It was the way summer hunted me:
a sequence of instructions
in the folds of a flower.
How do I explain the hatred of the sun,
the terrible wonder of being alive?
Fuck the fucking birds. I looked
to the sky to join the storms. I couldn’t
have imagined you, swift as the lightning
I traced with my finger, a song scratched
into a back. I ached with the not-knowing.
On Mother’s Day I knelt and begged
for something to help me. Is that God?
I played “Here Comes the Sun”
in the psych ward and everyone
watched as I shook. This
is not true, I said. The sun
is already here. Hope was slight
as an eyelash. How clean the sky—
a cloud that posed as a spine.
There was no container
for my despair. In your face I saw
a sequence of instructions.
When you touched me, I named
the future: Be here. Stay living.
I was running once. Did I tell you
how I wept like that? I saw a fox—
my life bound into tricks. The past
is the past is the past. An idea grown
in the name of the obvious. How
a beloved becomes a stranger
and a stranger becomes a beloved.
I can hate what is true, the thick beauty
of it. I am always in the school of the dead:
a bracket, an aside, a reordering.
I tell you language is always a failure,
a string waiting to be plucked. A song
you love and cannot resolve.
What’s the difference between
rupture and rapture? Not even salt.

Erika L. Sánchez

Ocean, don’t be afraid.
The end of the road is so far ahead
it is already behind us.
Don’t worry. Your father is only your father
until one of you forgets. Like how the spine
won’t remember its wings
no matter how many times our knees
kiss the pavement. Ocean,
are you listening? The most beautiful part
of your body is wherever
your mother’s shadow falls.
Here’s the house with childhood
whittled down to a single red tripwire.
Don’t worry. Just call it horizon
& you’ll never reach it.
Here’s today. Jump. I promise it’s not
a lifeboat. Here’s the man
whose arms are wide enough to gather
your leaving. & here the moment,
just after the lights go out, when you can still see
the faint torch between his legs.
How you use it again & again
to find your own hands.
You asked for a second chance
& are given a mouth to empty into.
Don’t be afraid, the gunfire
is only the sound of people
trying to live a little longer. Ocean. Ocean,
get up. The most beautiful part of your body
is where it’s headed. & remember,
loneliness is still time spent
with the world. Here’s
the room with everyone in it.
Your dead friends passing
through you like wind
through a wind chime. Here’s a desk
with the gimp leg & a brick
to make it last. Yes, here’s a room
so warm & blood-close,
I swear, you will wake—
& mistake these walls
for skin.

Ocean Vương

In the last couple of days, I spent some times revising the look and feel for the Law Library’s LibGuides. I put in custom CSS rules to override Springshare’s default styles so that the page has a bit of our brand elements. I also made sure the colors passed accessibility test. It was a nice, little project.

Last Saturday, on my youngest son’s seventh birthday, I subscribed to The New Yorker. I decided on the annual subscription of both digital and print edition. I hope my kids will pick up the paper magazines to read if they see them lying around the house.

Without a doubt, The New Yorker is one of my favorite publications. In my freshman year, my English teacher required us to subscribe to The New Yorker as part of our class assignments. Each week, we had to read an article in the magazine and wrote in our journal what we thought of it. My English at the time was horrible. I did not understand what I was reading. I didn’t take The New Yorker seriously because of illustration on the cover and the drawings throughout the magazine. What I hated The New Yorker the most was its long-ass essays.

After that English class, I never picked up The New Yorker again until many years later when I began my interest in reading and my English was good enough to understand its writings. I started to appreciate those long-form investigative reports and cultural commentaries, in which the writers had to put in tons of research. In addition, I appreciated its political coverages, which are grounded on facts, honesty, and integrity. They write the truth without the fear of political power and government pressure. The New Yorker is a cultural treasure. I hope that Condé Nast keeps it the way it is and won’t fuck with it like Jeff Bezos fucked up The Washington Post.

I had a subscription to The New Yorker for a few years before our first son was born. I had to cancel it because I could not keep up with the reading while being a new parent. In addition, I wanted to focus my time on reading long books. Now I need to manage my time better to see if I can read both in my spare time.

My Dearest Vương,

Our little King turns seven today. It’s hard to believe. Time flies by so fast. It has been a joy watching you grow in the last 2,555 days.

Congratulations, you have finished reading a 189-page book. That’s quite an accomplishment for a second grader. In the past few weeks, I had been looking forward to reading The World According to Mister Rogers with you. I treasured those 15 minutes together each night. I chose this book to see if you would take on the challenge of reading a text-only book instead of a picture book. You protested, but you kept on reading. I was also hoping that you would remember a few words of wisdom from Mister Rogers. Even though I read this book before, the following passage stood out to me as we were reading together:

It’s not always easy for a father to understand the interests and ways of his son. It seems the songs of our children may be in keys we’ve never tried. The melody of each generation emerges from all that’s gone before. Each one of us contributes in some unique way to the composition of life.

I am glad that you have picked up reading so fast. Though I am not surprised at all. You will accomplish anything when you work hard at it. When I first taught you how to ski, you simply lay down on the snowy bed in the middle of the terrain and refused to get up. Then when you had decided to ski, you went all over the mountains and even in the woods. At the end of last season, you told me that you wanted me to teach you snowboarding next season because, as you said, “You are the best instructor.” I am flattered. Of course, I am the best instructor and I don’t even charge you. Snowboarding will be more challenging to learn, but you will get it. I can’t wait for us to ride together.

Being the youngest boy in the family, you get all the love, especially from mama queen. She would do anything for you, but I can see that you like to do things on your own. You want to be independent like your older brothers. I definitely encourage you to continue to do that, but don’t be shy to ask for help if you need us. We’re here for you.

You have a strong mind. You don’t let anyone deter you from doing things you want to do. You do whatever makes you happy. As you grow older, don’t lose that strength. Your confidence will carry you through life. Listen to your own voice. Think for yourself. Make up your own mind. Stay true to yourself. Don’t let anyone else define you.

I have confidence in you. You will turn out fine as long as you continue to be who you are. I wish you a wonderful birthday.

Love,
Dad

Only after 2 years of replacement, the heating surface element on our Whirlpool’s stove burnt out. The issue was that one of the female disconnects burned out. I replaced it with Utilitech Fully Insulated Female Disconnects (16-14). The heating surface element also needed to be replaced. It cost $107 (tax and shipped included). Let’s hope this will last for a while. This YouTube video was a refresher to open up the top.

Swelling out of the ocean like a bad feeling,
heard before seen slouching toward Miramar
over Venice Beach, it’s the Bell Boeing V-22,
not sleek but versatile, able to launch
from Al Asad, fly to Mudaysis, perform pickup,
then return, all within the golden hour,
fast enough to outrun a difficult past,
the budgetary hurdles and crashes in R. & D.,
the $72-million price tag, flyaway,
its many modes, and we think moods;
you remember its namesake in another state,
fled from some outer dark, gliding above
the diamond, from left field to center,
where it made its home up in the stadium lights,
a crown of wooden swords for its nest,
hovering in the swampy air like forethought
as the crack of a bat sent a tiny moon
into orbit, a wave rippling through
the crowd, the lights on their tall stems
powered on, day powered down,
and you had no team, you did not know
whom to root for, home or away.

Hải-Đăng Phan

The return of “Jimmy Kimmel Live!” is a testament that our free speech is still alive. Freedom of speech is worth fighting for. This is not the left nor the right issue, but I am glad to see some conservatives speak out in defend of free speech. Even Ted Cruz stands up like a man and speaks up for free speech.

America is not America without the freedom of speech. Let’s review the First Amendment Fundamental Freedoms in the Constitution of the United States:

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

The government can’t take that away from us. No authoritarian can take that away from us. Since they can’t go after our free speech, they go after our jobs. Many people had been fired for speaking against the opposition. I was a bit worried of losing my livelihood too, but my employer had put out the following advice:

As you review the social media policy, you will see that it highlights a widely recognized business best practice—including a disclaimer on personal social media profiles. DHRM encourages employees to note that the opinions expressed are personal and do not represent George Mason University and the Commonwealth of Virginia.

I put a disclaimer on every page of my website years ago to make absolute clear that all opinions are my own:

Opinions expressed on this personal blog are my own. My views do not represent those of institutions or organizations I may or may not be associated with.

There’s still hope for America. We need to speak up against authoritarianism. We need to fight like hell for our democracy.

Introducing a brand new visual identity for the Institute for Consumer Financial Choice at Antonin Scalia Law School. Typeset in Nickel Gothic Variable, designed by David Jonathan Ross.

I used to change oil in high school, which was more than 20 years ago. Today, I changed oil for our 2011 Toyota Sienna XLE at 210,000 miles. The last time I took it to the dealership, they charged me almost $150. When did oil change had become so expansive?

Of course I watched some YouTube videos to refresh myself. Here are the parts:

• Oil Filter Wrench for Toyota: $30 (It’s a great tool for removing the oil filter)
• Toyota OE Engine Oil Filter 04152-YZZA1: $8
• Kirkland Signature 0W-20 Full Synthetic Motor Oil 5-quart, 2-pack: $30 (Only 6.5 quartz are needed)

Without the oil filter wrench, the parts cost less than $40. It saved $100 and 3 hours waiting time. I spent about an hour on it, but it will be faster the next time because I will know exactly what to do.

Nowadays, I have to do as many things as I can. Everything is so damn expensive.