story. It’s basically about a agent being double crossed and sold out by her employer, or something. Dialogue seemed to be a thin glue holding together action sequences which, disappointingly, happened all too infrequently.

Much publicity has been directed to Carano’s acting ability, or rather to her lack of acting history. I personally feel like she casts an aura about her that intrigues and invites questions. You wonder who she is and what she’s plotting. When she speaks, however, she sounds like a regular person acting rather than embodying the character she’s aiming to portray. It’s a bit distracting, but her sheer physicality tends to overcome any of her acting shortcomings.

Haywire is a relatively zippy film, clocking in at just around 93 minutes and serves as kind of a “Best of” in terms of Soderbergh’s skills and themes. It’s nothing that is mindblowing in terms of narrative or even action, but it’s interesting to see the arthouse director extending his range to include some action.

Grade: C+

Video Review

2012-01-04T06:56:00.000-08:00

Midnight in Paris
Dir. Woody Allen

It may be me, but I feel like the days of the auteur director are gone. I remember thinking that the name of the director meant something. For some, just hearing who the director was could be reason enough to see a movie (in the same way my mom is pretty much on board for any Harrison Ford movie). It seems like these prestige days of film have been steadily waning since the 70s and nowadays it looks like studios are really just pushing whatever can yield returns. I’m not trying to take an elitist stance on the matter as I thoroughly and routinely enjoy my fair share of Hollywood dreck, but once in a while a movie comes along where you really feel the director’s passion, perspective, and motivation. Midnight in Paris is one of those movies.

Midnight in Paris tells the story of Gil Pender (Owen Wilson), a Hollywood screenwriter disillusioned by his high-paying yet unfulfilling job. He’s vacationing with his fiancé Inez (Rachel McAdams) in Paris while her father negotiates a big business deal. While in Paris, Gil sneaks out nightly to get inspiration for a passion project of his, a semi-autobiographical novel about a man who cannot escape thinking about the past – and wouldn’t you know it, every night at midnight a cab appears that magically transports Gil to 1920s Paris. Here, he meets all sorts of literary figures such as F. Scott Fitzgerald (Tom Hiddleson), Salvador Dali (Adrien Brody), and Gertrude Stein (Kathy Bates) all of whom help him sort out his predicament.

What sounds like a rather whimsical premise is really Woody Allen’s way of showing the romantic and sensuous nature of Paris. I’m kind of liking Allen’s recent tour of the world. Though the director is most well-known as using New York as a character (Annie Hall, Manhattan, etc.), recently he’s made stops in London (Match Point, Scoop), Spain (Vicky Christina Barcelona), and now Paris. I’d argue that the change of scenery has yielded some of Allen’s strongest works yet. Midnight in Paris is a sweeping romance, but interestingly not between Wilson and McAdams. In fact, Inez is a shrill harpy that berates and insults Gil at every turn. Instead, the romance exists within the streets and buildings of Paris. This deep affection is felt within every inch of Allen’s film. The soft antique lighting, the crowded, smoky Jazz club, the wistful Cole Porter tune in the background – everything just has a quiet, slow-paced elegance of days gone by. Everything, as well, has the touch of vintage Woody Allen and Wilson embodies the self-deprecating, insecure protagonist Allen would have played some 30 years ago.

Now the film isn’t without its flaws. There are numerous historical characters packed in, some of which appear only to be name-checked. As mentioned before, Rachel McAdams’s Inez is whiny and cloying as Gil’s fiancé and you wish someone would just push her in the Seine already. That being said, though, Midnight in Paris evokes a feeling that you rarely get in movies nowadays. There is no violence, there is little profanity, plot points are forced along by transforming robots or mile-high explosions. The audience is allowed to relax and follow the gentle current along as a story is told. Allen has shown that he’s a fan of letting a story blossom and unfurl at a gentle clip, like a leisurely stroll through the city of lights.

Young Adult

2012-01-03T08:31:00.000-08:00

Dir. Jason Reitman

I think as humans it’s one of our goals in life to avoid responsibility. Something about waking up and thinking about the bills that need to be paid, that rattling noise coming from the car or that call to the doctor you keep putting off that just seems so…lame. Growing up, I had romantic notions of being an adult. I could buy all the video games and Dunkaroos my little heart desired! You come to find, however, that there is precious little time to play video games and Dunkaroos have so many carbs. I think that’s why Charlize Theron’s character Mavis Gary in Young Adult struck such a chord with me. She is a woman hell-bent on recapturing her glory days of adolescence and she will do just about anything to get it.

As we’re introduced to Mavis, she’s passed out in her bed. She carries around a tiny Pomeranian named Dolce in a pink bag. She writes, or rather ghostwrites, young adult novels about the lives of prep school students and gains inspiration from eavesdropping on real students. Frankly, Mavis’s life is a mess. She did, however, escape the clutches of her small town upbringing and tells herself each and every day how fortunate she is to go on to bigger and better things. One day, though, an email announcement about a former flame’s baby triggers something inside of her and she races back to her hometown to win back the heart of her high school sweetheart Buddy Slade (Patrick Wilson).

Young Adult is basically an extended character study on the broken, sad, and bitter Mavis Gary. As played by Charlize Theron, Mavis is utterly engrossing and often times you wince at the things she does and says. In her mind, she’s a hot, irresistible seductress yet on the outside she may be hot, but she is really just pitiful – and frankly the woman is batshit crazy. There was a certain suspension of belief with Mavis; she certainly didn’t exist in the real world as we know it, but in her own crazy fantasy world. Luckily for the audience we have Matt Frehauf (Patton Oswald), a high school classmate of Mavis’s, that not only deflects her shallow insanity back at her, but provides us with a nice dose of cold reality. In high school, while Mavis was prancing around as one of the most popular kids in school, oblivious to the world, Matt was accused of being a homosexual and savagely beaten by those who ran in the same circle as Mavis. As a testament to Mavis’s ignorance, she simply recalls him as “Hate Crime Guy”. The two make for a strange pairing yet ultimately bond over their love of liquor and the fact that they are both outcasts for very different reasons.

The picture painted in Young Adult is dreary. I think we’re programmed to think that the popular jocks and cheerleaders in high school that make our lives miserable will end up being failures at life – but when you actually see what that looks like it kind of breaks your heart. As I watched the movie, I was reminded of a similar themed movie that came out this summer starring Cameron Diaz. In it, Diaz played almost the same character but instead aimed for low-brow guffaws and that film ended up a mean-spirited, hollow mess. Young Adult avoids this trapping by making Mavis a very complicated, three-dimensional character. It doesn't hurt that the acting is several grades higher too.

There are moments during Young Adult where I laughed out loud. There are moments where my mouth was agape in utter shock. There are also moments of strange tenderness as well. There was a moment towards the end of the movie where Mavis teeters on an epiphany. She may have been caught up in a moment, but she really began to think about her life. She receives some words of advice from another character that tips her scale in one direction – at this moment you see just how fragile and broken Mavis truly is and you pray that she’ll change but she probably won’t. Well, I guess that’s growing up.

Grade: B

The Adventures of Tintin

2011-12-30T06:52:00.001-08:00

Dir. Steven Spielberg

Few directors have that instant name-recognition like Steven Spielberg. My mom can probably name at least one or two of his movies which is quite a feat. Also, I think Spielberg is very assured in all the films that he does. Themes, set-pieces, even music flow through all of his works and tie them together. When Spielberg makes a movie it can usually be classified in one of two groups: Important “message” type films (Schindler’s List, Saving Private Ryan, this year’s War Horse) and Rollicking adventure films (Indian Jones movies, War of the Worlds). The Adventures of Tintin is firmly in the latter category. In fact, other than the search for a lost treasure, and maybe touching on some themes of vengeance, The Adventures of Tintin is almost all straightforward action with little subtext.

We’re introduced to our character Tintin (Jamie Bell) while he is shopping in his native Brussels. Most of the world is familiar with the titular hero, as he is star of his own long-running comics by author Herge. After purchasing a mysterious model ship, Tintin is suddenly thrust into a treasure-seeking journey that takes him across the globe and where he meets future partner Captain Haddock (Andy Serkis). That’s pretty much all there is to it. Tintin and Haddock follow clues and trail a meanie played by Daniel Craig who, like Spielberg, is making his second appearance of the holiday season following The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.

The action scenes are bright and lively and cartoonishly over-the-top. In particular, a dizzying chase through the fictional Middle Eastern city of Bagghar that begins as a simple “follow that man!” scene and results in the decimation of the entire city. I admired the way the camera loops and flies and swivels around the action in a way that would be nearly impossible in live action. Every action-packed segment is thrilling and jaw-dropping yet ultimately feels hollow because the plot is so thin.

This brings me to the topic of the motion-capture element. Motion capture has its fair share of detractors, most of which lie in the “uncanny valley”, that is that no matter how good the animation, the characters will always have a lifeless, eerie, robotic quality. I can firmly say that Tintin boasts some of the most impressive computer animation of the year, yet it’s true, there is something oddly disconnecting about the characters. I mostly noticed it in the way Tintin’s face never quite emoted like a real person, his forehead was always a little stiff. I think, however, this didn’t affect my enjoyment of the movie, and as motion capture becomes more and more prevalent in films we become more and more adjusted to the off-kilter quality of the characters. Actor Jamie Bell does a fine job capturing the optimistic and sunny Tintin and veteran motion-capture actor Andy Serkis fits easily into the role of the alcoholic Captain Haddock.

All said and done, The Adventures of Tintin is an interesting combination of newfangled, modern cinema blended with an old school yarn about treasure seekers. Though the movie is entertaining enough, I left the theater with a sense that I might have been satisfied with the meal, but not necessarily wanting more.
Grade: B

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo

2011-12-28T12:48:00.001-08:00

Dir. David Fincher

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo is one of the most highly anticipated films of 2011. The novel, published posthumously by author Steig Larson, ignited with American readers and has resulted in a trio of films in the author’s native Sweden. It was only a matter of time before the American film rolled into theaters. Questions flared up, however. Would the American version shy away from the brutal violence and explicit sex? The answer is, mostly no. The film is a movie for grown-ups and never placates to the audience.

At its heart, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo is a murder mystery. It’s one that is about on par with a really good episode of Law and Order: SVU. The hunt for a serial killer of women, though, is only a small portion of the pie. Another slice is Mikael Blomkvist (Daniel Craig), the shamed reporter of a tabloid magazine looking for vengeance and an opportunity to clear his name. Elsewhere, punk/sleuth Lisbeth Salander (Roony Mara) is trying to survive/kick ass despite the obstacles, um, obstacles placed by her sleazy guardian (Yorick van Wageningen). The two heroes, for lack of a better word, team up to untangle a mystery involving a dysfunctional family that includes incest, Nazis, and pretty much all things unsavory.

So we have all the pieces of the pie. Rooney Mara’s daring portrayal of Lisbeth Salander is the whipped cream that makes the dessert so delicious. The role of Lisbeth is one that caused quite a lot of input from fans. Many believed that Noomi Repace’s Lisbeth from the Swedish films was perfect; some even calling her to take on the role in the American films. Natalie Portman was an original frontrunner, whispy, beautiful, Natalie Portman. I must say that Mara’s Lisbeth is a nuanced, complicated, and thoroughly rich performance. Fierce and strong yet damaged, she commands the screen with her icy intensity. The supporting characters, including Craig’s Blomkvist, turn in strong performances as well, though in my mind I pictured Mikael as a little more doughy and everyday, not the James Bond-ian hero embodied by Craig.

David Fincher brings a dark, cold atmosphere perfectly set in the frigid Swedish landscape and proves most effective when the characters are trying to figure something out or in mortal danger. Some of the quieter, emotional moments feel a bit uneven amidst the dreary industrial feel of the film.

I liked Lisbeth and Mikael’s partnership although at one point, the tone of the relationships shifts and becomes sort of clumsy. The film rapidly loses steam after the tense climax and is punctuated with a mini Oceans 11-type caper that really seemed a bit silly.

In the end, though, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo is a deft, dark and well-crafted mystery supported by strong performances.
Grade: B+

Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol

2011-12-21T06:38:00.001-08:00

Dir. Brad Bird

It’s amazing to think that the first Mission Impossible movie starring Tom Cruise came out 15 years ago. Back then, Alanis Morissette was at the top of the charts and the O.J. Simpson trial was just warming up.

The first movie in the series, directed by Brian De Palma, was, despite some iconic scenes, a labyrinthine plot that focused more about canted angles than coherency. The next movie, appropriately titled Mission Impossible II (or MI: 2 for you cool kids), eschewed the twisty-turny plot for a more straightforward action film with John Woo’s signature balletic action scenes. 2006’s film (MI: III, surprise), took the film into J.J. Abrams land meaning complex, emotionally turbulent scenes and Phillip Seymour Hoffman as one bad-ass villain. Despite the strength of MI:III (which was the strongest film to date, I felt), the film struggled at the box office and the franchise was in question.

Five years later, however, Mission Impossible: Ghost Protocol made it off the ground under the watchful eye of director Brad Bird, Pixar animation wunderkind responsible for such lauded films as Ratatouille and The Incredibles. As an animation director, Bird has an eye for the absurd. Ridiculous, over-the-top action scenes set atop towering sky-scrapers, in whirling sandstorms, and a daring escape from a Hungarian prison. Preposterous, yes, but it is called Mission Impossible, not Mission Plausible. The action scenes are set up with dizzying aplomb. Several members of the audience were gasping just at the notion of Tom Cruise’s Ethan Hunt climbing the outside of the world’s tallest building, Burj Khalifa, but he was going to do it with, basically, one hand tied behind his back! The film certainly has some of the best action of the year, and in glorious IMAX no less.

Ghost Protocol represents a shift in tone for the MI series. Abrams had set up his film with a very complex emotional undertone, the home life of Ethan Hunt, if you will. That film saw Ethan settling down and getting married and the difficulties that can bring to an international spy. Though this complication is present in Ghost Protocol, in surprising ways, the film is more about good, old fashioned action. The MacGuffin this time is a set of codes that a megalomaniac wants to control in order to unleash nuclear war on the world. Not the most original, for sure and even Michael Nyqvist as the film’s main antagonist has very little presence in the movie. Similarly, Tom Wilkinson shows up as the secretary of IMF but basically phones in his role as the "Basil Exposition" character. Instead, the team, comprised of regular Simon Pegg and newcomers Jeremy Renner and Paula Patton, hop from locale to locale always just a step behind the bad guys meaning a daring chase to catch up.

Let’s be honest. The action movies of late have been tiresome. Yes we all marvel at the cosmic hammer of Thor; we all coo over the ambulatory simian Caesar, but for my money, the best kind of action is the one of an ordinary man, try to get the bad guys before they blow up the world. And if he has to jump down an empty elevator shaft only to stop a few millimeters before being eviscerated by a large spinning fan – so be it.

Grade: A-

Movie Review

2011-12-02T08:21:00.001-08:00

The Muppets
Dir: James Bobin
Hollywood is no stranger to the reboot. Nothing invigorates a floundering franchise like new talent in front of and behind the camera. As soon as The Muppets movie was announced several years ago, I had already cast my doubts. I had grown up with The Muppets and had quite a soft spot for them. I remember watching reruns with (obscure to me) celebrities and not quite getting a lot of the jokes. A recent trip to Disneyworld and watching the Muppetvision show (largely unchanged since my childhood) had me pining for the Muppets again. It seems as though the same nostalgia radiated through Jason Segel (How I Met Your Mother) as he has imbued his script for the new Muppet movie with the same warm, glowing reverence.
Segel stars as Gary, a grown man in a long-term relationship with schoolteacher Mary (Amy Adams). Gary’s brother Walter is one of the biggest Muppet fans you’ll find – and he’s a Muppet himself but doesn’t quite realize it. On a group trip to Los Angeles, Walter discovers a nefarious plot to shut down the old Muppet theater so with the help of Kermit the Frog and all the Muppet pals, the group attempts to put together a show that will save the theater.
The premise is familiar and has a equal parts road trip and Busby Berkely, “putting on a show” vibe to it. Throughout, cameos come fast and furious from the likes of Rashida Jones, Jack Black, Selena Gomez and that kid from Modern Family. The cameos, though, are really the only modern thing about the Muppets which turns out to be a good thing. There are no winking jabs at Disney or nudging references to the “industry”. Snark, sarcasm and a cynical attitude are eschewed in favor of silliness. That’s not to say that some of the jokes aren’t aimed at adults (we can clean up the theater much faster through montage!), but it always comes from a heartfelt place that just wants to make the audience smile.
Despite all the laughs (and there are many), much of the movie deals with nostalgia in a difficult way. Kermit, in particular, finds it difficult to revisit the past and (until convinced otherwise) is mostly content with leaving things the way it is. He, in many ways, is very modern in that he’s not just a bounding source of optimism, but seems to understand that the sometimes history can be painful. That being said, sometimes I wanted to just smack him and tell him to snap out of his funk, but luckily we have Miss Piggy to do just that. Speaking of, Miss Piggy and all the Muppets, display very interesting and funny quirks. Almost the way that ensemble superhero movies have so many characters that you’re bound to connect with one of them, The Muppets all have something about them that is individual that you can connect with. Miss Piggy has been hurt romantically in the past and is fiercely guarded; Gonzo has compromised his individuality and “sold out” as the head of a large corporation -- heady stuff for a blue furry creature.
Ultimately, The Muppets is a movie that will probably appeal more to adults who have missed the Muppets for the past 10 or so years rather than 6 year olds (though everyone can enjoy the chicken rendition of Cee-Lo’s Forget You). Plus, if this movie isn’t a success you can expect a reboot in 4 years starring the Moopets, and that’s something you definitely don’t want to see.
Grade: B+

Hugo

2011-11-29T11:29:00.000-08:00

Hugo
Dir. Martin Scorsese
I frequently wonder what it’s like to be a child in the world we live in. Some might scoff at this and say how young I am and how I basically grew up in this modern world. But at 26 years old, when I was a kid, we didn’t have cell phones or the internet or 3-D. Animation was still done by hand and a singing, dancing Lion King was enough to keep kids and adults entertained.
Now, it seems as though childhood is loud, brash, and painfully ADHD. Lights flash, robots explode, and everything needs to literally jump off the screen. This brings me to Martin Scorsese’s newest film, Hugo. Based on the young adult novel by Brian Selznick, Hugo tells the story of a young boy who loses his father in a fire and is forced to fend for himself in a Parisian train station. Everyday he watches and observes the lives of those that exist in the station all the while feeling a deep sense of loss and a loss of purpose. He then comes in contact with (I’m careful to not use the word ‘befriend’ because the two are definitely not friends) and young girl and her godfather, an old toymaker with a secret.
Ultimately, Hugo is a rich cinematic experience that touches on themes of loss, responsibility, growing up, and finding out your place in the world. All the while the story unfolds in glorious 3-D. Now, I’ve seen my share of 3-D and there is good, there is bad, and there is woefully unnecessary. When Martin Scorsese makes a movie in 3-D, you see it. You shell out the extra 4 dollars and you see it in 3-D. Above all, Martin Scorsese has made a film that is a love letter to all films and his command of the medium demands you see it the way he intended. The use of 3-D in Hugo creates a world that is deep, and engrossing. It pulls you into the world and creates a sense of wonder and mystery around you. Mythical dragons never fly in your face, swords are never pointed at your nose, but you see deeper into the dangerous, yet common world of the protagonist Mr. Hugo Cabret.
Effects aside, you feel the love and passion for film that Scorsese pours into every minute of the story. For someone who has studied film for years such as myself, I felt a very deep and personal connection to the story he was telling. I wonder, though, that for children who are so used to having their entertainment flashed and crammed down their throats, will they also delight in the film as I have? I think many children will respond to some of the more adult themes of loss and acceptance as well as the central mystery around the metal automaton, but I fear some children will be bored to bits.
For me, however, Hugo was a beguiling, magical journey. One that harkens back to the days when family entertainment could be a simple story about a boy trying to find his way in the world – and the magic of the movies.
Grade: B+

Puss in Boots

2011-11-07T10:15:00.001-08:00

Puss in Boots
The equation for good family entertainment is tricky. Too loud and cutesy will alienate paying parents, too snarky and topical and kids will get bored. What is the happy medium for family films? Hollywood knows a winner on its hands when it generates sequel after sequel to capitalize on that kernel of success. Shrek was such an immediate success that, certainly, parts 2, 3, and 4 would be produced. As the returns started to diminish, executives probably started to panic. I imagine a roundtable session to go something like this: Quick – let’s grab a cute character from the movie and give it a chance in the spotlight. Hmm – Donkey? No (Eddie Murphy is too expensive). Fiona? (Nope – that last Disney princess movie flopped). Uh – howsabout that cat then, you know, the one that talks funny.
And thus Puss in Boots was created.
I admit that when I heard about this movie I rolled my eyes and dismissed it as a cash grab to capitalize on a floundering franchise and, well, it is. But – surprise, surprise, if it isn’t a buoyant, lively, funny, astute cash grab. The premise is familiar to anyone who’s seen the Shrek films, but doesn’t require any prior knowledge. Characters from oft-told fairy tales interact with one another in a twisted, modernist way. Puss (Antonio Banderas) is an anthropomorphized cat that is wrongfully accused of robbing his hometown, all the while working with his old pal Humpty Dumpty (Zach Galifinakis), evading the murderous Jack and Jill (Billy Bob Thornton and Amy Sedaris) and wooing a mysterious femme fatale, Kitty Softpaws (Salma Hayek). Puss’s lively backstory is told as a Spaghetti Western with swordfights, outlaws, and wagon chases. Contrasting this, Puss’s current quest for the Goose that lays golden eggs is a bright, vibrant fairy tale with beanstalks, giants, and one angry mama goose.
Whereas Shrek was about wink wink references for adults, Puss is a rather straightforward action/adventure starring a suave little kitty. The movie is funny without being sarcastic, exciting without being dumb, and just weird enough to distinguish itself from other talking animal pictures. I credit the voice casting with carrying a lot of the film (particularly Banderas and Hayek) as well as an assured, if somewhat heavy hand from director Chris Miller (who co-directed Shrek 3). At times, some of the requisite “lessons” can feel a bit forced and he tells a whopper of a backstory that clocks in at nearly 1/3 of the runtime – even Kitty Softpaws, to whom puss is telling his history, drifts off a bit.
I’m both impressed and a bit wary of the success of Puss in Boots as now movie studios can feel more confident churning out un-original original material (Dreamworks already has its eye on Puss 2); Pixar also has Planes on the schedule for next year (an off-shoot of its popular Cars franchise). How long before we see Slinky Dog: The Movie? It’s true, some of the most successful, both critically and commercially, animated films are sequels (Toy Story 3), but it’s the original material that most excites me. So while I will be waiting in line for How to Train Your Dragon 2, it’s films like next year’s ParaNorman and Wreck-It Ralph (both original ideas) that are marked on my calendar.

Grade for Erica: A-

Late Movie Review

2011-09-30T06:21:00.001-07:00

Contagion
Dir. Stephen Soderbergh

Contagion is not Outbreak. Though Contagion does share the same basic premise as the 1996 virus action film starring Dustin Hoffman and Rene Russo, the two movies are actually quite divergent. Whereas Outbreak was an explosive action movie hiding behind a virus, Contagion is an astute commentary on modern social culture…hiding behind a virus.
The film opens with Beth Emhoff (Gwyneth Paltrow) already infected. We don’t know with what or to what extreme, but the profuse sweating and flush skin are dead giveaways. We’ve all been in that sort of situation; felt sort of crummy so we decided to wait it out, drink some tea, stay in from work in our bathrobe and see what happens. Unfortunately, a mere three days after infection, poor Ms. Paltrow is writhing on the ground, foaming at the mouth and, well, dead. Then, the infection spreads. Through surprisingly accessible scientific speak, we are told the virus spreads from any form of contact. Picking up a glass, passing along a cell phone, a hug, a kiss, anything short of looking at someone will pass it along. From here, the movie diverges into multiple story arcs. One stays with Paltrow’s grieving widower (Matt Damon) as he tries to come to grips with his loss while protecting his remaining daughter. Scientist Dr. Erin Mears (Kate Winslet) is dispatched by CDC bigwig Dr. Ellis Cheever (Lawrence Fishbourne) to Minneapolis to discover the origin of Beth’s disease. Meanwhile, World Health Organization viruologist Dr. Leonora Orantes (Marion Cotillard) is sent to Hong Kong to see if she can find clues in the last place Beth was seen healthy. All the while, batty blogger Alan Krumweide (Jude Law) is spreading dangerous theories on how the government is keeping an antidote simply for profit.
The stories ricochet off one another, but most of the characters interact with only the two or three people in their storyline. Matt Damon’s character never even knows that Marion Cotillard’s character exists. The cast is admittedly large and these types of hyperlink narratives (a phrase referencing the multiple-storyline structure popularized by Mexican director Alejandro Gonzalez Inaritu) are tricky. Usually the audience becomes invested in one or two stories and the others feel underdeveloped and, certainly, some of the narratives here are more engaging than the other, but thanks to the strong acting by most all of the cast, we remain invested in their storylines. Jennifer Ehle as a driven scientist trying to find a cure is a standout for the deep sense of concern and duty she conveys in her simplest of glances.
I think Contagion stands as a very powerful movie for its honest approach to social disintegration. In Outbreak, the virus was Hollywood action. Dustin Hoffman must sprint to find the monkey that will save Rene Russo’s life! Earth-shattering bombs destroy an infected village in an orgy or pyrotechnics. Yet the virus was never contended with on a human level. Contagion, on the other hand, generates tension and, arguably, horror in its genuine approach to the degradation of society. When you look at modern societal horrors such as the riots in London, the earthquakes in Haiti or the floods of Japan, they don’t arrive with explosions or singular heroes dashing in to save the day, but escalate so slowly and severely that the ordinary citizen can’t help but be swept in. Contagion also makes the very strong connection to hysteria and our fascination with social networking. Jude Law’s Alan Krumweide takes to his video blog to champion the homeopathic quasi-cure forsythia while decrying the corruption of government and its commoditization of its citizens. Rather than dismiss Krumweide’s claims, the public labels him a profit and the movie makes it clear that these sort of polarizing claims can be as quick and dangerous (if not more so) than the disease itself. Ultimately, and I think again what points to the movie’s honesty, no one person saves the day and even the heroes make bad choices that could have saved millions of lives.
Contagion is an intelligent and socially relevant film that, thankfully, eschews explosions for real drama.
Grade for Erica: A-

Rise of the Planet of the Apes

2011-08-16T07:40:00.001-07:00

Genetically enhanced apes revolt and run amuck thanks to geneticist, James Franco. The notion alone is enough to elicit snickers and eye rolls. The entire premise of the Planet of the Apes franchise is entrenched in Sci-Fi giggledom. Humans dressed up in simian makeup, riding horses and subjugating primitive human-culture led by Charlton Heston is best known as kitschy, 60s camp. Hollywood most recently took a stab at a remake with Tim Burton’s (mostly) straightforward, if oddly generic, retooling in 2001. Wisely eschewing continuity with Burton’s film, Rise of the Planet of the Apes is a 100% reboot, starting from scratch and rewriting the primate history as a sort of cautionary tale of a scientist’s noble intentions gone, well, ape.
The film builds with a restrained attention to pace. There are very few mindless action scenes, no on runs through crowded streets jumping on cars or dodging traffic. Instead, the relationship between Franco’s Will and his chimp/adopted child Caesar. As Will continues to develop a cure to his father’s Alzheimer’s, his bond with Caesar grows. Eventually, due to a rather violent accident, Caesar is shipped to a primate holding facility where the seeds of revolution are planted.
Eventually, the premise washed over me and took me away, in part due to the nifty CG ape, Caesar. Filmed using motion capture and brought to life by Andy Serkis, Caesar is one of the strongest characters in the movie. Alas, as the premise builds, the apes finally attack on the Golden gate bridge. The action felt at once overdue and underwhelming. They jump, they climb, they YELL, they throw things. The humans shoot their guns, they sling their batons. I didn’t know who to root for. The apes in revolt or the dumb humans – knowing the trajectory of the franchise, you know the outcome before the movie even starts.
Of course, a new franchise is in mind and the film has a rather clever way of setting up the next film. Rise was made on a (relatively) modest budget, but given the financial success I’m guessing the subsequent films will receive a bigger budget. This usually equates to more apes, more fights, more scope, more scale, but probably will lose the emphasis on relationships that makes this movie so successful.

Captain America: The First Avenger

2011-08-03T08:18:00.001-07:00

The summer of Super Heroes continues. Quick refresher: Thor, X-Men, Green Lantern. Some hits, some misses, some so mediocre I can’t remember what happened during them. And now we have the First Avenger – technically speaking I think Iron Man beat Cap to the punch but that’s neither here nor there.
Steve Rogers is a literal 90-pound weakling. He’s small and frail, but scrappy as hell. He may look like you can snap his neck but he has determination like no other! It’s that spark that draws Dr. Erskine to enlist Rogers in an experimental program turning him into a Supersoldier. Soon, a villain known as Red Skull appears and threatens our freedom – not if Captain America has anything to do about it.
The concept itself is nothing far off-base from your usual superhero pages. Captain America, however, has a different feel to it that sets it apart from other films in the genre. Everytime I see a superhero movie, I expect to be wowed from start to finish with explosions and effects. I practically crave having my breath taken away – yet Captain America has the plotting and staging of a smaller film. There are explosions and fights and computer generated effects out the wazzoo, that’s for sure, but there is also time talk, to plan, to reflect and to interact. There really is no big aw-gee setpiece that knocks your socks off, but instead the action happens in fits and starts. When you adjust your expectations accordingly, you’ll find a more rewarding experience.
Joe Johnston, who most recently directed the gory, effects-laden Wolfman, has imbued the film with an old-school 1940s feel. Had he not balanced the tone between campy and earnest, the whole film could have been and slipshodden, patriotic mess. Making sure the audience really feels like they are in the 40s, however, makes Rogers’s unwavering dedication to his country more digestible.
Chris Evans, in the title role, has a very wholesome, steely all-American look that makes him perfect for the role. He pants, he runs, he smacks bad guys with his shield with aplomb. Hayley Atwell as his British female partner is plucky and feisty and does her best to not be a damsel in distress. Hugo Weaving, however, steals the show whenever his red-skulled Johann Schmidt struts on screen. Weaving has a way of taking his dialogue and coating it in molasses – drawing out words and growling them with frightening menace.
Going into Captain America I had reservations: a grown muscled man draped in the America flag throwing a red, white and blue shield at Nazis? A bald, walking skull dipped in Firetruck red paint? Luckily, my fears were assuaged by the care and respect and touch of winking wit in the film.
The sequels have been all but guaranteed. In fact, production on The Avengers, the Marvel super team that includes Iron Man, Thor, Hulk and the aforementioned Captain, is well underway under the guidance of Buffy the Vampire Slayer creator Joss Whedon. It’s hard to say whether future films starring Cap will be successful – we all had high hopes for Iron Man 2…until it came out. I, for one, will be crossing my fingers and holding my breath until May 2012 rolls around and we see if Marvel’s efforts pay off.

New Year

2010-09-09T13:44:00.000-07:00

Here we are -- the new year. After so much consternation involving lost/gained positions, I'm back.

Same school, same job, different students.

I recently stumbled upon my behavior notebook from my first year of teaching. It's a small, brown and green notebook that promises it is 100% post-consumer recycled materials. Inoffensive and unassuming, one would never guess the words it held inside. Upon flipping through, I notice names and actions scrawled in blue and red ink. Rxxx stole pencils. Rxxx punched a student. Dxxxx stabbed a student with a pencil. Txxx started a fight. Axxx ran away from the classroom. The ink trickles down the page like a tear-face, worn from sitting in my flooded basement over the summer.

I was about to throw out the soiled tome, but I stopped. Right about where I listed all the things Rxxx did in one day (two pages front and back of behaviors) and decided to keep the book. It's a reminder of a world that is out there, a few miles south of the school I'm in. It's a reminder of what I went through and how far it took me.

I wonder where those students are. If they continue to be passed through the system, and there's nothing to prevent this, they should be entering 3rd grade this year. I wonder how many of them made it. I'm sure many moved, transferred or disappeared, but my mind still thinks of them.

The Spectrum of Emotions pt. 1

2010-06-20T16:30:00.000-07:00

Buckle up ladies and gentlemen -- this is going to be a long one.

Let's start with the basics. It's the end of the year -- officially. Rooms are cleaned out, movies are shown, treats are distributed. The warm stench of humidity and rancid milk can only mean rising temperatures and lowered investment. It's easy to trick younger students into continuing, smelly stickers and math games can get you by -- it's the older kids that require more finesse.

My kids made it, even better, with significant gains! Who would have thought that after the choas of last year I'd bring students to be on-level with their peers.

The end of the year was a flurry of activity compounded with the oppressive heat and humidity. All in all, my time at my school has been both a blessing and a curse.

First, the positives. I really felt as if I had been welcomed into the community. A community that nourished good educators and was very student-centric. I felt privileged, for the most part, to work with my peers and in turn felt appreciated. It was great to see a school that was highly functioning in the Chicago Public School district despite the massive debacle that was happening several levels up (more on this in part 2).

For the negatives. It seems as though my time at my school may have ended and not by my own hands. This is one of the most infuriating developments within my short tenure as an educator. I remember a year and a half ago thinking that I could never teach and that I did not want to teach. I was exhausted and drained and felt like teaching was not for me. Fast forward to a year at a supportive school where I was able to make a difference for a handful of students. I felt and saw the difference in their lives, and with that a difference in my own. I truly felt like I could make a difference and, interestingly enough, truly wanted to continue to do so.

Now, it seems, like the choice to positively affect student achievement has been forced from my hands. As for the reasons why and my anger with these decisions, I will save that for part 2. Suffice it to say that I will most likely be evicted from teaching in a classroom.

After so thoroughly convincing myself that I am able to make a difference in students' lives, unfortunately I'm not able to do that this coming year.

It's bittersweet, after all -- these two years in Teach for America. I had anticipated growing and evolving as a human being and certainly I did, but in ways I could never expect. I have been pushed to the very limits and been rewarded beyond my imagination. I think about my students like Faith and Randall and Daeshaun that are lost and behind and, most likely, will continue to be as such. I think about students like Deondre and Duaa and Zain that have been put on a different path in life and will continue to succeed.

It's the bitter and the sweet that truly make life a decadent meal. The bitter sting of defeat and remorse offset by the sweet sense of satisfaction and accomplishment. I think about all the things I never new about children and education and about myself that I now have such a firm knowledge of.

I've discovered passion and fire that I never dreamed I'd have in me.

There is cause to celebrate, as this era comes to a close -- yet the abyss that lies before me is a grand chasm of unknown. It's somewhat exhilarating not knowing where I will be or what will happen and I hope to experience the same feelings of growth and accomplishments soon.

Accepting the Present

2010-05-02T22:26:00.000-07:00

It takes something like death to shake one out of the doldrums. All too often I found myself wearily progressing. Then, like a freight train, death comes barreling out of a darkened tunnel.

The death of my grandmother was something we were all prepared for. My mom had begun funeral arrangements long before the hospice nurses arrived. We began discussing plans for a smaller home for my mother. Despite the best laid plans, I was sorely unprepared for the morning of April 23rd -- I've become so familiar with the date that I don't even have to scour my brain for the exact number.

I realized that in my life I look forward to the future, albeit one that is uncertain. My fears and anxieties stem from the total lack of knowledge of what's to come. Suddenly I was forced to reflect on my past and the past I shared with a loved one. Sitting her, I realize that I dwell on the past far more than I thought. I think about people that have come in and out of my lives and the ones that are still here with me now. I think about past regrets and the shadows they cast over my present being. I think, "what if" and allow my mind to painfully live out a life that most likely will never come true.

It's easy to claim no regrets yet it's far more difficult to accept. It's these moments of quiet reflection when my mind tends to drift. Time flows forward, constant and unmovable and in its wake memories that were and might have been.

I really wish I could accept the present as a gift, but again easier to claim than to believe.

A new challenge

2010-04-10T12:27:00.000-07:00

One of the hallmarks of Teach for America is reflection. I definitely have taken this pillar to heart. Of course reflection, in Teach for America speak, involves creating plans that address the shortcomings of the day.

I've been reflecting on my journey -- the twists and turns and sudden falls and steady climbs. I think about where I was and where I am and I'm amazed at the trip I've taken. All of this reflection seems to carry a moribund tone but alas, I have no current plans to kick the bucket.

It seems as though the ultimate challenge I've faced this year, when you distill all the fighting, tears, pain and strife, is the unknown. No, I don't want to sound like a motivational poster with a singular image of a frosty mountain peak, but the cliche words are never truer. For me not knowing has been the scariest thing.

Rewind to Spring of last year -- not knowing what projectile would be flung at my head or which student was going to be suspended caused me massive amounts of anxiety. This year, as my situation evened out, I became more uncertain as my skills as a teacher. As the year draws to a close, my future once again looms its ugly, minimum wage-paying head.

I've been all-but assured that I will not have a position at my school next year. After that conversation I felt upset but I wasn't quite sure why. I never intended to teach for more than two years but a part of me feels like I have missed the entire experience. I haven't had the opportunity to move my own group of students from point A to B throughout the course of an entire year. I'm talking about day 1 to day 180.

So here we are, again with the unknown, but I can't help feel a slight (ever so slight) thrill. The opportunity, the freedom, the exhilarating breath of air -- grounded by the reality of unemployment. I don't know what's on the horizon -- but who really ever does?

Oscar, Oh Oscar

2010-03-01T06:19:00.000-08:00

I'm a movie snob.

I'm sure that doesn't come as a surprise to most of you. I say this as a caveat to the arrogance (or perceived arrogance) that might follow in this post. You see, when people talk about movies it drives me crazy. When people misquote movie information it drives me crazy.

The worst is when people are exiting a movie theater and have post-cinema banter. It -- drives -- me -- crazy.

I'm remembering to breathe.

But alas, here in late winter, most of the world is buzzing with Oscar talk. At this time of year, this old crone gives most movie gabbers a reprieve because movie talk is inevitable.

Yes, it's Oscar time.

I think what drives me insane about public opinions and Oscars is that people are clouded by favoritism. Of course you want your favorite movie to win because it's your favorite, but how unbiased can your opinion be if the only Oscar nominated movies you've seen are Avatar and Up? Avatar does not merit the highest cinematic awards simply, "Because it rocked in 3-D" or because, "The blue smurf-cats got it on!!!". Well, maybe the latter is sufficient justification.

When people talk about movies I roll my eyes. I sit erect and assume a look of casual superiority. I know, I'm a snob. I do appreciate, however, the way that movies can elicit such strong feelings from people and be objects of such contention. It's such a subjective medium that any film can be the best film of the year for a multitude of reasons and which people are more than willing to argue about.

Perhaps that's why people want to fight for their movie -- to prove that it's the best. But movies are locked in a boxing ring, slugging it out for top honors. Movies speak for themselves, they speak to our experiences and our emotions and reveal a lot about who we are. They don't need Joe A-hole exiting the Kerasotes on Western pontificating why Transformers 2 is the bitchin'-est movie of all time.

All I'm saying is movies need to have their own story -- let's let them speak for themselves -- I'm talking to you Joe A-hole.

More Nostalgia?

2010-03-01T06:10:00.001-08:00

It's funny that when you're living life you don't immediately think that these are the moments you'll be nostalgic for.

I remember in college when life was a blur of booze, fast women, and baked goods (well, mostly the latter), I never stopped to think, "In five years I'm going to yearn for this feeling of reckless irresponsibility". Yet as I think back to all my friends and all the feelings and emotions, I do wish I could have an ounce of those feelings back. Back when we were all a little silly, a little frantic, but ultimately a little closer.

Now I look around and my friends are, no joke, doctors, lawyers, business people, journalists, public servants, and people working to survive. The current of life sweeps in and drifts people apart. Who knew we'd be where we are now?

All I know is when I stalk my friends on facebook I get this pang in the deepest recesses of my heart for the way things were. But I know those feelings could never be recreated. I cherish those times and recall them whenever I'm feeling lonely.

Christmas Homecoming

2010-01-01T10:16:00.001-08:00

Before my voyage to San Antonio I liked to complain about how I was not looking forward to visiting while in the back of my mind, I was actually quite elated. I would complain to friends and passersby of the warm winter and obligatory family functions, but I was secretly anticipating both.

So when I touched down in San Antonio, in the balmy 65 degree weather, I had a facade of ambivalence but in my heart, feelings of warmth waiting to burst forth. In my 24 years of life, everytime I came home for the holidays I always felt like a child -- to be coddled and catered upon. For the very first time, I felt as if I were an adult, coming home to a life that seemed so long ago. The environment had changed little, imperceptibly so. The sights, sounds and smells all rang familiar. Time seems to have soldiered on with the only hint of evolution being the massive highway system that seemed to have been erected in, well, no time at all.

As the days went on, however, I realized that there have been small bits and pieces that were different, but not in the fast-food landscape (the Whataburger still stood proudly on DeZavala and I-10), but within my own mindset.

When I came home I, due to woeful negligence, had forgotten pajamas to sleep in and I had no back up. While riffling through the discounted novelty t-shirts at Walmart I realized that this had never happened to me before. Unfortunately, when transplanting my life 3,000 miles away I had forgotten to leave a sliver in San Antonio in case I needed it.

While growing up, I had always thought my family was excepted from bad circumstances. Sure my mother suffered from some medical issues but we would always make it through. My dad, though flawed, would always have the uncanny ability to fix a problem (or at least take it off my hands). Money, while an object of contention as to whose hands it should be in, was never a problem to procure. This time, however, I saw that all the exceptions I perceived were not there. My family was just as ordinary as anyone else's.

As I ponder the lives that have developed from the Lim household I wonder if they are what my parents expected when they started a family some thirty years ago. I can still remember being seven years old, the age of the students I teach, and not knowing or even thinking about my life twenty years later.

I've been thinking a lot about what it means to be an adult. Does it mean coming 'home' and realizing you don't have a spare set of clothes to change into? Is it noticing the scraggly gray hair that wasn't there last year? For me, it's something far less tangible. It's a switch that remained dormant for so long that, when it was finally clicked, caught me off guard. In many ways, I still feel as though I'm a child, kicking and screaming as I'm dragged into the world of grown-ups, but I know that it's inevitable no matter how hard you try to put it off.

A Tale of Two Good Mornings

2009-10-29T20:49:00.000-07:00

At a school with a staff of nearly 50 I'll be honest -- I do not know everyone. I remember as a student in high school thinking that all teachers knew each other and were best friends. Perish the thought that Mrs. Cheney had no idea who Mr. Player is! Mr. Lim definitely does not know any of the adult denizens of the third floor (let alone the students).

Which brings me to the topic of this somewhat whistfully nostalgic post. In the mornings there are two types of "Good mornings" -- one proclaimed with an exclamation and a smile and one uttered with a period and a whiff of obligation. Of course it would be rude and awkward to slink by staff members (guilty as charged) but it's an interesting dichotomy speaking good morning to people that really have no idea who you are or what you are doing in an academic setting. I have difficulty grappling with the notion that I'm an adult (am I really?), and I feel like someone is going to figure that out. I'm going to turn the corner and someone's going to wise up and say to me, "Wait a minute, you're not supposed to be here!" and chase me out of the building.

Alas that day has not come. I've come to realize that a 24 year old moderately experienced teacher pales in comparison to some of the raucous cacophony in some of the classrooms.

Here's to hoping no one puts me as a priority.

Erratic Musings of a Semi-1st Grade Teacher

2009-10-14T20:23:00.000-07:00

It seems like ages ago that I was lamenting over the lack of a stable position. I whistfully toyed with the idea that, somehow, things would work out and I would be in a school. Secretly, though, I was more scared than I had been a year ago when I was unplaced and a newly minted teacher. Back then, I had inexperience as my crutch.

Now, I have a resume of promises that I hope I can keep.

I admit, everyday I'm thankful. I'm thankful to be placed, thankful for where I am, thankful for all of the experiences and tribulations that have led me to the point that I am. It's a bitter pill to swallow as the medicine is going down, but like all prescriptions, they're doled out in order to produce a positive outcome.

I feel as though I'm in a position now, in a true 1st grade, where my skills will be put to the ultimate test. I've been handed a task to elevate students to the level of their peers and I pray I have the faculties to do them justice.

Another year...

2009-08-23T22:00:00.000-07:00

I begin this post by saying that this is probably the coldest birthday I've ever had. Gone are the days of dripping sweat while blowing out candles -- hello 60 degree weather.

As the minutes tick past midnight and my birthday becomes a fleeting memory, I think it's easy for one to become somewhat pensive about the year gone by. At this very moment, lying in bed, I think it's quite interesting that I have difficulty pinning down specific horrible memories but instead am flooded with the warm thoughts and well-wishes of my closest friends and family. I think about all of those that consider me their friend and I, in turn, consider them the same. I am quite fortunate to have such a wonderful group of people that I can count on through all of the trials and tribulations that life sometimes has to offer.

As the clock continues to tick forward, my thoughts wander to birthdays' past and the hopes and fears that accompanied each mark forward.

This year, as much as any other, is full of anxiety, fear, wonder and hope -- and who knows what will befall these 365 days before me.

Summer finale!

2009-08-20T23:09:00.000-07:00

And what a summer it was!

After watching Julie & Julia I had lofty goals of being one of those blogs that people talk about -- but unfortunately I don't have quite the same gimmick of Julie Powell. It seems that people mostly write blogs about things they know about -- their lives, and mine is no different.

So let's play catch up. What has happened since those days of late spring filled with tears and pain? Well, I've certainly lived the past three months with reckless abandon -- traveling the country and trying desperately to escape the life that I had led until this moment.

It seems as though all good things must come to an end, but not as one might expect.

At the end of the past school year, my position at my old school was not renewed. After spending 9 months cultivating a relationship with my school, I was not to return in the fall. A mixed blessing, to be sure, and one rife with a variety of emotions. I was thrust into a job market that is rapidly dwindling and my options sorely lacking.

Here we stand, 2 weeks and 3 days from the start of the school year and I still do not have a position. I'm filled with an incalculable amount of anxiety and fear coupled with a shred of hope -- hope that I can make this year better for myself and the students I will teach.

I think in writing this blog, I might not be able to cook my way through Julia Child's tome of recipes, but I've learned so much writing my thoughts here. I've learned that I'm truly a hopeful person -- and one day I may cook my way through some of those classic recipes.

Who'd Have Thought

2009-07-06T23:42:00.000-07:00

A little bird from So Great. prompted me to look back on posts' past and reflect on where I came from and where I've been. I remember embarking on this journey so many months ago and really panicking at the precipice I stood upon. For the first time in my life I really didn't know what I was supposed to do and how I was supposed to accomplish it.

I remember thinking, in my protective bubble, that life rarely presents a truly insurmountable challenge. I've realized that people face challenges in their daily life that we cannot conceive of. An entire world has unveiled itself to me, one that I knew existed yet persisted in shrugging off.

I remember a year ago the questions that consumed my waking thoughts and here, now, I have answers to questions I never considered.

Though I have a certain amount of independence I still feel as though I'm a child, the student, a tyro at life.

Considering the gauntlet that I have been through I, still, look forward to the future. I look forward to the promise of easier times, less manic times, different times. I think one thing I've learned is the futility of fighting -- life's too short.

Oh -- and it's fucking summer. Bring it on. Bring -- it-- on.

Partly Sunny

2009-06-10T17:09:00.000-07:00

The weather is changing and the difference is palpable. Everyday I dreaded the coming storm -- Hurricane Randall, Tropical Depression Faith, and the Tsunami that was Room 103. There seemed to be an ominous cloud that hung over the day but now, the air is clear.

I sit here and I reflect about the days gone by. The shitstorm that was teaching 1st grade. It seemed strange to walk to halls knowing the year was over. I don't think there has been a time in my life that I have ever cried more or experience such anxiety.

I'll keep this post short -- there is probably more to come. I really don't know how to articulate my thoughts and feelings at this point -- I'm just glad its nearly over.

Bring on the sun.

So Yesterday

2009-05-19T13:10:00.000-07:00

I remember yesterday thinking to myself, "Today is a pretty good day." Looking back at my notes, however, there were fights, choas and general malaise rampant throught the day. Still, though, I considered it good. Today, things were fine. Fine in the sense that I'm not pondering defenestration and all of my limbs are intact.

After today, there are 14 days left of this school year. It's hard to conceive of, really. I feel as if I've aged 30 years within the past month and a half. I'm cranky, tired, and crave the early bird special at Golden Corral -- the latter of which has been bubbling under the surface since mid-October.

But alas, I yearn for sleep that I cannot receive. My body is in a constant state of tension and cannot relax. Thus is the life of a teacher.

I'm trying trying trying to celebrate my successes and, really, there are many. So many small moments of success seem buried under a monumental amount of shit. 14 days -- 14 days and counting.

Fun in the Sun

2009-05-04T11:09:00.000-07:00

The countdown continues to click click click one day closer to June 12th. The days have crested and fallen as they have throughout the year.

As the school year comes to a close I reflect on what has transpired over the past 8 months -- with one still to go. I feel things have changed in my life so much -- little of which for the better. I've learned a lot about who I am and the world around me -- the limits to which humans can be pushed to but still soldier on. I've come to find that strength can take many different forms and originates from a lot of different places. For some, strength comes in the pursuit of an ideal -- for others, it comes from the fear of something else.

With a little over a month left until the final bell rings, I still face innumerable challenges. I anticipate sitting on the floor at 2:45 crying uncontrollably. It's strange thinking about what I've been through yet even stranger thinking about what's to come.

All I can do is hope for the best. All I'm left with, each and every day, is hope and when that runs out, there will be nothing left.

Allies and Enemies

2009-04-12T07:38:00.000-07:00

Spring Break is over. Four very crushing words. Summer is almost here. Amends are made.

I'm surprised that it's mid-April and the weather still clings to the 30s. Thankfully the snow is melted (for now), but the frigid air lingers from the winter. My mind once drifts to what I have previously said about vacations and the purpose they serve: To give one time to breathe, but also to remind one to be thankful for the life they have.

Over spring break I took a much needed trip to New York. As lost and confused as I was in the city, it felt quite familiar. The sights and sounds, aromas and memories were stirred up and truly felt like I had just been there days before I had arrived. Despite the respite, I was eager to get back home to Chicago, to true familiarity.

So now I'm back. It's Sunday, which means Monday looms just around the corner. In less than 24 hours I will be surrounded by the chaos and furor as if no time has passed - ah sweet familiarity.

Time, it seems, is our closest ally and our dearest enemy. It continues to push forward, with the past in its wake and the future on its horizon. It brings us closer to relief yet further from comfort. Even now as I set my sights upon the 8 weeks until summer, I know that even that will have an expiration date, like milk sitting in the fridge, waiting to be used. But like the old adage says, when life hands you almost-expired milk, make a green-garlic and parmesan cheese souffle.

And the depths get lower

2009-03-16T20:08:00.000-07:00

...and I thought it couldn't get worse.

I remember sitting in the library, crying over how terribly inconsequential I felt. Students would come and go, pay little to no attention to me, and I felt like I was serving no purpose.

So here I am in first grade -- the teacher. Have things gotten better? Absolutely not. It's so strange that I really thought things could not get any worse than they were -- and here we are, worse.

The most comment I get is, "But they're only first graders!" True, these students are physically about seven or eight years old, but they've been molded and disfigured by some force within their environment. They do not know social norms, mores, or basic human principles. Fighting, screaming, kicking and yelling are accepted.

And the fighting! I really do not know what to do about all the fighting. Literally (and I know a lot of people misuse the word literally, but in all honesty) I cannot get out four words without being interrupted by fighting or some sort of emotional outburst. I'm at a complete loss as to what to do.

I know that I cannot be yet another authority figure to abandon these kids, but they seriously do not know the damage they do. I can only hope that time will erode these rebellious spirits and leave me with a shred of my sanity.

Winter Passing

2009-03-08T18:32:00.000-07:00

Today was the first day that winter truly felt over. Sure the weather has been steadily climbing, but the precipitation that fell all day today was, thankfully, not white and fluffy.

I remember about a year ago when this whole teaching thing began to become a reality, most people scoffed at a Texas boy like me surviving through a midwestern winter. To a degree, yes, it was cold. Yes the snow was a huge setback. Yes the world was a frozen tundra. But I made it. Despite the crippling temperatures there were more pressing issues at hand.

I feel spring is an appropriate time for me to be transitioning to 1st grade -- the metaphors are almost too obvious. That being said nervous is probably too reductive a word to explain what I'm feeling at this point.

I'm also thinking about all the challenges I've faced thusfar, many of which I've chronicled on this blog. I wonder what has brought me this far. I'd like to think that it's courage, bravery, or some other descriptor found on Hallmark card -- or, and this has been nagging me, is it fear. I don't think of myself as an especially courageous or brave person.

Fear aside, I look at the 1st grade class where I will be spending the last 3 months of this school year and I'm filled with something else. As cheesy as it sounds, especially in this post-Obama clime, I'm filled with hope. Hope that I really can make a difference.

Sp-R-ing

2009-03-03T12:16:00.000-08:00

Springtime typically signifies resurgence, renewal, life beginning. Certianly there has been change. After many, many months spent in the library as a glorified babysitter, I've finally gotten word that I'm moving to First grade. Just like a primary student, I'm filled with hope, fear, and anxiety. Though I know mostly what to expect, I'm not expecting to know everything. Students that are currently difficult will most likely continue to be as such. I know that this was probably the position that I was meant to be in, a little voice continues to question my ability.

It's also the week of standarized testing here in Illinois and I've discovered that many students do not know how to bubble in testing sheets -- I've also discovered that it's a difficult thing to teach in the ten seconds before a test is slated to begin.

I feel like my life is still coasting down a hill of ambivalence. Each day is a challenge, often frought with tears and anger, but the day seems to end at 2:45. I come every day expecting trouble and am usually met with it.

Three months.

A Slice

2009-02-12T05:42:00.000-08:00

The setting: The normal furor of the 1st grade classroom. Amidst flying papers and heated juvenile emotions, I frantically, desperately try to gain control. I look around and only a handful of students bother to listen.

As I clasp my hands on my head, Dwayne trots up to me and beckons. He looks up at me with his saucer-like basset hound eyes and in a hushed tone he whispers, "Mr. Lim, you're going to have a hard time getting Sharice and Trevell to do work today because they're boyfriend and girlfriend."

I look over and Sharice is sitting quietly with her hands folded -- a smile painted on her face that would let her get away with murder. Trevell is doing something crazy -- probably slapping the student next to him or gyrating on the dreadfully dirty floor.

Ah first grade. Where love was just a word printed on pink cards and all it takes to start a fight is who holds possession to the book "Sinbad the Pig".

These kids have no idea what they're in for.

My Life Would Suck Without...

2009-01-15T17:44:00.000-08:00

Winter Weather Advisory

Back in Texas if the streets were icy, school was closed. If "snow" was anywhere mentioned in the forecast, things shut down. If the temperature dropped below 30, it was time to stay in and drink hot chocolate.

But oh, how the midwest views things differently. I suppose I'm in the dead of winter. So far, I've spent 3 hours traveling 20 miles, had to dig my car out from under 10 inches of snow and braved -10 degree temperatures. Winter has been a brutal mistress. I will no longer complain about the 3 week Austin winters but you really haven't lived until your car has slid out of your control into the stationary vehicle in front of you.

I find it interesting that I'm that guy from Texas that is so ill-prepared for cold weather. Everyone complains about the cold and the snow, but when I do it becomes, "Oh that's right you're from Texas!".

But the snow will still fall and the temperatures will still plummet and all of this will be miserable -- for a time. The misery of winter reminds me that in a few months time the snow will thaw, the mercury will steadily rise, and the world will continue to spin.

Vacation Wrap-up

2009-01-01T16:48:00.000-08:00

While riffling through the 20 or so pictures I took during break I wondered, what is the purpose of vacation? Ostensibly, it's to provide a much needed break from -- whatever. Work, kids, responsibility, life, who knows what. But since when did vacation become an emotionally and physically taxing journey from one geographic location to another?

Disclaimer: I don't want to sound like I'm complaining about having time off. I absolutely adore it.

My vacation began with two days of doing nothing here in Chicago. The city was in a deep freeze and due to a schedule snafu I ended up being here holed up in my house trying to barricade myself from the (literal) sub-zero temperatures.

Which brings us to the actual vacation. Wikipedia defines it as a leave of absence from regular occupation for rest or recreation. I think often times it serves as a break from typical routine. It has the somewhat catch-22 effect of making you appreciate your day-to-day life while still making you desire the life you have in your off-time. Example: I could spend my days lounging about with my friends, eating a great restaurants and living in leisure, but golly, I can't wait to get back home to Chicago!

Over the break I had the opportunity to strengthen friendships that had been somewhat dormant. I also had a unique experience that left me both exhilarated and saddened. At risk of being too vague, I will simply leave it at that. Suffice to say this leave of absence has not left me quite centered. I still feel emotionally and mentally a bit disquieted, especially as I sit here in my house, once again all but abandoned, left only with my wandering thoughts.

As my bags lay at the door, still packed, jammed with a whirlwind of memories and gifts in need of exchanging, I still look forward to that tiny slice of rest and recreation.

ho Ho HO

2008-12-22T15:51:00.001-08:00

Happy Holidays everyone.

...and everything was fine

2008-12-15T16:14:00.000-08:00

It was the start of a frigid, icy day. It seems as though all the air had frozen in the middle of the night and was deposited on my fair city.

Of course, I was running late. Not to mention I had fallen asleep at 9 the night prior meaning I had gotten absolutely no work done. I woke up, stumbled around a drafty house and ambled to work.

It started out as a typical chaotic run-around. I ran around making transparency agendas and bullshit worksheets. The ball started rolling and roll it did. I was run over by each and every class. Despite the fact that the most unruly kids weren't present, classes were still out of control. I spent several moments gazing out the window, eyes welling up in tears, yearning to break free.

The final class was a double period of the most disrespectful, rude, lazy kids. It seemed that their sole purpose in life was to drive me mad. Everything became some sort of negotiation. I clasped my hands on my head and prayed the clock would tick a little faster. I sent them out, forgoing a formal lining up procedure, my head spinning from the stench of 10-year olds and under-achievement.

I felt defeated.

And then a little boy from the second grade class came in.

"Hi Mr. Lim" and he wrapped his tiny arms around my torso.

And everything was fine.

I quit

2008-12-11T15:23:00.000-08:00

Those two words run through my head every single minute of every single class. Would it be giving in? Of course. Would I be happier? Probably. Unfortunately there's also a little thing called fiscal responsibility which tugs at my lingering thoughts of freedom.

As little Javante was sashaying his little 4th grade 'tude all around the classroom, I thought to myself, this would be the perfect time to quit. But my resignation had to be dramatic. I couldn't just waste it on the little beasts in class. Who, then? My principal most likely wasn't going to be in her office and even then I really didn't want to rub it in her face -- she wasn't the reason for my unhappiness. What would be optimal is if I could scream, I quit to each and every class that has made my life a living hell for the past four months.

"Good morning class 311, I quit, have a great rest of your day"

"Good afternoon class 211, I quit, have a great evening"

No matter how it goes, though, I'd always want to do it better which, ultimately, might be why I'm not quitting. I would never be able to get it right and it will never live up to my expectations.

Besides, nothing would torture them more than having me show up to work every day.

The Real Reason I'm doing this

2008-12-01T18:41:00.000-08:00

the difference is, prison smells better

2008-11-25T15:09:00.000-08:00

F-U-G

2008-11-20T08:21:00.000-08:00

One of the interesting things about working with little kids is that though they know a lot of things they probably shouldn't, there are many things of which they still are unfamiliar with.

It's hard not to giggle when a student puts together f-u-g as a nonsense word and is blissfully unaware that in two years time they will be using that same word to refer to his or her peers. Working with the first graders is truly bipolar. Sure, when you have them one on one or even one on two or three it's fine and one's education training is being put to use. Put them together for story time and all hell breaks loose.

I've often wondered, on countless hours of frustration, why children just cannot sit still and behave for an extended period of time. When they feed off the energy of their peers, the turn into mass hysteria packed into little 12-year old bodies. I don't know if it was my parents, my school or just the way I was, but I could not fathom ever acting out. I'm wondering if I was in the minority there. Are most kids rambunctious, semi-moral beings that desire to act out? Are they merely a product of the community from which they came?

It's such a shame that at first grade, they're already on the path to becoming nightmares. I can't help but feel powerless to curb this direction, but f-u-g, at least they can insult each other with the correct short 'u' sound.

Christmastime is most definitely NOT here

2008-11-17T17:41:00.000-08:00

WLIT the light, aka the station that usually plays Delilah, has now been transformed into the all Christmas network. Sure you have your mix of Mariah Carey's All I Want for Christmas and N'SYNC's Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, but also Mel Torme schmaltzfests that elicits images of an LCD fire burning through the night.

It most definitely is not Christmas. My halloween jack 'o' lantern is still freshly decaying on my stoop. My pumpkin fragranced wall-plugin is firmly jacked into the kitchen socket. Leaves still cling to the frigid limbs of trees lining my street.

What happened to fall? It seems like it was just a small pitstop from sweltering heat to holly jolly. At risk of sounding like a whiny anti-commercialist, seasons are now dictated by the biggest financial returns -- which makes sense considering our economy shares much in common with that last trembling leaf, hanging precariously, ready to plummet.

That being said, it did begin to snow here in Chicago. It caught me very much off guard. I froze in my tracks unsure if I should dash out to my car or back into the house for a jacket. I discovered, however, that it didn't really matter when making the short trip to KFC down the street.

But to the weather, the world and life, I say bring it on, bitch. I'm going to keep going, keep moving forward and nothing, not snow or a bunch of snot-nosed little brats will make me cave.

it felt okay

2008-11-13T18:08:00.000-08:00

Today was the first day back teaching in a week.

And I guess it felt okay.

It by all means was not perfect, but I think at this point perfection is out of the question. Of course I yelled and screamed and sent kids packing, but it didn't affect me like it normally would.

To add to that, the weather is a balmy 50 degrees.

Tonight, I attended another Teach for America session to continually increase my effectiveness. Unfortunately, I didn't think the information really fit my particular situation, but the time did fly by quite quickly.

It's interesting that I'm trying to be positive in this post and all my thoughts are choppy and less than three sentences. It's tough with the days growing shorter and the nights getting colder. I find, sometimes that I'm too busy or stressed or angry to really feel lonely, but here, maybe more than ever, it would be nice to have a solid post of support. Ah, but not I'm lapsing into sentimental which is probably no better than ranting about lowered academic expectations.

Tomorrow's another day! -- that's for damn sure.

The trough of a sine wave

2008-11-05T09:58:00.000-08:00

I meant to update with all the positive or non-school related aspects but never brought myself to do so. I sit here now, in my room at school, having 15 or so sixth graders just exit my room -- and me here, on the brink of yet another emotional breakdown.

I've come to the point where I spent the past 80 minutes yelling and screaming and doing everything in my power to get these kids to be quiet, maybe not even quiet, but just respectful. The behavior in this class is atrocious. Nothing short of feral. I'm almost at my wit's end -- one can only scream themselves into comas so many times before I really do land in the hospital.

I find myself wishing a lot. I wish these kids could be quiet. I wish these kids would stop throwing things. I wish I could jump across the table and strangle someone. Above all, I wish these kids knew the emotional and physical turmoil they put their teachers through.

Wishing, unfortunately, is not very productive. But then again, neither are my classes and I keep showing up.

I find myself so physically exhausted that I can barely stay awake past 9. I end up falling asleep with nothing accomplished, having planned next to nothing, and the next day I pay for it because the kids have nothing to do. It's a vicious cycle.

I know it's bad, but I take solace in my anger, my frustration and my desire to scream and yell at the end of the day. It's a feeling that has become so routine to me, I wouldn't know what it was like to feel content.

It's bad that I look forward to days where I don't see these kids -- but sometimes the damage they do is worse.

Country boy (sort of) in the big city

2008-10-19T07:46:00.000-07:00

Let's all take a little break from academic mumbo-jumbo and have a little discussion of cultural differences between where I was and where I am.

Living in Texas was great for me. I think back and I really didn't notice the long, hot, humid weather and eternal summers.

And now here I am, in Chicago, the great midwest. As many of you may or may not know, I have a fascination with middle America and all things Americana. Plop me down in Branson, Missouri and I'll have conversation fodder for the rest of my life. Chicago is Americana's cousin that went to college and tries to put his family behind him, but despite best efforts, craves a deep-fried apple pie from McDonalds every now and then.

I'd like to discuss a few things that I did not expect or just didn't even think of when moving to Chicago.

1) Shit closes really early. Just take a walk down Michigan Avenue where Tiffany, Neiman and American Girl have set up shop and you'll know where all the tourists and hoity-toity upper class likes to shop. Stroll down close to dusk and you'll quickly find that the only things still open for business are the Dunkin' Donuts/Baskin Robbins and the 7-11 both run by people who can barely speak English and have blood-shot eyes from their graveyard shifts.

2) Transportation is expensive. I'm not talking about filling up my gas-guzzling car every week, but the public transportation is surprisingly expensive. Living in Texas, where everyone drives, I had these romantic notions of public trains and buses that were a dime a trip and it takes you a few blocks to the malt shop where me and Peggy would rock out to the latest Chubby Checker hit. I come to find that it's two dollars each way on a train and, though you can get pretty much anywhere, it takes a good chunk of time to get from one place to another.

3) The eternal soda vs. pop vs. Coke debate. Nothing about me screams "NOT FROM CHICAGO" louder than my use of "Coke" as a carbonated, sweet beverage usually served in cans or bottles. Here, everything is pop. Pop like popcorn. Or to pop someone in the face. Or pop in and say hello. Not only is it just a spoken colloquialism, but it's found on menus, signs and generally accepted as the term for aforementioned beverage. Some people call it soda, but I will always say Coke.

4) Sales tax is 10%. So that WiiFit I just bought for 90 bucks? Ended up costing me 100 clams. 10%. Highest in the nation. Go figure.

5) It's all about the neighborhood you live in.
Lincoln Park = recent college grad with a 9 to 5 cubicle job where everyone chortles about how The Office is just like real life.
Lakeview = YuppieGay. Well adjusted gay man who also has a 9 to 5 job and laments how J.Crew doesn't make a cotton-cashmere full-zip sweater in that new deep purple.
Logan Square = A fan of gentrification, cheap rent and a desire to live somewhere where you may have just seen a drug deal on the corner. It's okay, though, because Wicker Park is just a few streets south.

6) It's cold, like 50 degrees, which is what I define as cold. I'm laughed at and told "Just wait". I don't care, I'm still cold.

I hear McCain likes us....

2008-10-15T20:29:00.001-07:00

Things have been up and down lately. Tuesday was disgustingly positive. I wasn't sure if it actually happened. Kids -- learning. Wednesday, not so much. Chaos reigned.

I've come to learn that it is the nature of the job. Some days are good, most are bad, but that's just how it goes.

We're half way through with October and it's hard to believe to much time has flown by. Already the leaves are changing (!) and the weather is getting cooler (cold for me, but if I say that too loudly all the Chicagoans will scoff). Soon it'll be snowing -- and then thawing and the process will repeat.

I guess I don't have anything terribly interesting today. Nothing really note-worthy has been going on. Just another day minding the gap.

Has it really been a month? (but really a year)

2008-10-05T17:36:00.000-07:00

It's hard to believe that the entire Teach for America ball began rolling about a year ago. I remember waking up at 6 am for my 18th century British law and literature class and wondering what I was going to do at year's end. I felt TFA would be a pretty good way of spending my future - at least at the time it was a convenient answer to those who were asking, including myself.

I never imagined what it would be actually like to be a teacher. It's gotten me to thinking about my own education, my childhood, the teachers I've had. My education has been nothing but sound. My parents were always supportive. I realize now that the experience I had is not the experience had by all.

In my position I've had the opportunity to work with every age from Kindergarten to 8th grade. That's 5 year olds to teenagers. I've seen what poor discipline and bad behavior looks like and more alarmingly I see those seeds being planted in the younger ones. I know that if something isn't done or changed, these little kids will be led down a path of defiance, ignorance and just an overall sense of uncaring.

Again, I bring the story back to the journey I've been on. Starting out as a college kid, sheltered and protected where the biggest obstacle I faced was where to go for happy hour. Now, I have human beings lives in my hands. Their futures are at stake. For once, the story has been about more than just myself.

pay -- check!

2008-09-19T14:40:00.000-07:00

Dear sweet baby Jesus. Today was payday. I've worked my share of shit jobs that have paid measly amounts, but this is my first impossibly difficult job that pays a substantial amount.

Let's start out with the week. It was truly a week of ups and downs. A dear confidante and partner in this struggle was lost and I felt quite alone. I was determined, however, to chug along. Things alternated from suspiciously high to familiarly low. Some days it's hard to believe that I see the same group of kids. I realize that half-assing plans really doesn't pay off, but with no standards to align to, it's pretty much up to me to figure out what to do for the day. It's difficult to put myself in these kids' shoes and I find that I'm planning on what would keep me content rather than this group of rebellious ne'er-do-wells.

The days are long and the nights are short. The commute has become a routine inconvenience.

Here I am. Complaining Connie. Whining about how much things suck. It's interesting, because the lows are so incredibly low and seem to last forever and the highs are like blips on the radar. There are a few students who genuinely make me smile and show me that despite the fact that this school approaches education with a firm palm, education can exist. It's so painful because I know these kids can show me intelligence and self-control but they choose not to. Attempting to make someone change their choice is quite possibly the most difficult thing in the world. Now, take that challenge and multiply it by 200. Literally.

Everyday is a war. And in every class there are battles to be won and lost. For me, there is more defeat than victory.

Ultimately, this week fell in my favor if only because I got paid.

Two Weeks in the Trenches

2008-09-11T16:56:00.000-07:00

Teaching is hard.

It's interesting that when people say "Teaching is going to be the hardest thing you ever do" - it's difficult to really understand. Certainly I've done difficult things -- bang out a bullshit paper about a topic I've read once. Study for finals, work 35 hours and deal with friends and family crisis.

Teaching, however, is the hardest thing I've ever done.

The best way to describe how I feel every day is defeated. This kids do not listen. They do not want to pay attention. They do not respect you. The slowly and effortlessly chip away at your soul and desire to live.

Okay -- that might sound a little overdramatic.

My days consist of waiting for a group of students. Then, they come in. I yell at them to sit down, be quiet, and stop giggling. Rarely do I even talk about anything academic related. I spend most of my time telling them that their behavior should be better or threatening them with a barrage of semi-hollow threats.

This week, I started crying. I cry because I know the want to learn, yet there are barriers obstructing the learning process. I cry because I feel thoroughly ineffective at a job I was selected to do. I cry because I don't know what to do. I've been thrown into this puddle and I have to tread water just to keep from drowning.

Teaching is hard. I cannot even convey to you the difficulty. The days get better and the days get worse. I think about giving up every single day. I will make it, though, because I know I can.

I will make it.

The Cusp

2008-09-01T20:48:00.001-07:00

It's the day before the first day. Throughout Chicago I know thousands and thousands of kids are asleep right now, eagerly awaiting what will come of tomorrow.

Here I sit warmed by the glow of a Jon and Kate plus 8 marathon and my own thoughts of mingling incompetence. Well, maybe not incompetence, but whole unprepared-ness. I have absolutely no clue, 100% what I'm supposed to be doing tomorrow. My official job title is "Librarian" but I will, in fact, be instructing students. To what capacity, I'm not sure, but I do know that I will be providing supplemental reading instruction to all grades at the school. I'm going in tomorrow with little more than a smile and a can-do attitude.

I should offer a little more background about my school, or rather the location of my school. In order to get to my school I take the blue line downtown, transfer to the red line and then ride that train two stops from the end of the line. From there I walk 20 minutes through city and a construction zone to my school. The entire process takes between an hour and fifteen to an hour and a half.

I have a million questions buzzing in my head. I'm so unsure of myself it's bordering on psychosis. No matter what, though, time is plowing on. I remember today at noon thinking midnight will never come, but here we are, one hour before the clock strikes 12.

Tomorrow I'll official be an educator. Me. It's hard to believe. One year ago I was starting my last year in college unsure of what I would do with my life once I graduated. I flippantly toyed with the notion of Teach for America not fully aware of what it would entail or that I would actually make it this far.

I really do know that I have an opportunity to affect lives. The process of getting there -bureaucratic red tape of the Chicago Public School district as well as the hoops of alternate certification - somewhat tarnishes the idealism of many of us, but ultimately it really is about possibility.

I know that despite my fears and immaturity, the time will come when I'm on that train riding toward my school and whether I like it or not it gets one second closer.

Hermes would be happy

2008-08-22T21:36:00.001-07:00

For the past two weeks I've been dealing with the bureaucratic bullshit of the Chicago Public School district compounded on the less-than-efficient goings on at Teach for America.

Unfortunately I'm still not placed. Though I still believe the staff is working very hard to find placement, the days tick by as school draws nearer and nearer.

I've been on one interview, which actually was just me dropping off my resume an hour and a half away, and went the two different CPS buildings three different times. All fruitless. It's a lot of running around, being told I'm missing form X or document why-the-hell-am-I-doing-this. Today I was at the breaking point. I was physically shaken and almost broke down in tears. Most of my frustration stems from the fact that I'm supposed to be putting all of my energy into my kids, but instead I'm trying to navigate a system that just doesn't work.

As the minutes count down closer to my birthday, I've never felt so out of control. Yes, I'm 23, but I still feel like I'm a 12-year old with no direction or power. I feel like you should be required to take a test at each subsequent birthday checking to see if you are emotionally and mentally prepared to be the next age.

Surely I wouldn't have passed the 15-year old test.

I feel like the Edward of today is a lot like the Edward of ten years ago. Except this one can drink. And swear. And buy porn.

But I still can't rent a car -- some things never change.

FAQ

2008-08-16T09:08:00.001-07:00

It's been how long since I last updated? Well, you know the process of moving in, boxes, air mattress, lack of internet. It's all a process.

I still don't have placement yet. Yes, I technically don't have a job. I'm going to go ahead and explain everything right here because everyone, EVERYONE, wants to know why I've been accepted to Teach for America but still don't have a school yet. So without further ado, here goes:

Chicago has a decentralized public school system, one of the few totally decentralized districts in the country. What this means is, is that in typical Teach for America (TFA from here on out) regions, the districts are centralized so there is one person that oversees all the vacancies in the district. This person tells TFA that there are X number of openings in the district. TFA then puts X people in these vacancies. In Chicago, there is a person who oversees the district, but it is up to the individual schools to choose which teachers they want for their positions. As such, the schools usually do not know what positions they have open until, typically, right before school starts (September 2nd). So what TFA is now doing is trying to organize the 50 or 60 kids without jobs on individual interviews with principals which, I'm assuming, is an arduous, time consuming task. I'm placing a lot of faith in them that they will get me on an interview and hired before school starts.

Frequently asked questions:
Are you guaranteed placement?
-Yes.

Are you getting paid?
-Not at the moment, but I am guaranteed a check as soon as everyone else gets a check.

Man, does that suck?
-Yes, a lot.

Can you just go find schools on your own?
-Not really. Only certain schools qualify to have a TFA person at it and I don't really know what they are.

Are you nervous, anxious?
-Extremely.

Do you at least know what grade/subject you're teaching?
-No. It could be anything from K-8 and any subject. It depends on the vacancies.

What are you doing with all your time?
-Exploring the city. It's not as fun as it sounds since all I really have on my mind is my lack of a job.

I hope this answers some of the burning questions you might have. I've been put through an emotional wringer throughout this process and talking about placement has been difficult. I hope to have some more positive news soon.

And...done!

2008-08-01T12:54:00.000-07:00

It's the end.

Well, sort of the end.

I'm sitting in a classroom decorated with construction paper cutouts and grammar tips on butcher paper. The desks are three inches too low for a grown human being and the whiteboard shows remnants of math, spelling and reading.

Five weeks later, it's all over. The kids, the lessons, the nights spent awake, cursing what was left of my life. Things eventually got more -- routine, not easier, but more familiar. The people here are a mix of tenacious go-getters and slackers looking to pad their resume. On weekends some went to the beach, some got drunk, some planned for the week ahead, but everyone took a little breather.

In the end, the kids were a handful, their mood changes on a whim but in the end as a teacher, you held their attention. You commanded the room when required.

It's all just practice, though.

Last night was the closing ceremony. Hundreds of kids, dressed in matching shirts singing chants and clapping and cheering and yelling. The room was filled with hundreds of thuderous voices. It was like summer camp, but with vodka.

It's hard not to get wrapped up in the heightened emotion - the collective swelling of emotion. It's all just beginning though, the road still lies ahead.

Generic Update Title

2008-07-29T16:39:00.000-07:00

I went to Disneyland.

It was friggin' magical, but for a total cost of nearly $200 bucks they'd better be shoving pixie dust so far up my ass I can taste it.

It's a lot smaller than you might remember. Things are really close together and it's substantially less impressive through the eyes of a 22 year old. The rides were fine, the lines were short, the weather was nice. All in all it was a fair enough time.

Back to reality.

Teaching, teaching, teaching. Apparently it's all I talk about nowadays. Lessons have been up and down. The lesson part I seem to do well with, but the teaching tends to be a bit more shaky. The kids are their usually selves, stubborn, tired and moody. I find myself trying to be a better teacher, but glossing over the kids in the process.

Today was my last day teaching new material. I remember three weeks ago when everything was so new and scary. Now everything is routine and scary. I've gotten past the point of blaming the program for using the students as guinea pigs. At this point I just want to be home or somewhere where I feel like I'm supposed to be.

I'm really going to miss (most) of the people here. When you spend five weeks with the same group of people, you inevitably get attached. In most cases, the people here are people I genuinely consider friends and will find it difficult waking up at 5 am without them.

It's been a long, strange journey here in the final days of institute. LA has not been a kind mistress to me and I can honestly say I won't miss it. I feel so disconnected from the world and what used to be my life that I'm ready to establish a new me. There still are a few more days, but I think I can handle myself until then.

Oh! and there was an mf-ing earthquake today at around 11:40. I had never been in one before. Everything just started to slide around and it seemed like all the molecules of the building had turned gelatinous. Chalk that one up to experience.

Little victories, smaller students

2008-07-17T19:44:00.001-07:00

So here I am -- with only two weeks of Institute left. It's hard to believe that just a few weeks ago I was in my cushy downtown Austin apartment ruing the construction and humidity.

I've been teaching for two weeks now. It is exhausting. The teaching itself isn't difficult, but it does cause quite a bit of anxiety. It's like getting up on stage in front of 15 little screamers, ready to scrutinize your every move. Like I said, it's not difficult. You lay down the rules, you discipline the kids that are messing around and reward those that do well. At times, the whole education part gets a little fuzzy amidst all the behaviors that need to be kept in check.

I have a few favorites, and those who know who they are know who they are. Yeah, they're suck ups. Asking for more work or telling me a story about something they saw on the Discovery channel. I never thought I would be the guy who was moved by little 8 year olds, but -gosh darn it- they're just so cute!

There are the ones that cause hell. The ones that don't want the be there. The ones who don't need to be there (all of them, technically). The ones that just want to be loud, obnoxious 3rd graders, and they should be allowed to be! But TFA is about data, results, changing the world. The only way you can change the world is to have data proving you did. Otherwise you're a failure.

It would be easy to detail the multitude of frustrations I've faced both in the classroom and with the program, but you know what? Little Mia, sitting in the back, exclaiming that she lost her homework so instead came up with three multiplication problems so she would have something to turn in, well, she makes it all worthwhile.

Week 2

2008-07-10T21:18:00.000-07:00

I'm jumping the gun a little

It's only Thursday, but at ICEF elementary, the teaching week ends on Thursday which means I successfully completed my first week of teaching. Of course successfully is a wholly subjective term, but I'm still alive and still in the program so I think that qualifies as successful.

My first day teaching was immensely stressful. No matter how prepared I felt I was, sure enough, I wasn't prepared enough. I've discovered, though, that one is never really prepared to teach. There are so many variables and random actions and one is never really sure they are making the right choice.

My first day, which seems like it was ages ago, did not go exactly as planned. Another thing I learned, planning and over planning are not good ideas. The kids were rambunctious, energetic, angry, bored, tired, and every sort of minute detail in between. I didn't think my lesson on "Activating prior knowledge of life in the country" was a great introduction to the teaching world, but I felt certain it wouldn't be a total disaster.

I discovered 3rd graders have a great interest in the word "manure".

The teaching become progressively more familiar from there on out. I use the term familiar because it was not easier or less random or tiring, but simply an act that I became slightly more accustomed to doing. The lessons were no more exciting, no thanks to my "preach, preach, worksheet" style of teaching.

I discovered I'm not capable of being a fun teacher.

The classroom on day 1 was chaos. Not the cutesy, ordered chaos that maintains a dull roar, but the kind of chaos that had me sweating buckets, looking up at the ceiling and praying that the period would end soon. I decided the next day I was going to be a hard ass. For those of you who know me know that that is quite a stretch.

I discovered most kids don't perceive me as threatening.

I slowly started to learn the kids names and which kids did and did not enjoy writing. Most kids didn't, some kids did but most were indifferent. These kids are here for summer school anyway where they typically don't receive grades so it's hard to motivate them to do anything.

I discovered that 3rd graders don't act how you want or think.

The days are really really long. I wake up at 5 am every day and am at the school site until 4:30 every afternoon. We have subway sandwiches every - single - day, chips, apples, raisins and a drink. The same thing. Every. Single. Day. For the next 5 weeks.

I discovered there are only so many combinations of turkey, mayo and pepper.

I realize why people drop out of the program. It's rigorous, both physically and emotionally. I feel so drained from a lack of sleep that sometimes I don't think I can function properly. We're all familiar with those days in college (ha! I can say that now) where we cram the night before and get 2 hours of sleep. Then you take that test and go back to bed. Well-deserved respite. Here, there is no release during the week. You go and go and go and go until your mind and body are on the verge of collapse. Days feel like weeks and the two weeks I've been here felt like years. Some people do fun things on the weekend, but Monday is always just a few hours away.

I discovered that no matter how hard I perceive things to be - I will make it through.

End of Week 1

2008-07-05T08:44:00.001-07:00

Two weeks ago I was in Austin, packing up five years of my life, scared of what was going to happen next. Time soldiered on, it marched forward and propelled me to Chicago for a week then to LA. I'm the type of person that's scared to do new things, especially on my own. I realized, though, that with the TFA corps, I'm really not all alone.

So here I am in LA. The weather is gorgeous, the sun is shining and, yes, I'm really really tired. The work, at least thusfar, isn't hard, but it does take a lot of time. On top of that they require you to wake up insanely early. Everyday we have Subway sandwiches -- every day for the next five weeks. There still lingers a small portion of my subconscious that questions if this really is what I want to do. I try to quell this doubt because I know that if the question gets too loud it'll overcome my thoughts and I will probably break. There's a statistic floating around that between 10 and 20 percent of corps members don't make it through institute and I do not want to be that statistic. I keep telling myself I'm here, I've made the commitment and I will make it through.

I've also come to realize that graduating from college doesn't become an automatic pass to maturity. The people here, though nice from day to day, are still just young kids that like to party, get wasted, and indulge in other vices. Suddenly I'm back at freshman orientation when everyone was tripping over themselves to get drunk and hookup with the next semi-attractive person they could, literally, get their hands on. Meanwhile, I'm huddled in my dorm room with no means of transportation and a slight air of elitism.

Character foibles aside, we will all be teaching, most of us for the first time, on Monday. I've met the 13 kids that I will be instructing and they are an energetic, intelligent, lively group of kids. They do and say things that are so perceptive and funny and they don't even realize. I hope I prove to be an efficacious teacher. I hope to overcome the self-doubt and fear and rise to become a really good teacher. As of right now -- I'm just unsure.

Induction Redux

2008-07-05T08:42:00.000-07:00

So I accidentally posted this to the wrong blog -- it takes place about June 17th:

Welcome to Chicago --

As I lay in my bed at the hostel in Chicago I'm not quite sure if I'm more or less anxious than I was one week ago. The induction here was ended up being both expected and unexpected. On an administrative level, we were briefly informed of the importance of diversity, filled out gobs of paperwork for schools we'd never see, and some of use were hired while others were sent on rat races of interviews. Alas, I still do not have a teacher placement. The process of finding housing is no less complicated. 200 eager, mostly white recent graduates are shoved within close proximity of one another and over the course of a few days are expected to decide with whom to live with for the next year. The first time the entire corps was together was at Exposure Tapas (not to be confused with expose your tatas, ha, funny), where the same 200 people were crammed into a space designed for intimate dinners for two. The whole affair was loud, sweaty and ridiculously complicated.

Back at the hostel i was jostled into a suite with 10 other guys all of whom were nice, but few of whom I really connected with. Luckily, my actual room-mate Nate and I clicked pretty well and we immediately scampered off to see a movie while everyone was planning on their nights out in Chicago.

The arduous task of hammering out a living situation caused me much anxiety. It's difficult to find someone suitable to live with let alone navigate the treacherous waters of the Chicago neighborhood system. One block may house sushi-munching yuppies while two streets away is a meth house lit by the cigarette lighters of its inhabitants -- a charming lighting scheme, no doubt, but not quite what I'm looking for. After an initial neighborhood crawl with Garrett in which we viewed a few houses in Lincoln Park and Lakeview, I decided that as much as I would like to live in squalor for $800 a month something with more space would be preferable. Though the Logan Square area does not have a starbucks on every corner nor does every apartment appear to be decorated by Pottery Barn, it does have a certain charm (Latin flair?) that makes me feel like I'm in downtown San Antonio again.

I was informed that the rate of drop-out/kick-outs at Institute is 30%. 1 in 3 people will leave Teach for America because someone doesn't think they're good enough, or worse, the person doesn't think they're good enough. I'm scared. Shitless. Literally, I have this phobia of going to the bathroom while others are around.

Anyway -- I got to see a lot of Chicago. I saw three movies and now I'm about to fly to LA to get my ass handed to me. I pray to God that pinkberry will make it all worthwhile.

Day 1

2008-06-30T22:34:00.000-07:00

So institute has finally begun. Apparently, it's supposed to be hell where 30% of the corps drops out. What's keeping me here is the overwhelming sense of failure that would follow if I were to drop out. We arrived at the lovely Loyola campus greeted by dozens of smiling faces in gray shirts. We were directed to one of several tables that gave us tons of vital information such as how to access the internet and where to put your luggage. The entire affair looked and felt as though we were all senior citizens signing up for our ultimate demise. Everyone was a little too nice, a little too understanding and a little too eager to get us to the next table.

I don't know if you know this, but LA is a big city. Apparently I missed (natch ignored) the memo on purchasing linens and was left with a squeaky plastic mattress with nothing to cover it with. An impromptu trip to Target was arranged that involved a cab and a stolen shopping cart (too many details to mention).

The actual first day of institute began at 4:50 am. For those of you wondering that's approximately 12 hours earlier than I normally wake up. The actual day on the site was a combination of ill-conceived speeches and loaded teacher-speak that barely registered in my brain. The information was a basic rundown of the TFA doctrine, that is, what we should think, believe and strive for as teachers. We all talked about our feelings and how we measure success while holding hands around an incense lamp. Returning to the university site at approximately 5 pm we entered the clusterfuck that was the dining hall. 661 kids were corralled into an area designed for, maybe, 100 and served sliced turkey breast wrapped around broccoli florets and covered in what appeared to be leftover alfredo sauce or warmed over semen. Either way, I had two portions and would have gladly accepted another. Finally, we were treated to a welcome 'celebration' which mostly consisted of 661 grumpy kids forced to listen to a bunch of higher-ups speak about how we were doing a lot of good.

The first day wasn't so bad, but it really shouldn't have been. It's these next few days, and subsequent weeks, that I'm really worried about.

More than basic skills

2008-06-09T00:32:00.000-07:00

Well look at you -- reading my first post, I'm very proud and flattered. Anyway, enough with the bullshit, let's get to the good stuff.

My most recent trip to Chicago was necessitated by the Illinois Certification Testing System test of basic skills as well as elementary/middle school education. With titles like these one would be inclined to dismiss the tests as rote exercises in general knowledge. Well, you'd be correct, but unfortunately I seem to be deficient in general knowledge. The test boiled down to 8 combined hours of fifth grade trivia.

The big drama of the weekend, though, was the chaotic clusterfuck at O'Hare. My flight was originally scheduled for 5:20 and after waiting in line for an hour and a half I was informed that not only was my flight canceled but the next flight wouldn't leave until 7 am. I tried my best to be assertive, but it came off pretty whiny and desperate. Somehow, the agent, through the "back door", was able to book me on a flight to San Antonio that left at 8, a good four hours away. The agent warned me to hold on to my ticket because if I didn't make the flight I'd need it for the 7 am flight. I waved my hand and dismissed the thought. Four hours was more than enough time to make a flight a few feet away.

Unfortunately the line to check in at United, where I had been re-booked, had roughly 200 people in it. 200 very weary, tense, people. I got in line confident that I would make it in time for my flight. I took the opportunity to get to know my neighbors. I figured, I'm in this for the long haul, I might as well get a feel for my comrades. The guy in front of me, dressed in board shorts and an Ed Hardy T-shirt, was genial enough. He was headed to Ft. Lauderdale and eventually Key West. The family behind me was a very chatty group of Indians, the youngest of which had a "great" time at the wedding the had just attended. Periodically some of my kinfolk would try and gamble at the self service kiosk, or mention to the nearest person that they will be right back. Often times, the person would return, dejected, and resume waiting. Rarely, the person would not return, lost in the ether of terminal 1.

The hours, and I do mean hours, ticked by. Before I knew it it was 7:30. I was so close to the front of the line that I started trembling. I had earlier consigned that I would have no problem waiting until morning, but I was so close to the agent that I felt I would have an emotional breakdown if I missed my flight. Someone, an employee? a forward thinking customer? my subconscious? said I should move to line 3. 7:40. I made a run for it after bidding adieu to my Floridian companion. 7:52. I was informed that line 3 only had self-check in. Not going to work. I inquired with the agent and she said I have a special ticket and should proceed to first class check in. Tell them she sent me. I looked back to get her name but she was last in a swarm of fanny packs and oversized straw hats. 7:55. The goddam first class passengers were taking forever. One passenger had the most casual look on her face, as if she were somehow removed from the pandemonium going on. Panic began to set in. I knew I had missed my flight. I considered simply admitting defeat and cozying up in a little corner for the next 12 hours but I needed confirmation from the airline. I wasn't going to quit until someone told me to quit. I transcribe for you now my exact dialogue:
Me: Hi. How are you. I have four minutes to make my flight. I know I'm not going to make it so if that's the case please just tell me I'm going to miss it and I'll leave.
Agent: Four minutes? You're going to miss your flight.
Me: I figured.
Agent: Where are you going?
Me: San Antonio
Agent: Actually your flight was delayed until 9:20. Here's your boarding pass.

He didn't realize it but he brought me as close to tears of happiness as I've ever come. I was overcome with such emotion that I had to take a few minutes to steady myself.

The rest of the trip was a blur. I barely noticed being pulled from the security line for a random security check where I was treated like a prisoner, yelled at, standing in my socks with three other just as confused women. Nor did I notice the little boy sitting next to me who periodically fell asleep on my shoulder and went to the bathroom between six and thirty-five times.

It wasn't until 12:30 am when my dad came around the corner to pick me up that I realized the entire ordeal was over. I came to realize that there are some things you can't control. You can't make time go slower (or faster, whatever the case may be), you can't make someone work harder than they want to, sometimes, no matter how fast you run, you can't make it to where you need to go in time. It's times like these when you just have to accept that there are things out of your control. Getting mad, or frustrated or pissy will only spread to those around you. You just have to close your eyes, breathe, pray that your plane was delayed an hour and a half
and leave the rest up to fate.

Opening Remarks

2008-06-09T00:11:00.000-07:00

My name is Edward Lim - but if you're reading this you probably know that already. I remember way back in the spring of 2004 when blogging was a big thing. It has since been relegated to internet know-it-alls and political whistle blowers. I have less lofty intentions.

At 22 years old I find myself slowly inching toward adulthood. It began after graduating college and will continue (hopefully) with my position with Teach for America. I'll be moving to the big scary city of Chicago (I'm told it's very different from Texas). I'm hoping that this blog will, first, not fade into obscurity, but more importantly be a way for me to keep all of my friends back home updated on my goings on.

I've come to realize that, as an English major, there are some people that are born to write. They speak passionately about the ideas swelling in their minds and if they don't get them out they might just burst. Fortunately I'm not one of them. I got an English degree to supplement my useless film degree thus giving me two useless degrees and a lot of wasted time. Also, I'm writing this because I think I'm pretty goddamn funny -- at least in my mind.

I hope you, dear reader, will enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it, though it may be a little presumptuous to assume I'll enjoy writing, but we'll find out together. So please, leave comments, especially ones that shamelessly flatter, and enjoy.

-Edward