After reading Ms. Nguyen’s “17th Anniversary,” I freak out because her bullies’ drama and kung fu’s fantasy reflect my own past, those early days in American school.

A couple years ago, I went back to my junior high school to meet with a teacher who was my freelance client at the time to talk about a website project she hired me to do. I walked through the hallway recollecting my thought on the place that was once part of my life. The big bulletin board that displayed photos of exemplary (straight-A’s) students was still there. Yes, my snapshot made it up there once. As I continued my way down to the corner where my ESL class used to be, the bell rang. Kids stormed out of their classrooms everywhere. A Puerto Rican boy stared at me like I was from another planet. As he imitated Bruce Lee’s martial arts, the other kids began to giggle. I just gave them a smile and walked away. Of course, it was not a big deal to me at that time, but thinking back to when I was their age, it was quite a pressure.

Every time I think about the experiences I went through, I hope that Samantha, Eric, and my kids (later on) won’t have to face these racial challenges when they go to school. Maybe it won’t be so bad for them since they were born here and their natural English won’t create such tensions.

Once again, kudos to Ms. Nguyen for bringing back the painful but invaluable lessons. That’s right, if we can’t beat them in anything else, we have to beat them in academic. It’s definitely the best revenge.

In his HBO special, George Lopez mused Arnold Schwarzenegger, “Motherfucker, you don’t speak English.” After seeing Arnold shares his deepest feelings, I know what George meant.

Asian cheerleaders are living la vida loca, and goddamn baby got back.

Amateur singers stutter when they forget the lyrics. Profession singers make shit up when they can’t remember the words. Ella Fitzgerald’s live performance of “Mack the Knife” showed her witty skill when she couldn’t remember the words. She pulled things out of her head like, “Oh what’s the next chorus to this song now / This is the one now I don’t know / But it was a swinging tune / And it’s a hit too / So we try to do Mack the Knife.” I know it is very hard for singers to remember every song correctly; therefore, learn to improvise as a backup plan isn’t so bad. You could turn your flaws into something novelty like Ella did in her Berlin’s concert.

Duc Huy’s “Nhu Da Dau Yeu” has been covered to death, yet Don Ho’s take still remains my personal favorite. I find his whispery flow on low register to be quite sexy. When he soars, “Anh den voi em voi tat ca tam hon / Em den voi anh voi tat ca trai tim,” he sounds more convincing than anyone. The current Don Ho has somehow moved away from that soulful, natural delivery.

Despite the horrendous saxophone accompaniment, which works on every goddamn nerve of mine, Nguyen Khang has managed to pull off an intoxicating rendition of Ngoc Tu Anh’s “Hay Giu Lay Hon Day.” He has proved that even when the arrangement fails him, he is not unlistenable. It’s gotta be that Khangy flavor.

If you’re in Second Life, check out Vassar island.

MTV’s Immaturity.tv

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Ham Tran’s Journey From The Fall opens tomorrow in NYC.

Yes. I am getting a spring fever.

Haven’t jam to Terry Blaine for a while. Her live concert album is always fun to listen to, especially when she sings rapid-fire tunes like Fats Waller’s “Handful of Keys.” She has quite a rhythmic and melodic sensibility to tackle an accelerated joint like that. But then again, she has Mark Shane, whose stride skill is marvelous, backing her up.

Don’t mess with the Little Falla!

Hellovon has some wicked paintings.

I’ve always been intrigued by car’s typography; therefore, CarType is a perfect place to visit.

Gapers Block, a beautiful web publication about Chicago.

2pac’s “16 on Death Row” has such disturbing storylines that I quiver whenever I listen to it. Pac sure was a crazy motherfucker.

Dear mama, these cops don’t understand me
I turned to a life of crime, cause I came from a broken family
My uncle used to touch me, I never told you that
Scared what you might do, I couldn’t hold you back
I kept it deep inside, I done let it fuel my anger
I’m down for all my homies, no mercy for a stranger…

I shouldn’t let them catch me
Instead of livin’ sad in jail, I could’ve died free and happy
And my cellmate’s raped on the norm
And passed around the dorm, you can hear his asshole gettin’ torn
They made me an animal
Can’t sleep, instead of countin’ sheep, niggaz countin’ cannibals
And that’s how it is in the pen
Turn old and cold, and your soul is your best friend
My mama prayed for me
Tell the Lord to make way for me, prepare any day for me…

They tell me the preacher’s there for me
He’s a crook with a book, that motherfucker never cared for me
He’s only here to be sure
I don’t drop a dime to God ’bout the crimes he’s commitin’ on the poor…

Damn, The Beastie Boys’ “Girls” is stuck in my head.

Girls, to do the dishes
Girls, to clean up my room
Girls, to do the laundry
Girls, and in the bathroom
Girls, that’s all I really want is girls

This song sure brings back the good old days.