I just learned about a CSS feature that would prevent orphans on text blocks. Of course, I applied it to this blog:

.content {text-wrap: pretty;}

This will make my body text less lonely (no orphans left behind). Thanks to Robin Rendle and Stephanie Stimac for the tip.

While reading Trúng Số Độc Đắc (Winning the Lottery), a classic novel by the great late Vũ Trọng Phụng, I encountered so many use of Vietnamese proverbs. One of my favorites is “Con giun xéo mãi cũng quằn” (Even a worm will turn). I collected them for my literary leisure and created a sample page. Typeset in Loes, designed by Dương Trần.

Once, I was a whole person.
I agreed to be transformed,
through trauma, into pieces.
I laid myself cheerfully down
before the apocalypse.
After, the doctor placed the baby
among my body’s wreckage.
I learned to call this love.

Francesca Bell

Raymond Leone writes for Psychology Today:

Obviously, it’s not that simple. And just like the nature vs. nurture debate, it’s really some combination of both. I’m certain that Alexander has spent hours and years practicing and perfecting the “craft” of his instrument. And I don’t think Yo-Yo Ma became who he is just because he practiced more than everyone else. But creating in the moment is certainly different than, say, playing Bach note for note, as written. There is no room for error in playing the Bach cello suites. Is there more room for error in jazz? Miles Davis famously once said, “If I play a wrong note, I’ll just play it again and then it’s not wrong anymore.” Well, I don’t think you can do that when performing Elgar’s Cello Concerto in E minor.

What I think is that you need both. The creativity fuels the craft. And the craft is needed to express the creativity at a high level. A professional level. There is always some of both involved. And ultimately, it’s those who are most creative and most dedicated to the craft that are the most successful.

After reading my latest rant on digital addiction, Adrik Ivanov writes:

Greetings,

I have seen your parenting column on your blog and I have some suggestions. I think that you should be concerned that your children are addicted. This will be the first generation to be born with digital devices constantly around them. They will be bombarded with mass amounts of hyper palatable videos from TikTok and such. The internet is currently designed to be as addicting as possible and will change your children.

I’m not trying to be alarmist, but this technology is going to fundamentally change the fabric of our society. It’s concerning, and no you are not alone in your concerns. Why do you think billionaires are trying to limit their child’s screen time? It’s because they know that they have created a monster.

For your kids, I think you should intervene. Be gentle but firm, enforce screen time and such measures. If they cry, do not waver in your conviction. If they get bullied for not interacting with the latest TikTok trend of the day, support them. I know it’s hard, but by letting your children do whatever they want, you could expose them to the Pandora’s Box of the algorithm. It will get worse, much worse.

I hope this doesn’t sound too conspiratorial or “i-know-what’s-best-for-your-kid” karen type. I’m worried about the future. My cousin has always glued herself to her phone, and I’m not really better.

From an emailer in Vietnam

Adrik Ivanov

My life sucks, but my wife won’t,
he said, rolling onto his back
on my massage table.

He laughed, a painful choke,
as his penis slowly rose,
quiet question tenting
the flannel sheet.

I think he wanted—
not to be blown,
but played,

trapped song
coaxed from him
by careful embouchure
and another’s breath.

I heard the faint thrum
of his loneliness
all the way home.

Francesca Bell

Every two minutes, an American woman is raped,
her body forced open in the time it takes me to tear
this organic tomato to its pulpy center and bite in,
letting juice run down my chin, stinging.

This tomato a celebration on my tongue reminding me
of the night we spent six hundred dollars on dinner for two,
as that man in Colorado loaded guns into his car.

Food arrived on silk pillows: tiny, purple carrots,
radishes like marbles-fairy vegetables-and a miniature,
individual loaf of bread for each course, and each course
with its own silverware and army of people washing in the back.

As we clinked our glasses together,
he checked his ammunition and gas mask,
and people wondered, popcorn or candy.

This morning, I ran through a forest kept tidy
by rich people like me, Eminem shuffling smoothly
through my iPhone. Somewhere in China,
a young man folded his ruined hands in his lap.

My palms were raised, open.
I imagined texting prayers straight to Heaven: OMG. OMG.
Thank You for this world of green grass and suffering.

Francesca Bell

Donnytruong.com gets a new set of types. Instead just using one sans-serif typeface, I wanted to combine several typefaces to give my portfolio a bit more flavor. For the large heading, I chose Gimlet Banner. For subheadings and user interface elements, I chose Gimlet Sans. For body copy, I wanted to return to a serif face; therefore, I chose Warbler Text. All three typefaces designed by David Jonathan Ross and they are from his excellent Font of the Month Club.

The way I am choosing a poetry book is to read the first poem. If the first poem could grab my attention, I would read the rest. The first sentence of Francesca Bell’s What Small Sound reads: “Every two minutes, an American woman is raped.” I read the entire collection on my commute. Bell’s writing is raw, poignant, and personal. My favorites were “Jubilations,” “Instrument Left in Its Case,” “Becoming,” “Tutor,” and “Love in the Time of Covid-19.”

My phone rang. The area code was in Virginia and my phone didn’t flag it as a spam call. I picked it up just in case the call was from my kids’ school. The lady on the other line greeted me and said something about my home I didn’t understand. I asked her to clarify and she made me an offer on my property. I replied, “Sure, two million dollars.” She said, “Thank you, have a good day.” Then she hang up. I guess she was not interested in my property after all.