Wednesday, February 28, 2007

Ted Fang


Many years ago, I worked for a chain of newspapers ran by a guy named Ted Fang. It was the kind of place you went to when you were trying to get somewhere else but didn't have "clips." Among us J-school types, Fang -- the scion of a wealthy and politically connected John Fang family -- was a notorious cheap-o.

The newsroom equipment was crappy. The papers were pretty much advertising flyers, distributed free in San Francisco and San Mateo County. "Readers" got them whether they wanted them or not. We called them bird cage liners. The hard work of writers and editors were stretched as far as possible ... one person might be responsible for reporting, editing and laying out the entire editorial part of a paper, as well as doing the police blotter and putting together community announcements.

I got my clips. But I never once saw Fang show an interest in anything that was actually printed ... In fact I rarely saw him at all. The rumor was he was handed the family's publishing business to give him something to do, and that his true loves were comic books and clubbing. That's what I heard anyway.

Which makes the following a little funny to me, even if it isn't very funny at all.

Ted Fang's still in the business, and, among other things, "runs" AsianWeek, another free, crappy rag that parlays the Bay Area's huge Asian population into ad revenue. Thousands, possibly millions of Americans would never have heard of it -- IF Fang didn't hire a 23-year-old science fiction writer/columnist who began penning such gems like "Proof That Whites Inherently Hate Us" and "Why I Hate Blacks."

In the latter piece, published on Feb. 23, the author, Kenneth Eng, actually implores readers to discriminate against black people. No, it wasn't published a century ago ... not that it would make any more sense. It was published last week.

Cue shit hitting fan.

I could turn this into a rant about bad newspapers and the consequences of operating with little or no editorial oversight. Considering the general state of the newspaper industry, however, that would seem to be a waste of time. Sad, too, that AsianWeek probably employs people who might be embarrassed about what was happening, but needed the work. Who knows.

A small part of me, however, is grateful that Mr. Fang is finally getting exposed for being the bad publisher he is. In my experience, few deserve it more.

Tuesday, February 27, 2007

Ye Olde Dry Witch of Long Ago

He could tell he shouldn't have brought it up. She stopped chasing the baby and put her hands on her hips, mouth open like a caught fish. She used to seem so ... more than flesh and bone, less hollow. Now her lips traced a dry hole, as though when Bonnie was born, all the hope was gone and the moisture with it, until she creaked around the house like she was held together by rotten kindling. There wasn't enough water or skin cream to make it all go away -- those veins had sawdust in 'em. He knew he shouldn't have brought it up, see, because she was about to talk... and the bed and its cotton derby sheets where he could pretend to sleep were all the way on the other side of fuckin' house, and there was simply no way of getting there without feeling sheepish or stupid... anyway, YOU try it.

Thursday, February 22, 2007

Wednesday, February 14, 2007

Hernias!

Don't you love them.

Several things suck about hernias -- at least the inguinal kind, which I had:

1) Pervasive fear that intestines have slipped down into your nutsack and are crushing your nuts.

2) Pervasive fear that surgery means cutting into nerves heading toward your "fun zone" and that the surgeon may have been drinking the night before...

3) Pervasive PAIN following laproscopic bilateral hernia repair surgery. Vicodin notwithstanding. Can't do a single situp. Coughing hurts. Laughing hurts. Forget about lifting weights.

4) Because of 3), forced to walk like Fred Sanford. OK maybe not so bad. Fred had a pretty sweet pimp roll.

The benefits:

1) Self-medication. Taking two vicodin and chasing it with beer. A rare chance for us "straight" folks -- with kids -- to get ripped without guilt.

2) Well-wishers and sympathizers. A good friend called me up same day of the surgery to see how it went. Call me a sap, but I got teary eyed. No greater gift than just being cared about.