His teacher praised him for opening up more. He plays and gets along with everyone in class rather than just a small group of friends. He makes friends with other kids outside his class. We also witness his ability to make new friends at the playgrounds. He talks to everyone. He also likes to talk about his brothers.

His teacher is impressed with his vocabularies, which include all the names of different dinosaurs. He is good at verbal communication. He tells his teachers exactly why he got mad or when other kids bothered him. Unfortunately he shuts down when he feels sad. He wouldn’t say anything when he’s sad.

He doesn’t put his hands on his friends anymore, but he still does at home when Đạo made him mad. We’re still working with him on that, but Đạo is also at fault for getting on his nerve.

We are still trying to get him the learn the alphabet. He doesn’t seem to be interested yet. Like daddy, he doesn’t like to draw; therefore, his teacher is still working on getting him to draw the letters. I think he will pick up reading and writing one of these days. I am not too worried about it.

It’s such a release not hearing any complain about him. Đán is a very sweet kid. We love him so much and we are very proud of him. He’s a caring grandson, charming son, and loving brother.

Ali Wong is a funny, filthy, and witty Vietnamese-Chinese American comedian who doesn’t give a fuck. Even with a seven-and-a-half-month pregnancy, she delivered a solid special, Baby Cobra, that is now streaming on Netflix.

She tackles a variety of topics ranging from anal sex, feminism, pregnancy, race to white privilege. One of her best jokes in Baby Cobra is about feeling powerful when a white man eats her pussy. She just absorbing all the entitlement from a white dude. On feminism, she thinks it is the worst thing that could happen to women. Their jobs used to be no job. On anal sex, she encourages women to stick their thumb up their men’s ass and married couple to change it up.

Wong’s materials are bold, sensitive, and smart. She is as unapologetic as George Carlin and Louis CK. By performing while pregnant and being open about her career with a baby, she is making a statement on the role of a female comic in the industry. I have tremendous respect for her.

You did it, my little cunt (Wong’s term for a woman with executive leadership skills).

A Jewish comedian who loves the documentary about Helvetica and uses the word font correctly in his joke. That alone is impressive enough to watch his latest special on Netflix.

Despite my new diet and various home remedies, my gout is flaring up today. It’s not so painful yet, but I hope to get it under control soon. Since the doctor visit two weeks ago, I had not have my medication because my insurance, Anthem Blue Cross and Blue Shield COVA Care, denied my prescription. The doctor prescribed Colchicine and COVA denied it. The doctor changed to a generic brand, COVA denied it. I spent last week calling the pharmacy, the doctor, and the insurance. I still get no medication. COVA Care said that the doctor needed to submit authorization forms. The doctor office submitted the form and it was still denied.

After playing phone tags back and forth, the insurance representative put both the medical assistant from the doctor office and me on the line. The insurance representative told us that the insurance denied the coverage, but she couldn’t give us a reason because she didn’t know. She told us we can appeal their decision. The medical assistant told me to make an appointment to visit the doctor again so we can make an appeal. I was just in the office last week and the doctor knew I was in pain. She wanted me back again so they can charge me again in order for me to get my med. It makes no sense.

I am switching my insurance coverage in the next open enrollment in August as well as my family doctor. I need an insurance provider that would cover for my meds when I need them and I also need a doctor that would fight for me. If this had been a life-threatening situation, I could have been dead. The healthcare system in the U.S. needs to change.

Ngoài những việc phải làm ở văn phòng tôi không còn hứng thú học hỏi thêm về nghề nghiệp. Mấy tháng nay tôi không mở ra cái laptop sau giờ làm việc và những ngày cuối tuần. Những lúc thư giãn, tôi thích đọc sách hoặc xem Netflix hơn là mở cái laptop ra. Dường như tôi đã mất đi cảm hứng thiết kế trang web. Tuy muốn làm freelance thêm nhưng niềm đam mê trong tôi không còn nữa.

Giờ đây tôi không còn đầu óc nhanh nhẹn để theo kịp technology như những đứa trẻ mới vào nghề. Tôi cũng không có hứng thú làm những trang web quá nhiều sôi nổi mà chỉ những trang web đơn giản dể đọc. Tôi không theo phòng trào mới mà chỉ muốn thiết kế theo phẩm mỹ riêng của mình. Mới đó mà tôi đã theo nghề mười mấy năm.

Nhiều lúc tôi nghỉ sao không tìm công việc nào không thai đổi nhiều. Ngày nào cũng chỉ làm như thế thôi khỏi cần phải học hỏi và theo đuổi hằng ngày. Tôi bàn với vợ rằng chắc là bỏ nghề này mở tiệm nail. Bà xã nói, “Ông có biết dũa đâu mà làm nail.” Bả nói tiếp, “Thôi ông mở tiệm bán bánh mì đi. Bây giờ Mỹ cũng thích ăn lắm.” Tôi đáp “Bệnh gout mà mở tiệm bánh mì làm sao thử pâté với thịt?”

Tạm thời làm công tiếp vậy mai mốt làm không nổi nữa ở nhà vợ nuôi. Thấy nhiều ông ở Mỹ cũng được vợ nuôi có gì đâu. Nói vậy chứ tôi mặt cảm lám ông ngồi không để đàn bà nuôi. Kẹt lắm thì tôi tìm nghề khác làm.

Trong ba đứa, Việt Xuân biết tiếp chuyện sớm nhất. Từ hai tháng tuổi Xuân đã bắt đầu thích nghe người khác nói chuyện với mình. Mỗi khi được nghe Xuân ngắm nhìn và nở một nụ cười rất dể thương. Thời gian trôi qua thật nhanh. Mới đó mà Xuân đã ba tháng.

Mary Norris has been working at The New Yorker’s copy department as long as I have lived (since 1978); therefore, she knows a thing or two about grammar and the English language. Her Between You & Me is a hilarious memoir filled with intriguing, meticulous details of punctuation, usage of obscenity, the No. 1 pencil, and pencil sharpener. It’s a laugh-and-learn read—definitely recommended.

In “‘The Artist’s Way’ in an Age of Self-Promotion,” Carrie Battan points out Julia Cameron’s advice for staying creative:

At the core of the process is a ritual called “morning pages,” based on the belief that writing out three pages of free-form writing, in longhand, each morning, will unclog one’s mental and emotional channels of all the muck that gets in the way of being happy, productive, and creative. Simple enough.

I am definitely looking to read Cameron’s The Artist’s Way.

In “A Writer’s Justification,” Adam Ehrlich Sachs wrote a really long sentence:

Even if he succeeded in lining up all of his sentences on the right-hand margin of Word, he would then send the manuscript off to an agent who, with a single minor edit on page 1, would throw all of his painstaking formatting out of whack, unwittingly eliminating, with a well-intended keystroke, years of labor; and even if she edited nothing, his editor would probably edit something, and destroy everything; and even if his editor edited nothing, his copy editor would change a “1” to a “one,” and thereby destroy everything; and even if his copy editor destroyed nothing, the manuscript would then be typeset properly, his sentences would be lined up by a professional using the appropriate technology, by no means Microsoft Word, and his flush sentences would be jettisoned for the typesetter’s even flusher ones; and even if none of that happened, if his book were never properly typeset, if it were never copy edited, if it were never edited, even if he never found an agent, even if he self-published his book, simply uploaded his Word document to the Internet—even then no one would notice his meticulously, madly flush right-hand margin, since even he, while reading, paid almost no attention to the right-hand margin, ragged or justified, he paid almost no attention to it at all, a ragged right-hand margin never bothered him as a reader whatsoever, even though as a writer it was a scene of the most acute, unrelenting psychological drama.

Just brilliant.

Before my second gout attack, which was three weeks ago, I was not sure if I had become an alcoholic or not. Sure, I loved drinking. When my cousin visited us, him and I killed a bottle of XO or Patrón. At family reunions, we drank bottles after bottles for a week. I loved all-inclusive vacations because I could drink all day long.

At home I liked to a glass of Gin and Tonic, Screw Driver, or Rum and Coke when I felt stressed out or when my wife made some delicious dishes. I also liked to sip Cointreau on ice and experimenting with different cocktail recipes. Every time I visited a liquor store, I charged hundreds of dollars to my credit card.

I did not think that I got to the point of addiction. I was simply enjoying myself and with others. Drinking had become a way for me to be socialized. I am not anti-social. I just don’t know how to be social. I feel awkward when talking with people. My life is boring and I have nothing to talk about. I am not into American sports and I am sure people have no interest in what I do. Alcohol, however, is a different beast. When drinking with someone, I can more intimate. For instance, one of my coworkers is a drinker. I did not know anything about him until we started drinking together at special occasions at work. When I drank with my cousin, we reminisced on the good old days. When I drink with my in-laws, we had a blast. Alcohol gives drinkers a special bond.

With gout, I had determined to give up drinking completely. My social life will be sucked even more, but my health is even more important. I haven’t touched a drop of alcohol for three weeks and I haven’t missed it. I can live without it, which means I was not an alcoholic yet. Just before my first gout attack, which was in January, I drank a bottle of Hornitos Limeshot all by myself in three days. I loved the taste so much I couldn’t resist. In retrospect, that might had caused the first flare. I did not believe the foot doctor when she told me I have gout; therefore, I went back to my normal diet and drinking. The second flare confirmed that I am now fucked.