David Sedaris’ Naked is yet another hysterical collection of his autobiographical essays. Whether being told through his firsthand experiences or direct observations, what makes Sedaris’ personal stories addictive is the dark sense of humor in his writing. Here is an excerpt from “I Like Guys” to illustrate his whimsicality:

There was a boy at camp I felt I might get along with, a Detroit native named Jason who slept on the bunk beneath mine. Jason tended to look away when talking to the other boys, shifting his eyes as though he were studying the weather conditions. Like me, he used his free time to curl into a fetal position, staring at the bedside calendar upon which he’s x-ed out all the days he had endured so far. We were finishing our 7:15 to 7:45 wash-and-rinse segment one morning when our dormitory counselor arrived for inspection shouting, “What are you, a bunch of goddamned faggots who can’t make your bed?”

I giggled out loud at his stupidity. If anyone knew how to make a bed, it was a faggot. It was the others he needed to worry about. I saw Jason laughing, too, and soon we took to mocking this counselor, referring to each other first as “faggots” and then as “stinking faggots.” We were “lazy faggots” and “sunburned faggots” before we eventually become “faggoty faggots.” We couldn’t protest the word, as that would have meant acknowledging the truth of it. The most we could do was to embrace it as a joke. Embodying the term in all its clichéd glory, we minced and pranced about the room for each other’s entertainment when the others weren’t looking. I found myself easily outperforming my teachers, who had failed to capture the proper spirit of loopy bravado inherent to the role. Faggot, as a word, was always delivered in a harsh, unforgiving tone befitting those weak or stupid enough to act upon impulses. We used it as a joke, an accusation, and finally as a dare. Late at night I’d feel my bunk buck and sway, knowing that Jason was either masturbating or beating eggs for an omelette. Is it me he’s thinking about? I’d follow his lead and wake the next morning to find our entire iron-frame unit had wandered a good eighteen inches away from the wall. Our love had the power to move bunks.

Like many married couples, Marie and Clem are facing intimate challenge in their 22 years together. In a therapy’s session, husband Clam confesses:

“I guess I’ve tried different ways, and nothing seems to . . . to . . . ,” said Clem, who stutters when he’s challenged, or trying to plead his case. He is the personification of mild: fit and trim, with cornflower blue eyes. “It doesn’t seem like you hear me no matter how I say it.” Later, he’ll say, even more plaintively: “It sounds like you want me to initiate sex, but it’s just hard to because the answer is always no, or ‘O.K.,’ and that just doesn’t turn me on. It really takes all the wind out of my sails to know that you’re only saying yes to appease me.”

Sound familiar? You might be interested in reading New York Times Magazine’s cover story “Can This Marriage Be Saved?” by Laurie Abraham.

Environmental graphic designer Don Meeker and type designer James Montalbano set out to fix the highway font problem by making “signs easier to read from a distance and reduced the distracting nighttime blur of halation.” Like what a British designer Graham Clifford says, “Type on the roadway is very much like the corporate identity of a country.” Joshua Yaffa’s “The Road to Clarity” in the New York Times Magazine details the process and the reason for replacing Highway Gothic to Clearview on highway signage.

NPR profiles conscious rapper Common:

He shuns popular trends in hip hop and focuses on some of the art form’s core principles: storytelling and presenting music with a message.

Common, born Lonnie Rashid Lynn Jr., is part of a tradition of so-called “conscious artists” like Dead Prez, The Coup and Mos Def who try to bring social and cultural messages back to the airwaves. Though now he embraces being a conscious artist, there was a time when he shunned the label as pigeonholing his music.

A bottle of Alizé Rose is half empty already, and I just got it at the liqueur store this afternoon. The exotic blend of natural passion fruit, French Vodka, litchis, strawberries and rose essence created a perfect taste, not too sweet and not too rich. On top of its exquisite flavor, Alizé also brings back the memory of 2pac. Remember that “Thug Passion” he once introduced? “One part Alizé, one part Cristal… This drink is guaranteed to get the pussy wet and the dick hard.”

Bang Kieu is the kind of pop singer you either love or love to hate. Love him because he could flight above octaves like a rocket. Love to hate him because dude sounds like a lady, especially on the upper register. So like him or loathe him depends upon whether you could get past the pussiness in his countertenor or not.

Bang Kieu knows that he has the type of timbre that isn’t easy to listen; therefore, he must choose his songs wisely, and he has done so based on his consistent performances on Paris by Night. So on his newest record, Hoai Cam, I am not surprised that his repertoire includes Van Phung’s “Toi Di Giua Hoang Hon,” Pham Duy’s “Mua Thu Chet” and Ngo Thuy Mien’s “Ban Tinh Cuoi.” They are suitable for his octave-jumping style. “Ban Tinh Cuoi,” in particular, is one of those ballads that listeners just wait to witness how he jumps across the towering bridge without collapsing in the middle. What surprised me though is his rendition of Pham Dinh Chuong’s “Nua Hon Thuong Dau.” Somehow his voice transmutes into a broken-hearted woman whose soul is drowning in a sea of sorrow. His falsetto is just amazing, as if it comes straight from the clit.

Although Hoai Cam is a new album, it isn’t really new. Despite how good his deliveries are, old standards are nothing but old standards. He might have brought some fresh approaches to them, but they have been covered so much that they eventually worn off. It must be really hard to be a Vietnamese hit. They just don’t want to leave you alone, especially big moneymakers like Thuy Nga production.

Once again for the good cause. Our man will be riding in the Reston Century to benefit the House of Chance. For more information on how you could lend your support, check out his blog.

Ninjawords… fast like a ninja.

50 Cent with Tony Yayo and Lloyd Banks diss Cam and Fat Joe.

Last night’s dinner were just a simple grill salmon with tomato sauce with steam broccoli and a real-fruit smoothie, which includes blueberry, peach, plum, banana, orange juice and a couple shots of Peachtree Schnapps. During the summer time, Vassar’s Retreat got me hooked on its smoothie. I had to have one a day until a couple of days ago they closed down the station. To get my fruity fix, I had to go get myself a blender to make my own. Who knows, I might open a Boba-tea joint one day if I could come up with some tasty flavors.