Unlike his weight, Fluffy’s jokes are light. His subjects include his son, his mother, and his celebrity status. He’s famous. I get it, but it becomes a bit of a brag. The car effects also get annoying. It’s a family-friendly comedy even though he said “shit” once.

The last time we talked was almost five years ago. He wanted to spend the weekend at our house, but my kids and I were sick. I asked him to come another time when we weren’t sick. He must of thought I made up an excuse and hanged up the phone on me. I thought we would get over it in a few weeks or few months.

I thought about him yesterday and was going to call, but I hesitated. I guess our friendship was expired. I missed the good old time we had. He and I had nothing in common except for food and hip-hop. We could eat chicken wings and listening to 90’s hip-hop all day. We were tight, which could step over the line.

In one particular incident, what he did still haunt and enrage me today. We were at another friend’s house. Even though I knew the friend well, I had never been to his house. The friend’s stepdad was a white man who loved guns. He had guns locked up in the case as well as a few laying around. As we walked into a living room, he picked up a shotgun on the coach and pointed to my head. I was dead serious when I asked him to put it down and do not pull the trigger. Because we were close and too comfortable with each other, he did not see the seriousness in me. He pulled the trigger and I felt the air hitting my temple.

I knew he was just fucking around and he knew the gun had no bullet. Even though I was also 99 percent sure that the gun had no bullet, I was not comfortable with someone putting a gun to my head, especially a close friend. He still thought it was just a joke and probably had forgotten it. As for me, I forgave but never forgot. That day had put a huge dent on our friendship. As much as I wanted to renew our friendship, the incident still leaves me sour. Maybe I should just let it expired.

Through Facebook I reconnected with an old friend. She and I were in the Upward Bound program together. We were not close, but good friends since we spent several summers together.

Through her timeline I have learned that she had went back to Vietnam and opened a restaurant. I admired her adventurous career. When I looked at the logo of the restaurant, I immediately recognized the London Underground’s mark. The colors of the line and circle remained the same; just the text changed to the name of her restaurant. The logo is already incorporated into a huge neon light in front of the restaurant as well as all over the menu and marketing materials.

I did not want to tell her that’s a rip-off; therefore, I sent her a message carefully worded that her logo looks just like the London Underground’s. Her response was, “That is what we were striving for.” From what I knew of her back in the days, I do think that her response was honest and it came from a genuine place, but taking someone’s work is unacceptable.

Pamela Druckerman writes in The New York Times:

In the “Hidden Tribes” survey published last year by the nonprofit group More in Common, respondents who valued self-reliance in children more than obedience, and creativity over good behavior — staples of both authoritative and permissive parents — were more likely to have voted for Hillary Clinton in 2016. Those with more authoritarian views on parenting were more likely to have voted for Donald Trump.

An authoritarian parent voted for an authoritarian president? That makes perfect sense.

If you have to pick one book for Black History Month, check out Isabel Wilkerson’s The Warmth of Other Suns. I am just starting and already loving her writing. Here is how she described one of the main characters who had been through the Great Migration:

She has an endearing gap in her teeth, which go just about any which way they please, and her hair is now as soft and white as the cotton she used to pick not particularly well back in Mississippi. She is the color of sand beach, which she had never heard of growing up but had never seen for herself until she arrived in Chicago half a lifetime ago. She has big searching eyes that see the good in people despite the evil she has seen, and she has a comforting kind of eternal beauty, her skin is like the folds of a velvet shawl.

So beautiful.

John Eligon reports in the New York Times:

Some white students said that nothing seemed out of the ordinary when their white classmates wore blackface. It was typical at costume parties or at talent shows, said Dr. William Elwood, a retired family physician who is white and who graduated in 1984, the same year as Mr. Northam.

Dr. Elwood worked on the yearbook that year, laying out pages, he said. For their personal pages, students would submit their own photos to the staff, he said. The designers would lay them out on the page, he said, and mark where each photo was to be placed. The photos were then put into an envelope, which was attached to the page where they belonged and sent to the press to be printed.

I am not condoning racist, but time has changed and 30 years ago was much different than today. Eligon concludes:

The gap between black and white, Dr. Randolph said, was why he felt that white classmates probably would not have blinked at the offensive image on Mr. Northam’s yearbook page.

“That was the norm,” he said. “That’s what people did.”

Democrats need to chill the hell out. No one is perfect. We already lost Al Franken in the Senate. Let’s not allow a Republican to take over the Virginia governor.

Sarah Lyall writes in The New York Times:

His new book, “Dreyer’s English: An Utterly Correct Guide to Clarity and Style,” is the climax (so far) of his nearly three decades in the copy-editing business, and it shows his playful sense of humor as well as his deep appreciation for clear writing and good language. The book is full of no-nonsense pronouncements on matters like the Oxford comma (use it) and the word “literally” (use it at your peril). It is also idiosyncratic, because writing style is highly personal, subject to an individual’s taste and whim.

Purchased!

An illustrated travelogue by Christoph Niemann is beautifully executed as an online interactive storytelling. Must experience.

Hôm qua mùng một Tết, người lớn nghỉ làm, người nhỏ nghỉ học, cả gia đình dành một ngày đón Xuân. Sáng cả nhà ăn bánh tét chiên với củ kiệu dưa món và nghe nhạc Xuân. Bé Xuân thích nhất bài, “Xuân đã về” vì bài hát có tên của nó. Ba năm trước Xuân sinh ra cũng vào mùng một Tết nên tôi đặt tên cho nó là “Việt Xuân.” Dĩ nhiên chữ Xuân không dễ để người nước ngoài phát âm nhưng giờ đây ở nhà trẻ ai cũng biết đến Xuân cả. Khi nghe cha mẹ, thầy cô, và bạn bè gọi Xuân, tôi vui thầm.

Đến trưa nắng xuân ấm cúng, cả nhà đi viếng mộ ông ngoại rồi ghé qua chùa Pháp Vương lễ Phật. Vì ngày thường nên chùa vắng vẻ nên không khí nhẹ nhàng. Sau đó cả nhà đi ăn trưa với nhau. Rồi thì ra về ghé tiệm bánh Hàn Quốc mua một cái bánh kem nhỏ để chúc mừng ngày sinh nhật của Xuân.

Đón Xuân của chúng tôi chỉ thế thôi. Không sôi nổi cũng không náo nhiệt. Chỉ cần có một ngày cả gia đình được ở bên nhau là quý rồi. Hy vọng sau này mỗi năm Xuân về các con dù có bận rôn cũng dành một ngày đón xuân với gia đình.

Michelle Obama is a meticulous planner. From her wonderful upbringing in South Side of Chicago to her beautiful relationship with Barack to her challenging role as a parent in the White House, Michelle has not skipped a beat in structuring the events in her memoir. Although she did not set out to be a public figure, she has adapted herself to it. She used her role as a First Lady to champion education, promote healthy lifestyle for children, and give voice to young girls and minorities. Her writing is honest, personal, and approachable, but the details could benefit from a bit of trimming.