No surprise after all. The question keeps popping up from our family members and friends. Since this is our first baby, we figure we need the time to prepare. We went ahead and found out the baby gender today even though Dana and I saw the little boy in our dream.

It didn’t take the ultrasound technician very long to figure out the baby’s gender. His thing was displayed prominently. She even said, “He is showing off.” What can I say? That’s my boy. The kid is doing good weighting in at 10oz.

I was kind of worried because if you look at my wife, you wouldn’t know that she’s pregnant. Even her dad complaint that I better feed her right. He actually believed that all she is eating is instinct noodle. I wouldn’t blame him. I feel the same way when looking at her. Now this is what I call pregnant.

Over Thanksgiving weekend, my cousin who is raising a beautiful boy shared with us some of the challenges she didn’t know about and no one told her until she had the kid. They sounded very daunting, especially in the first few weeks. I was there when Samantha was born, but I didn’t hold her until she was months old. I didn’t want to break her neck. I can’t even begin to imagine giving my boy a bath in the first few weeks. I am going to need all the mercy I can get.

Due to traffic, our ride from Virginia to New Jersey took almost eight hours last night. I am not complaining though. I had my coffee to keep me awake. I had my jazz to calm my nerve. Best of all, I had a wonderful lady by my side to keep me warm. Glad to be home for Thanksgiving (or more like family gathering). Please take the time to be with your love ones. Like Lam Phuong once wrote: “Cách xa mặt nhau chỉ làm ngày tháng hư hao / Tuổi xuân là bao chẳng đợi thời gian vụt tới / Rồi mai đây trăng tà soi bóng ngó quanh lại còn ai.”

13 Creative showcases Jenn White Topliff’s elegant works.
The Lippincott is simply gorgeous.

The interactive site for Volkswagen Fox features an amazing navigational concept. Must visit.

A worldwide rendition of Ben E. King’s classic.

Getting your car service these days is even worst than visiting your doctor for a check up. A simple oil change at Radley Acura cost forty-eight dollars and two and a half hours of waiting time. Worse is the list of recommendations that runs up $1,500. Of course, I have to say thank but no thank to the list of recommendations. My car runs just fine. Just give me the fucking oil change.

Change of plan. I won’t have to be in New Jersey this weekend; therefore, I am going to be hanging out at Quan Van Nova on Saturday night. Anyone else wants to join me to crash the party? Hopefully anh Hai won’t kick us out. I really am looking forward to relax and enjoy the music. I am bringing my baby along too so the kid could get a taste of music. Like they always say, “Dạy con từ thuở còn thơ.”

Not sure when I started to read Capri’s Doodle, wandering thoughts of a Vietnamese-American blogger, but her witty Vietnamese and hilarious posts always crack me the hell up. Her latest post on unsocial strikes my chord. Like her, I am not the social type. I actually put more of my thoughts on this site than when I talk to people. With the web site people have the choice. They can read it or they don’t. In a face-to-face conversation I feel like I am forcing them to listen to the stories that have no absolute interest to them. My wife is the only the exception. She has no choice. Except for her, no one gives a rat-ass interest about my interests. So I just stick to the general questions, which sometimes sounded like I was desperate trying to be social.

I could still remember the embarrassing moment of me trying to get my social skills on. It was Vassar’s Christmas party for all the faculties, administrators and staffs. The place was huge and filled with people chitchatting and some relaxing swing jazz music. I met a French professor who I worked with on the French web site when I started working for Vassar. From what I remembered about her from our previous work-related conversations was that she goes to France every summer. So after our initial greetings, I asked her “How was France?” With a glass of wine in her hand she replied, “Oh, no thanks.” I just smiled and didn’t know what else to say. In an awkward moment, I followed up with an awkward question, “I thought you go to France every year.” Her response was, “Oh, I thought you asked me to dance.” The music was nice and everything but I was not about to make a fool out of myself in a work environment. Besides no one was dancing out there and the place wasn’t set up for that either. The good thing was that we both laughed about it. I was going to say, “You must have had a bit too much wine,” but didn’t want to offend her.

Come to think about, what if she was the bold and carefree type of person who wasn’t embarrassed by such an out-of-place offer? What if she said yes and then I was like, “oh no, that was not what I meant.” I guess it was better for me to feel embarrassed than for her. I was still puzzling though. How did she hear “How was France?” into “Would you like to dance?” I guess dance and France sound pretty close and my wonderful accent makes them indistinguishable.

A sixty-three-year-old man smacked his eighty-seven-year-old mother was caught on tape. Damn, that’s pretty fucked up.

A heartfelt clip of Australian-Vietnamese “boat people“ retracing to their painful past.