Sitting by the fire and sipping Hibiki to keep us warm, the fathers were trying to convince me to become the kids’ leader. They said that I read voraciously, write persuasively, and play sports such as skiing and skating. The kids could learn something from me. I was flattered, but I had to be honest with them.

I am in it for the food and drinks, not the kids. I take my kids there so someone else better than me can teach them. I am definitely not a good role model. They don’t know what I had to go through to not have to deal with the pampering-ass kids. Nowadays I keep my distance from other peoples’ kids. I don’t interact with them. I don’t talk to them. I don’t play with them. I don’t want any drama. I definitely don’t want any trouble.

I am pretty sure the parents will never bring that topic up again. Of course Hibiki was doing the talking. In all seriousness, I thought I was good with kids until I had my own kids. Now it’s a struggle everyday being a parent. I thought that parenting would get easier as the kids get older. I didn’t realize that I have to deal with different issues. The older they get the more resistance I face. The more I talk, the less they listen. The more I care, the less they pay attention. The more I worry, the less they get it. Maybe I just back off and let all hell break loose.

We are the slow smoke that ascends
from a nonexistent fire:
neither dirt nor water can put us out.
The soul is irreducible as doubt.

Maurya Simon (An excerpt from “Maya”)

The Kohler Highline Classic toilet I installed in 2018 has minor issues here and there, particularly its canister flushing system. The latest issue was that the water kept running and would not stop. From searching YouTube, my initial fix was to replace the flush-valve seal from the canister. That didn’t resolve the problem.

When I opened up the cap on the adjustable fill valve, I suspected the fill-valve seal had worned out and it turned out to be the culprit. I replace the seal and the problem went away. The fill-valve seal was $4. I could have reused the old flush-valve seal and saved 8 bucks, but I just left the new one in.

I am not fond of the canister flushing system and thinking of replacing it, but I am starting to see how it works. It’s not bad.

True to his stage name, Fluffy is a heavy comedian with feathery materials. His jokes aren’t so vulgar that I could let my kids (thirteen and ten years old) watch him. Fluffy is a natural storyteller, but he goes on for almost two hours in his latest Netflix special. The sound effects and the voices he imitated are just too much to bear. The kids seem to enjoy it despite the cusses here and there. He’s just OK for me.

I held him together
as long as I could, she says.

He stopped working,
stopped coming upstairs.

He was like tissue paper
coming apart in water.

Like smoke in my hands.
It had nothing to do

with you, baby. You left
when you had to.

I met a woman once
who worked on pianos.

Said it was a hard job.
The tools, the leverage.

The required ear. I love it,
she said, but it’s brutal.

The second I step away
it’s already falling out of tune.

Edgar Kunz

after Franca Mancinelli

All water flows toward loneliness.
Loneliness is a black eye, a gleaming pit.
We have yet to split loneliness like an atom.
Loneliness arrives on a leash of scorpions.
In my skull, loneliness opens like a parachute.
It’s illegal to chain loneliness to a fence.
Flickers tunnel through loneliness to build nests.
I sprinkle a spoon of sugar over loneliness.
In some languages, loneliness is imperfect.
Antlers crown the bald head of loneliness.
Like rough trade, loneliness won’t kiss you.
Loneliness is crouched in a tree, afraid of dirt.
In the dark, loneliness ripens too quickly.
Beneath the roof of loneliness, my blood drifts.

Eduardo C. Corral

We had a great time at the scouting camping trip over the weekend even though the weather was cold at night. On Saturday, the kids had a full day of activities. They mixed up with other packs in the DMV area.

One of the highlights was the performance during the campfire program. One of the troops performed a Halloween tune based on “The Addams Family” theme song. The troop leader taught us the lines to sing along. He hummed the riff then sang, “The Thằng Lồn family.”

I flipped the fuck out. Did he just say “Thằng Lồn?” I realized the troop name was “Thăng Long,” but he had to change the diacritics to match the melody and the result was unfortunate. After the program, I confirmed with other leaders and parents to see if it was just me, but I was not alone. One of the leaders pointed out that he heard the same thing because he was right next to the guy who was singing the tune.

The unfortunate misplacement of diacritics had proven that even a Vietnamese speaker can an ancient name of Hà Nội into something completely. In my book, Vietnamese Typography, I emphasized the important of diacritical position to avoid incidents like this one.

A marketing email with the subject line: “Opportunity for vietnamesetypography”

I stopped reading the first part of the email:

Donny,

This is a really interesting site on Japanese typography. It was cool to learn about some of the history from your site.

The person who read my website learned something cool that I did no write. Japanese typography?

Biết cha đã mãi đi rồi
Vẫn nguyên cảm xúc bồi hồi tiếc thương
Giờ cha đã ở Thiên đường
Con cháu ở lại nhớ thương cạn lời
Biết là quy luật muôn đời
Sinh lão bệnh tử phải rời nhân gian
Mà sao vẫn cứ lệ tràn
Mà sao vẫn cứ muôn vàn tiếc thương.

Nguyễn Khắc Thiện

I am not the first person you loved.
You are not the first person I looked at
with a mouthful of forevers. We
have both known loss like the sharp edges
of a knife. We have both lived with lips
more scar tissue than skin. Our love came
unannounced in the middle of the night.
Our love came when we’d given up
on asking love to come. I think
that has to be part
of its miracle.

This is how we heal.
I will kiss you like forgiveness. You
will hold me like I’m hope. Our arms
will bandage and we will press promises
between us like flowers in a book.
I will write sonnets to the salt of sweat
on your skin. I will write novels to the scar
of your nose. I will write a dictionary
of all the words I have used trying
to describe the way it feels to have finally,
finally found you.

And I will not be afraid
of your scars.

I know sometimes
it’s still hard to let me see you
in all your cracked perfection,
but please know:
whether it’s the days you burn
more brilliant than the sun
or the nights you collapse into my lap
your body broken into a thousand questions,
you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
I will love you when you are a still day.
I will love you when you are a hurricane.

Clementine von Radics