Most losses add something—
a new socket or silence,
a gap in a personal
archipelago of islands.
We have that difference
to visit—itself
a going-on of sorts.
But there are other losses
so far beyond report
that they leave holes
in holes only
like the ends of the
long and lonely lives
of castaways
thought dead but not.
Kay Ryan
A few weeks ago, Đạo asked me to help him with his project for civic class. The assignment was to create a third-party campaign t-shirt. He selected gun control.
We tossed around a few names and decided to go with The LORD, which stands for Live Over Rifle Demographics. We then came up with a slogan, “Enough is enough. Let’s end gun violence.”
For the t-shirt design, I suggested that he typeset the word LORD in big, bold letters with the acronym spelled out. He also drew an assault rifle with a cross at the barrel. I was a bit worried that it might be controversial.
Yesterday, I received his progress report from his teacher and he received 32/32—a perfect score. School projects can be fun when you put some effort into them. I have always encouraged him to come to me if he needs help with his projects and assignments. I am more than happy to provide feedback and suggestions.
What’s the use
of something
as unstable
and diffuse as hope—
the almost-twin
of making-do,
the isotope
of going on:
what isn’t in
the envelope
just before
it isn’t:
the always tabled
righting of the present.
Kay Ryan
As some people age
they kinden.
The apertures
of their eyes widen.
I do not think they weaken;
I think something weak strengthens
until they are more and more it,
like letting in heaven.
But other people are
mussels or clams, frightened.
Steam or knife blades mean open.
They hear heaven, they think boiled or broken.
Kay Ryan
I managed to miss the 2022 University Day Service Awards ceremony yesterday. Blame it on the midterm election. Today I received a thank-you ecard from Provost, Executive Vice President & Professor Mark R. Ginsberg:
I want to express my appreciation for all you have done for Mason and congratulate you on your recognition of service. Your talents, efforts and contributions have helped Mason’s success, and the entire Office of the Provost takes pride in your accomplishment and commitment to excellence.
There goes my decade of service at George Mason University.
I haven’t been following politics, which has been good for my mental health. I have grown wearied of both sides on many issues, particularly on gun control. Both parties have moved further to their side. There is no longer a middle ground. While I am with the conservative on ending affirmative action in education, I am still with the liberal on abortion.
With education, my kids can go to George Mason if they can’t go to Harvard. They still have their choices of college. With abortion, women don’t have a choice if Republicans have their way. Between a choice of education and a choice for women, I have to go with the latter. As a result, I voted blue.
That’s it. I have done my part on election day. I am now going back to blogging anything but politics.
I have acquired a used snowboard and a pair of boots for Xuân. We are working on some skills together based on SnowboardProCamp “20 Pre-Season Snowboarding Tricks:”
Hey Nate,
How’s heaven? Life is still stressful as fuck down here. It’s a struggle everyday and I miss you, bro. Last week, I came across a blue CD you burned for me. I fixated on the words you wrote in black permanent marker: “Cam’ron: Purple Haze.” The album brought back so many memories: “You ready? Roll that shit. Light that shit. Now smoke that shit.”
I wish I can turn back the hands of time when we were young, broke, and didn’t give a fuck. I have been relistening to the album every morning on my commute to work. “Get Down” takes me down the memory lane when Cam rhymed, “That’s my man, anytime I holler, holler with me / We shared chicken sandwiches—they were dollar-fifty.” I still remember like it was yesterday when we shared fried chickens and a 40 Olde E. I reminisce on our late-night cruising and blasting Purple Haze with the bass vibrating on our backs. We cracked up on Cam’s misogynistic lyricism: “Your budget on my neck, your spouse on my dick / Posters on the wall, posted on my balls.” It’s definitely cringe-worthy now, but it was hilarious in 2004. Back then, I didn’t pay much attention to Cam’s lyrical content. I was more interested in his infectious flow and his clear enunciation.
I wish you were still here, man. I am sorry for the fallout. I should have stayed connected. I wanted to get together to clear things up and rekindle our friendship, but I kept pushing it back. I thought we still had plenty of time. I was devastated when you unexpectedly left this world. I know you’re in a better place now. Save a space for me in heaven. I’ll see you when I get there.
Sitting by the fire and sipping Hibiki to keep us warm, the fathers were trying to convince me to become the kids’ leader. They said that I read voraciously, write persuasively, and play sports such as skiing and skating. The kids could learn something from me. I was flattered, but I had to be honest with them.
I am in it for the food and drinks, not the kids. I take my kids there so someone else better than me can teach them. I am definitely not a good role model. They don’t know what I had to go through to not have to deal with the pampering-ass kids. Nowadays I keep my distance from other peoples’ kids. I don’t interact with them. I don’t talk to them. I don’t play with them. I don’t want any drama. I definitely don’t want any trouble.
I am pretty sure the parents will never bring that topic up again. Of course Hibiki was doing the talking. In all seriousness, I thought I was good with kids until I had my own kids. Now it’s a struggle everyday being a parent. I thought that parenting would get easier as the kids get older. I didn’t realize that I have to deal with different issues. The older they get the more resistance I face. The more I talk, the less they listen. The more I care, the less they pay attention. The more I worry, the less they get it. Maybe I just back off and let all hell break loose.
We are the slow smoke that ascends
from a nonexistent fire:
neither dirt nor water can put us out.
The soul is irreducible as doubt.
Maurya Simon (An excerpt from “Maya”)