My Escape From PR Firm Hell -- One Year Later

One year ago today I felt like the figure in the famous Edvard Munch painting “The Scream.” After returning from vacation, I was unceremoniously shown the door by a horrible PR firm in Orange County. I worked for gutless, cold, heartless fools that just discarded me with no qualms …

What’s worse is that they didn't care I worked my ass off for them and their clients for more than 13 months to secure key stories in the media. I bet the media hits I worked so hard to get still adorn the walls of their lame firm in the form of slick, beautiful wall plaques. Oh well, doesn't matter now.

My departure from their lame firm has proved a blessing in disguise. I am happier than I have been in years in my career.

Once again, I am working for myself. I have my own clients. I heed my own counsel and I have come to realize it is the best (and only) path for me. Gone is the horrible stress of working for creepy untalented, fake corporate hacks that had little or no appreciation for my PR talents and attacked everything I did and said.

However, these petty fools couldn't produce the excellent results I have secured for a number of firms and clients for more than 12 years. Not if their lives depended on it.

Now, I work for myself with no foolish middlemen who lack real knowledge of the power of media relations or PR whether it is in the new or old media. It all comes down to value. If your clients fail to value your efforts, all the slick explanations in the world will never convince them. Only results and effort will.

I hold them no grudge. I forgive them the ugly. foolish and backstabbing things they did to me, but I don't forget …

This poem is a good indication what these fools put me through.


GP

*****************************************************

PR HELL, Part 1

Drained by
hypocrisy.

Making a living
instead of truly living.

Giving away my best ideas
to swine
in the service of fools.

Frustration mounts
as I chafe against
soulless discussions
about accounts of the dead.

This truly is work.
Work to stay interested
and involved.

One soulless gig
after another.
Running out of passion
and ideas.

Sometimes I feel just like
a broken down politician
that has run out of lies to spin.

George Pappas
Copyright 2008

I cancelled my LA Times Subscription..with sadness

After 15 or so years as an avid reader, I cancelled my L.A. Times print subscription this week. I did this with great sadness. Sure, now I read a lot my news on the Internet, but that wasn't the only reason.
The real truth?
I could no longer stand to watch my favorite newspaper die from a thousand staff (or section) cuts.

Really, the first signs that something was wrong was a few years ago when the the LA Times great Sunday Calendar section was destroyed. No longer was it an impressive magazine like newspaper section that covered everything -- movies, TV and especially music in great detail. I couldn't wait to read it. They turned it into two unsatisfying sections that limited the coverage of everything even movies. Eventually they delegated the popular music coverage to the second section and hardly covered it all. The Sunday Calendar was an event. I couldn't wait to read it.

Now, I could hardly care less. Last week I barely read it at all. Nothing interested me except for an interview or two. I also had to suffer through snobby columns such as the "Smart List." That lame column wouldn't even rated the back section of the old Calendar section. Ridiculous. Sad.

The Times' excellent sports section also took hits. Special events such as the Super Bowl, World Series or NBA Finals no longer received such detailed and extensive coverage. In the past, whole special sections were devoted to these events as with the Olympics.

Still, the writing has remained great with columnists like Bill Plaschke and Mark Heisler (best NBA writer in the country in my opinion) but there is a lot less of it now. Strong writers like J.A. Adande left and now are writing for ESPN.
Who is next?

Even columnist Steve Lopez wrote in a recent column of his pondering taking a buyout and leaving.

The front news sections are much thinner then they used to be. So are the California and Business sections.

These sections are devoid of strong local coverage that used to be its mainstay in years past. I have also experienced this as a publicist. There was a time when the Times was open to covering local businesses and stories. Now, it is much harder, in fact nearly impossible to get southern California clients covered by the Times. Don't know why. I could get some of my local tech clients covered in the New York Times, USA Today, Business Week easier than our hometown paper. Crazy.

Although I realize the value of journalism (as a former print journalist) and the importance of supporting journalists (who will dig out the investigative stories? bloggers? don't think so), I will get my news from the Google News and the L.A. Times Web sites for now.

It is a Brave News World for me for now on.

GP

You can find signs of hope anywhere you look

I took this picture at the beach in Dana Point last September. It was during one of my long walks on the endless stretch of beach at Dana Point. I always go to that beach after a work crisis in my life. Not sure why it always works out that way. This was before my freelance PR business started to take off.

Someone had carved out their message on a large fallen tree trunk laying on the beach.
But it goes to show you can find signs of hope anywhere you look.

George Pappas

Horny Corner: One of My Favorite Places to Write

On of my favorite places to write is on the beach...at a place called "Horny Corner" by the locals in Belmont Shore located in Long Beach, CA.
I can't explain why. I love to sit against the long concrete wall that separates the nearby street and homes and the sand and write. The official name of the area is Belmont Beach.

This area gives me such inspiration. Just gazing at the water glistening in the mid day sun or at dusk as I write in my daily journal, or write a poem, a song, a chapter in one of my books or an idea for future creative ideas. I love it and need it like breathing.

It is not always easy. People look on me with such suspicion as I write. Like I am some kind of freak or something. Also you have the beach denizens that are addicted to playing games -- horseshoes, throwing around a football, volleyball -- anything to avoid talking to their friends or enjoying the beauty around them.
Still, I write. I write in defiance to their suspicion or dare I say ignorance. Where do they think writers work? We work everywhere inspiration strikes us -- cafes, beaches, forests, a Starbucks, a restaurant, a hotel room, the back of a bus or taxi -- anywhere we can.

I write at Horny Corner almost every weekend -- spring, summer, fall or winter (unless it is raining). I walk down from my Belmont Shore apartment with such anticipation, such joy for the act of writing on my favorite beach.
I luv it when I have the beach to myself during the Fall, Winter and Spring. Just left with my thoughts and the sand and ocean.

Tomorrow afternoon I'll be back at my beach office writing down my thoughts in my journal or in some other capacity. Look for me and you may see me there struggling with my muse on the sand.

GP

Vegas, Baby....

One year ago tonight I was on a wild trip in Vegas...staying at the Palms Hotel. (By the way, I took the top two photos during my trip. The other one I got from the Internet).

I had a great time...winning at craps, visiting the Playboy Club and enjoying myself...
It was the first time I didn't want to leave this desert mirage ...after a couple days..
I loved the Palms...it is the kind of hotel made for Vegas....classy, but naughty....cool, but not snobby...I stayed in the Fantasy Suite and I am a hardly a rock star....but they made me feel like one...

Little did I know shortly after returning from vacation I would lose my job...but that is another story will deal with in the coming days on this blog...

But I must admit, through the years I have had a love and hate relationship with Vegas....

I love the fantasy...the sex, the flirting, the drinking, the gambling...the wildness....
but after a while money permeates everything in that so called desert paradise...

it is after all a city built on losers...people losing their life savings and also mob money..

Now, I like to gamble an I love playing craps, but the obsession with money in Vegas gets to me after a while..

it is a souless place...at times

the last time I was there before last summer...i was robbed and beaten in the Hard Rock Cafe parking lot...which is fitting i guess..

after a while vegas will take some part of your soul if you stay there long enough...

i wrote this poem a while back about my conflicting feelings about Vegas...baby...

GP

****

VEGAS, BABY

A town built on losers,
beckoning the ultimate win,
the ultimate sin,
another chance,
perhaps a new beginning.

Hints of the eventual reckoning
are lost
in a neon haze.

I want to live in neon.
I want to fuck in neon
in the lobby of the Hard Rock Cafe Hotel
with strains of classic rock riffs
pounding in my ears.

I live for neon lights flashing in my dreams.

I yearn to beat the odds,
beat the house,
beat the system,
but I am playing with loaded dice
and a marked deck.

Hey, I am no loser.

Just wait, I'll turn it all around.
Just one more roll.
Just one more hand.
Do you understand?

Vegas, baby, that's who I am.

I am a living, breathing embodiment
of a souless sham.

George Pappas
Copyright 2008

An Ode to Charles Bukowski: BACKYARD POETRY

Charles Bukowski, the real bard of L.A., is my favorite poet...

It is not only his honesty in describing the private hells we each have to go through each day . . . that inspires me

But that he could find poetry anywhere and in anything...

He punctured the pompous and pretentious especially snobby poets full of themselves who could only write for other so called clever poets, turning out convoluted, turgid insular works while ignoring the world at large and essentially real life.

I share his disdain for the snobbish, academic side of poetry.

So in tribute to Bukowski freeing poetry from the snobs . . . I offer a poem of my own called "Backyard Poetry" that is about finding poetry anywhere and everywhere even in a backyard . . . barbecue.

GP
***


BACKYARD POETRY

I despise the
poetry
of exclusion.

It's a stuffy affair
with hearts
bare,
stale,
and
devoid of any real compassion
and passion.

Because many of America's
greatest poets
have never picked up a pen
and composed a single word of poetry.
They
create stirring stanzas
with their
lips and tender kisses,
fingers and caresses,
wild crazy loves
and
adventurous lusts.

They compose poetry
in the tender way they
raise their children,
love their families
and reach out
to the wayward,
broken,
and
forsaken
among us.

They are the living embodiment
of poetry
with acts of loyalty
friendship,
hope,
love
and betrayal.

Broken
wild
verses of
poetry
burst forth
at
backyard barbecues,
family gatherings,
drunken bashes,
holiday celebrations,
in bars,
restaurants,
cafes,

and
coffee shops.

Poetry is heard everywhere
and anywhere where people talk honestly
about their lives.

Their life verses
go many times unheard
unrecognized
even to themselves.

Poetry burns brightly
in their eyes
revealing
unspoken dreams
not yet realized.

George Pappas
Copyright 2008

The Guantanamo Bay Tour

Recently, the U.S. Supreme Court finally slapped the Bush Administration down for their unconstitutional conduct in Guantanamo Bay -- their blanket approach of sweeping up suspects and leaving them locked up indefinitely with no charges (on unsubstantiated rumours)...claiming national security and the fear of terrorism. All the while subjecting many prisoners -- whether guilty or not -- to torture and horrible abuses we accuse other countries of doing.

When did we become the monsters we fear? when is torture OK? We created the Geneva Conventions after one of the most destructive wars in the history of humanity -- World War II.
Now, we've become one of the worst torturers -- all in secret, in the dark.
And we call this a democracy?

Just as in the torture chambers in Iraq....
we so casually shredded human rights, and the U.S. constitution all in the name of security and the war of terror...
But who protects us from ourselves?....Who watches the torturers?....
Can we truly lecture the rest of the world about freedom and democracy?

Fear and loathing....indeed...

I wrote this poem about my growing unease with all of this

GP

***

THE GUANTANAMO BAY TOUR

Welcome to the
Guantanamo Bay Tour
in beautiful sunny Cuba.

Hope you'll be uncomfortable
during your stay.

First, we'll start with a little
light interrogation and torture.

Then we'll offer up some
tantalizing light and sleep deprivation
and maybe if you are lucky
some scintillating starvation and water boarding.

And if we get a little carried away
and you perish,
we are so sorry.

But let us remind you,
customer service means so much to us
and WE are here to please and
serve the U.S. Government.

You have the right to remain silent
as your complaints will not be heard.

Your indefinite visit is courtesy
NO CHARGE
and paid for by the U.S. Government
and the American taxpayer.

Hope your time with us will be
an enjoyable one
for us.

George Pappas
Copyright 2008