In her clear and concise book, Mary C. Dyson shares her research on the legibility of type, typography, and beyond. Print legibility has been covered before, but not so much on screen legibility. I wish Dyson delves deeper on the screen portion. Nevertheless, Legibility is an essential read for designers—particular web practitioners.

The entire book is published on the web. How awesome is that? The book is typeset in Adapter, designed by Rosetta Type. While I like a sans serif text face like Adapter, I still prefer a serif text face for book form. Somehow I got a bit bored reading long text in a sans-serif font, especially with a dense subject like ligigility. Of course, this has nothing to do with legibility, but serif text is still more readable even on the screens.

I’m wandering in search of the lake willows,
to see its leaves gently swaying in the wind.
Or should I look for the lustrous stream of hair
flowing down a pair of shoulders.
A vision of her enchanting smile
and slender figure
was forever impressed
in my mind…

We were together on a tranquil autumn night
She stood there in silence for quite some time
Hesitantly, I want to read to her
a few lines of heart verse:
Please let the brook and the mountain find each other
Just like us, a couple of times rebonding our love

I want to take you across the green mountain ranges
We will visit the gently flowing brook
But nature’s not as gentle as your raven hair
But last autumn’s not as clear as your eyes…

I want to write a few lines of verse
Or play music, or paint flowers
O Darling, please know that:
Our Love is manifest
in Music, in Poetry,
and in… Your Lustrous Stream of Hair!

Translated by Vương Thanh

Suối tóc

Tìm cho thấy liễu xanh xanh lả lơi
Hay đi tìm dòng suối tóc trên vai
Ghi trong khóe mắt u hoài hình bóng ai
Anh với em một đêm thu êm ái

Người em gái đứng im trong hồi lâu
Anh ngập ngừng lòng muốn nói đôi câu
Xin cho suối nước non ngàn tìm đến nhau
Như chúng ta đôi lần hàn gắn thương yêu

Anh muốn đưa em qua miền rừng núi xanh
Chúng ta cùng thăm con suối dịu êm
Nhưng thiên nhiên không êm như tóc huyền
Nhưng thu qua không trong như đôi mắt em

Lòng anh muốn viết lên đôi vần thơ
Hay cung đàn cùng nét bút tranh hoa
Xin em biết nhé cho tình hai chúng ta
Trong ý thơ, cung đàn, và suối tóc mơ

Thy Vân

I haven’t tweeted for five months. I am pretty much done with Twitter. I haven’t bothered to archive my tweets. I am not even going to bring them over to this blog. As you might have already noticed, my sharing category is my replacement for Twitter. I post links and quick posts just like I do on Twitter. I need to add a quick title as well; therefore, the headline might be silly.

Same goes with LinkedIn. I have not posted for anything for five months. I went back to Facebook briefly when we skied in Vermont. I posted a few videos of the kids I wanted to share with family members. Last week, I deactivated it. I just want to get away from social media completely and focus on this site.

Everything will be posted here from now on. I hope you enjoy your stay as well as the coming weekend. I got nothing but love for ya.

Roxane Gay opines in the New York Times:

We are at something of an impasse. The list of things that can get you killed in public is expanding every single day. Whether it’s mass shootings or police brutality or random acts of violence, it only takes running into one scared man to have the worst and likely last day of your life. We can’t even agree on right and wrong anymore. Instead of addressing actual problems, like homelessness and displacement, lack of physical and mental health care, food scarcity, poverty, lax gun laws and more, we bury our heads in the sand. Only when this unchecked violence comes to our doorstep do we maybe care enough to try to effect change.

She’s damn right.

I have been so out of touch with hip-hop. I don’t know any new or young rappers. Since I have a subscription to Amazon Music, I wanted to hear new hip-hop albums. NF’s Hope was on top of the list. I had no idea who NF was so I gave him a try. On the opening title track, he sounded white and a bit angry at the industry. He sang a bit and he had the flow. His lyrics were decent and I noticed that he didn’t use any curse words. In the second track, “Motto,” I heard him mentioning God. Then he talked more about God in the song he wrote about his deceased “Mama.” I realized I was listening to a Christian rap album. I got turned off.

I was sitting in our car next to my four-year-old son. He was napping. As I was dozing off, my phone rang. I picked it up to prevent my son from waking up. The voice on the other line introduced himself as someone from Alumni Relations.

He reached out to me to see how I am doing. I told him I am doing fine and prepared for him to ask me for donations. I couldn’t catch the first part he was telling me, but I could hear the second part, in which he asked me to contribute $100. I politely declined because I witness first hand how they spend money like throwing confetti.

When I said “no” to the $100 donation, he immediately hung up on me. Just a minute before, he sounded as if he genuinely cared about my being, but as soon as he couldn’t get my contribution he clearly didn’t give a fuck.

I reminisce about an autumn years ago
when we sent each other scented letters.
Scented with the fragrance of Love and flowers.
The penned strokes, flirtingly romantic, fly on the pages.
I remember the heart’s hesitancy when I wrote
“How many lives have I waited
for us to love and be together.”
O My Love,
the letters still here,
but you’re somewhere faraway.
I search for you in the starlight of yesteryears.
Remember that day when we walked together to the bridge,
You let down your long silky hair,
and we promised each other to love and be loved.
The words of Love gently floated down the river to some harbor…

Oh Time!
The passage of Time seems to have erased the words of Love.
The passage of Time has faded the color of many letters.
I returned to this place to burn the letters,
to forget the love that seems like thousands of years ago.
Love with the passing of months and years has withered.
The love in the artist’s heart has died.

I reminisce about an autumn years ago
when I wandered alone in the forests and rivers.
The autumn leaves fell and withered.
I reminisce about that day
when we walked together to the bridge.
You let down your long silky hair.
Where’s the Love now that was in our hearts then…

Translated by Vương Thanh

Lá thư

Nhớ tới mùa thu năm xưa gửi nhau
phong thư ngào ngạt hương
nét bút đa tình lả lơi
nhớ phút ngập ngừng lòng giấy viết rằng
chờ đến kiếp nào
tình đầu trong gió mùa
người yêu ơi
em nay về đâu?
phong thư còn đây
nhớ nhau tìm trong ánh sao
nhớ tới ngày nào cùng bước đến cầu
ngồi xõa tóc thề
hẹn lời ân ái
trôi đến bến nào hình dáng thuyền yêu

Thời gian
như xóa lời yêu thương
thời gian
phai dần màu bao lá thư
anh quay về đây đốt tờ thư
quên đi niềm ân ái ngàn xưa
ái ân theo tháng năm tàn
ái ân theo tháng năm vàng
tình người nghệ sĩ phai rồi

Nhớ tới mùa thu năm nao
mình anh lênh đênh rừng cùng sông
chiếc lá thu dần vàng theo
nhớ tới ngày nào cùng bước đến cầu
ngồi xõa tóc thề
còn đâu ân ái chăng người xưa?

Đoàn Chuẩn

This book released in 2017; therefore, it sounded dated. I didn’t get much out of it. My sense of design is simple and straightforward. My design doesn’t need to tell a story. My design just needs to connect and communicate. Not sure where I am going with this.

Everyday I feel like walking into a minefield. The mines could explode anytime. I am trying to stay calm. I am trying to relax. I am trying to sleep. I simply can’t. I don’t know what the fuck I am doing anymore.

Life is hitting me from every corner. One issue is piling up on another. I can’t get a grip on anything. I am living on the edge. I can slip and fall anytime. Time is a motherfucker. The days go so fast and so slow at the same time. I don’t know how to cope with stress. I drink to ease the tension in my head. I rollerblade to give me some physical activity. I depend on my wife to prevent me from breaking down.

I need to hold myself together. I can’t hold on to things beyond my reach. I have to let go. I want to prevent the worst case scenario, but I can’t do anything out of my control. I just need to face the crisis when it hits. I just have to deal with whatever throws at me. I can’t let depression get to me. I can’t get beaten down. I will survive. I will be fine.

Thanks for reading my rants. I don’t have the comment section on this blog, but I always welcome your thoughts. Hit me up.

Miklós Kiss’s Type Beasts are so damn beautiful and expressive. I love his clever ligatures.