What makes Stacey Kent so damn addictive is that I can enjoy the art of reinterpreation and the craft of enunciation simultaneously. Out of her nine albums, which being shuffled frequently on my iPhone, In Love Again stands out as an exceptional reimagination of Richard Rodgers’ music.

With her fresh approach, relaxed technique and warm intimacy, Kent has managed to escape the shadow of great jazz singers before her like Ella Fitzgerald, Frank Sinatra and Billie Holiday who had put their own signiture on Rodgers’ composition. Kent comes out swinging in such an easy-going manner on “Shall We Dance?” then retreats to late-night sophistication on “Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered.”

Her mood swings up again on “My Heart Stood Still” and then quickly settles down on the sensational “It Never Entered My Mind.” The rare gem and my personal favorite on the songbook has to be the playful “I’m Gonna Wash That Man Right Outta My Hair.” She skillfully makes the transition from light swing to dark blues and the quintet, which made up of her husband and tenor saxophonist Jim Tomlinson, guitarist Colin Oxley, pianist Dave Newton, bassist Simon Thorpe and drummer Jasper Kviberg, knows exactly what to do behind her.

While the melodies and the lyrics are familiar, Kent makes them sound new again simply by singing from her heart and soul. In Love Again can be summed up in one line and she has done so flawlessly: “It’s easy to remember, but so hard to forget.”

In my freshman year in college, I had a young professor for my first English class. One of our weekly assignments was to read any piece in the New Yorker and write a summary about it. At the time, I knew nothing about design and marketing. I didn’t take the New Yorker seriously because of its cartoon illustrations. Furthermore, I didn’t understand a single thing I read in the magazine. The articles were so long and I got bored just looking at the pages I have to go through.

The young professor was really helpful though. Because she lived on campus, sometimes she invited me to her place to correct my massive grammar mistakes, something I don’t seem to overcome. I was in her class for two semesters in a row and I loved them both. Another assignment I enjoyed doing was keeping a daily journal. She then collected the journal on Friday, read them and wrote back her comments. Come to think of it, she is responsible for my addiction to blogging.

Even after I graduated from college, I never enjoyed reading, but I forced myself to read tech books to learn computer skills. I started getting into reading around the time I began my interest in blogging. I read mostly non-fiction books because I thought that if I spend time reading, I better learn something out of it. I read jazz books because the subject interested me. Then I finally figured out that reading is the best way to kill time like when I get stuck in a doctor office or riding on the train; therefore, I try to take a book with me whenever I go. I just hate waiting.

To find interesting topics for my blog, I started reading online. New Yorker then became one of my favorite sources. I read most of the articles posted online, but a year or so ago the New Yorker limited its online publications to its subscriber. I knew it was time for me to get the print edition. I kept pushing it off until late last year when my niece had a fundraising for her school. If I subscribe to a magazine, the school will get 40% (or something like that). Killing two birds with one stone, I couldn’t refuse. Since then I have always looking forward to Wednesday to read the New Yorker.

What I like about the New Yorker is that I read and learn something new every issue in addition to its political coverage and music review. I appreciate the level of detail in the pieces. I should have subscribed to the New Yorker a long time ago and I don’t think I ever want to cancel my membership. Then I read Raffi Khatchadourian’s “Transfiguration” last week and realized is it good to know all this information?

The excellent piece details the process of transplanting a face to a young man who was shocked by high-voltage power. He was burnt so bad that the doctors had to cut off his mouth, eyes and nose. They had to put temporary pig skin on his face to help him heal. Then there’s an account of a woman who took too much sleeping pills then collapsed. After she woke up and tried to smoke a cigarette only to find out that her whole mouth had been eaten by a dog. This is one of the reasons we will never have any pet in our house.

Sometimes I feel like ignorant is a bliss. The less I know the better. Being a parent every little thing makes me paranoid. What happen if something like that in the article happened to my kids? I was doing the dishes the other day and I turned on the food-waste disposer. Then something occurred to me. What if one boy tells the other to put his hand down there then turns on the switch?

When we bought the house, one of my favorite features was the laundry shooter. It’s great because we can just throw dirty clothes down to the basement. I was holding Cu Dan on my arms the other day and staring at the laundry shooter for a minute and thought what if Cu Dao decided to give his little brother a slide from the top floor to the basement? It’s damn near impossible to do, but the thought occured in my mind.

Then there are sharp toothpicks found around the house. What if one guy decided to poke his brother’s eye out with the toothpick to see what happened? Then the door to the basement, which hardly shut tight. What if one decided to push the other down the basement?

I talked to Dana about my paranonia and she felt the same way, especially about the toothpicks. I am really glad that I am not the only one. Still, reading things that happened to other people give me a chill. That’s also one of the reasons I don’t watch the news. It just creeps the shit out of me.

It’s quite rare to hear an entire Vietnamese album with only original tunes. Quái Vật Tí Hon (Lil’ Monsters) is an experiential rock group that does just that with its debut Đường Về. Yet what makes the album so attractive (even to none-rock listener like myself) is the combination of skillful storytelling and clever incorporation of Vietnamese traditional folks melody into modern rock.

“Vì Đời” is easily one of the highlights from the album, or at least to me, because I can related to the lyrics: “Vợ mình đẹp nhất hành tinh / Người tình đẹp nhất lúc bình minh / Vì đời có tài nên thường linh tinh.” Công Hải, lead vocalist who penned all the lyrics, knows the important of clear communication; therefore, he keeps his singing simple and stays within his raspy range. “Ô Trống” takes me back to my childhood years. I can’t recall the words, but I can hum to the melody.

Minified down to just acoustic strumming guitar, Công Hải pours out his drunken soul on “Vợ Ơi, Anh Sai Rồi.” Elsewhere, “Kẻ Lạ Mặt” recounts an incident in which he walked into his lover making out with a stranger. Đường Về is worth listening even if you aren’t into rock. Then again as much as I find the personal narrative to be engaging, the rock guitar riffs are too much noise for me to return for more.

When you’re married with two kids, what you get for Valentine is something really hot and it is not hot love. That’s right, I got a big hot pot and nothing complement it better than straight shots of Tequila. I am referring to Baluarte Tequila, not Tila Tequila. Now I am bloated, but I got my Cu Dao to keep me warm. Life can’t get any better than this.

Nathan Lee has a hush, handsome timbre, but he’s not making the most out of his voice. On M, a Valentine’s special release, his delivery is way too breathy. He needs to learn to control his breathing particularly on ballads. His rendition of “Cơn Mưa Hạ” is weak and lacking of confidence. All I feel is air blowing, not summer rain dropping.

If I were to produce his album, I would make him sing an octave lower, especially on “Dòng Sông Kỷ Niệm.” He should have concentrated more on his lower notes and not exceeded the mid range. His version of “Khi Người Yêu Tôi Khóc” would have been much more hipnotizing if he sang it in the bass tone.

I know I shouldn’t be so tough on the kid. For crying out loud, he’s making a Valentine’s special album. I am not sure if I would even recommend this album for Valentine’s Day, unless your love life is filled with “Tàn Tro,” “Tan Tác,” “Xa Em Kỷ Niệm,” and “Ngàn Năm Vẫn Đợi.” Sounds more like a heartbreak to me.

I have been lunching at Eden way too often lately. I am way too lazy to pack my salad, but I have no problem walking out to the freezing temperature and driving to Eden Center for food. Hai Ky Mi Gia’s bun mam (vermicelli with salted fish sauce) and bun bo hue (spicy beef noodle soup) for five dollars are bowl are just too damn irresistible.

Last Friday, I came back to the office and I smelled like, well, fermented fish sauce and durian. It had to be one of the worst combinations of Vietnamese best food and horrible smells. Luckily no one else was in the office.

Today I dropped by Rice Paper for a huge plate of com tam dac biet (broken rice special). It was not that great, but it sure filled me up. Should have headed straight back to work, but no, I have to have my durian smooth. So I went to Kim Phung Bakery to cop one. I told the lady what I wanted and she told her Mexican worker, “Uno sau rieng no bubble.” I was like, wow, she made an order in three languages.

I recieved an inquiry from a Vietnamese lady about a web design project last Thursday. On Friday I called her around 11am Eastern time to find out more about the project. She woke up to answer the phone. She saw my New York number and told me she didn’t realize that I am in the east coast. She thought I live in California. I explained to her that with web design she doesn’t need to work with someone locally. I have clients all over the States. One time I even had a client in China.

In any rate, I didn’t get a chance to ask her who refered me to her. I emailed her after the brief conversation over the phone, but she hasn’t responded. If you made the referral and are reading this post, I just want to say thank you.

Almost all of my clients are through referrals. The great thing about recommendation is that I know I have been trusted; therefore, it’s much easier to work with the referred clients. Most potential clients who come to my site would probably see the design I have done, but they probably don’t look under the hood to see how I coded my page.

I prize myself in giving the clients the most up-to-date technologies so that their site will be in good shape in years to come. Now every new project will include HTML5 Boilerplate and responsive design as a standard offering no matter how large or small the project is.

Whenever reading a book with Dao, I try to translate the texts into Vietnamese so that he could also pick the language. One of our bedtime stories for tonight was P.D. Eastman’s Go, Dog. Go!. I read to him, “Đi Chó Đi.” He repeated, “Đỉ Chó Đi.” My jaw dropped and I asked him, “What did you just say?” Then I quickly changed my mind, “Don’t repeat what you just say. Let’s read on in English.” I was laughing my head off and the poor kid didn’t know why. Sometimes just a slight tone could change the whole context in Vietnamese. An innocent word could turn into something quite pejorative.

You never know what being a parent is like until you become one. As a father of two sons, I appreciate and love my mom even more for what she had gone through. Every now and then, she would remind me how angry and worried she was when I came home late or didn’t come home at all when I was in high school. I didn’t do anything wild. I just stayed at my friend’s house and played tien len (Vietnamese card game) for dollar bills all night. At that time I didn’t think it was a big deal, but now I can see why my mom was terrified.

Our mom placed all of her hope and love on us. She chose her kids over her men. One of her legend stories is how she broke up with my sister’s father. She told him to watch his daughter and he covered her up with the blanket when she cried instead of trying to calm her down. She confronted him that he might suffocated her. He beat her up. She just let it go. Once she napped her daughter, she beat his ass and filed the divorce. This is just my mom’s side of the story; therefore, I am not sure how it all went down. Still don’t ever fuck with my mama’s babies.

With my father, she rather took up the opportunity to go to the States to give us a better life then stayed with him. When he came to the States with us and decided not to stay, she bought him one way ticket back to Vietnam. She let go of husband but never her kids even though rising kids is a tough challenge. My dad either couldn’t live up to the challenge or simply didn’t care. Now that I am a father, I can see why he couldn’t deal with it, but unlike him, I won’t run away from my responsibility.

Like my mom, being a parent trumps everything else. Even if my relationship with my wife turned sour, we still have our share of responsibility for life. Just that bonding alone should hold us together if everything else failed. Sure, we fell in love, but we can so fall out of love. We have gone through tough times, but we can no longer just think of our own lives once we have kids. We simply can’t throw the kids away if we don’t want them any more. No one put a gun to our head and said, “you two better make some fucking babies.”

Yes, I am a flawed father. Sometimes I felt like, “What the fuck had I gotten myself into?” I never prepared for this, but I will not give up. My mom is my best role model, but I also learned the experience of not having both parents. I am not saying that my mom didn’t do a heck of a job raising us, but still something felt missing. I definitely don’t want that missing piece to fall on my children.

Jane Mayer’s “Attack Dog” is an intriguing piece in the New Yorker profiling Larry McCarthy, a negative-ad master siding with Mitt Romney. She writes:

Romney, unlike the remaining Republican candidates, has served no time in Washington. Yet he’s relying on a media offensive managed by operatives who have long been at the heart of Washington’s Republican attack machine. One of the leaders of this advertising war is Larry McCarthy, a veteran media consultant best known for creating the racially charged “Willie Horton ad,” which, in 1988, helped sink Michael Dukakis, the Democratic nominee for President.

If Romney wins the primary and compete against Obama, negative ads will dominate the media. Whatever side you’re on, don’t let the ads influence your vote. If you see something isn’t seemed right, fact check it.