Steffan Piper's Blog, page 8

Report: Last Night's Sleep ... Hell ...

While suffering greatly from illness once again, something that typically and suspiciously appears to be Pnuemonia, I fell into a fevered state of lucid dreaming - inclusive of music, reflections of myself in the mirror and a hovering OBE, or Google map point-of-view for the less informed and the worst possible realization regarding Hell.

I was driving through some non-descript looking desert in the middle of the day, driving what appeared to be one of those boxey Toyota FJ cross over vehicles (sign you're in hell - red flag number 1) and listening to the radio which was playing one of the most obnoxious songs in recent memory (not Aqua's Barbie Girl), which strangely for me is a U2 number called 'Vertigo' and if you've ever heard it, you'd likely agree (red flag number 2). It has the tinge of a desperate, overweight 45 year old's mid-life crisis written all over it. Perhaps I've just heard  too many older, balding white men blaring that song from their drop-top corvette, wearing Ed Hardy clothes at the stop light to ever have a warm and cozy spot in my heart for that song ever again. Maybe it's just me. The radio played:

A girl with crimson nails - has Jesus round her neck.

I knew there was reason to be frightened imediately. I looked up from staring at my hands on the steeringwheel (yes, I know what this signifies) instead of out the windshield and on the road that was glaring in at me, saw my face in the rearview mirror, and could see that I was about twenty years older; not good (red flag number 3). Prophetic visions while sick are never good, no matter what one says. I want to see real long-range data too back up any claims to the contrary.

A moment later I realized that I was now working as a Real Estate Agent (red flag number 4) and going to either show a house to someone or check in on one. The thought of it repulsed me so much, that I could feel a cold chill run down my spine lying there asleep.

While I do currently know several people, who are friends and family, who make their living at this trade, it is my contention that Real Estate sales is actually one of the worst jobs on the face of the Earth and sales in general is a troubling, fraught filled trade that has more lost souls than any other. A person could spend their entire lives chasing down sales, trying to culminate a worthwhile lead list, develop a name for themselves, ad naseum, all while getting absolutely nowhere. The chase of the ideal with zero return is probably the most debilitating thing I know. Christianity does something similar, but at least promises you a grand afterlife. Sales, is almost the same thing, except no heaven at all; either here or later. Just more coffee and the promise that someone will come in later and give you a 'motivational lecture' where you'll likely leave feeling more worthwhile than when you went in.



So, when I say that my version of Hell on Earth would be to be involved in Real Estate sales, I mean no offense. I've just worked in sales for enough years in my life to know that it would be a crime to wish that career choice any any one. I worked in car sales for quite a length of time, sold a respectable 15-20 cars a month for the dealership, but could barely ever afford anything more than cat food for myself because of how crooked and dishonest most car dealerships are. If you're not in the inner circle of salespeople, regardless of how much you sell, you won't share in the rewards. I guarantee it. I also worked in door to door sales, where you usually only make enough just to keep you afloat and hungry. Did the same thing in software sales and telemarketing, too. But that's the whole point of sales, from Upper Management's perspective, isn't it?

If you die and go to Hell, the general thought (by most theological scholars, like C.S. Lewis for example), is that you probably wouldn't know it, because half of the joy of Upper Management, so to speak, is delude you into believing that you're actually not in Hell. A perverse and sadistic sense of gratification will always be present in those kinds of relationships. I read an article recently that spoke about it in relationships and is known as Gaslighting, which this would be Gaslighting, but with a completely opposite desired effect. Instead of telling your partner that they're completely delusional or crazy, you would be told that you're perfectly sane, wonderful and living in Paradise.You would be getting gas lit and motivated to keep chasing something just doesn't exist. That's Evil, people.

C.S. Lewis states in Mere Christianity, that you make your own Heaven or Hell for yourself here on Earth. It's merely my opinion, but Sales is probably the fastest most direct route to the latter. He also states that little by little, after many years of working against yourself, you will actually find yourself in Hell and likely not recognize it. In my copy of the book, it's somewhere near page 70, but don't quote me.



My dream ended with me hovering over the desert, staring down at the buildings and seeing the traffic moving and people walking around, oblivious to me and for some reason all I could notice was the pricing numbers that were showing up in glowing white figures on top of the buildings and all the property was strangely devalued to about 60% of what it is now - if that's any indication for you as to what I foretell for the future. I don't know how that sits with the current thinking about a Kondratiev Winter, but it was just a dream. More Nyquill, please. Less Mitch & Murray. No Steak Knives, either.

As a sidenote, as I was writing this blog post, my sister posted a video for me to see on Facebook which involved Vivaldi (whom I love immensely) and U2 (whom I also love) -- but as a mashup of ... you guessed it ... Vertigo. Red Flag number 5.

Tattoo Removal ...

I'm a bit skeptical about posting something so personal, but I thought it might be interesting to see how well this goes over the next 5-10 weeks and watch the results.


I was talking to someone yesterday about having all my tattoo's removed and the pain involved in getting them lasered away. I had received a quote from a professional Tattoo Removal Clinic that seems more than trustworthy in Los Angeles called South Coast Med Spa. They quoted me approximately $1200 to have everything completely removed after several treatments and I'd likely not have any trace of the tattoos left at all. Luckily, all my tattoo's are standard blue/black in colour, and thus the easiest to remove. No reds, purple or orange, etcetera. I was happy with the price, but I've kept putting it off as driving into Los Angeles is really schedule intensive for me right now.


I've also been told by several people who have undergone laser treatment, that yes, it does work, but it's about twice as painful as getting the tattoo to begin with. So you really have to be dedicated as some people actually stop going to treatments because of it. However, if you're determined to get rid of it, you'll just have to push yourself.


Here's a few of them, but not all. I can't photograph the one on my back (updated) and the one on my ankle, I'll likely leave alone -- maybe. The one on my arm I'm not posting for private reasons. Someone's name. Make sense?


EDIT: Someone just asked me offline to post ALL the pics so we could see the full result, and especially THAT pic. But in the immortal words of B.B. King ... "I did what I did, before love came to town ..."

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These pics were taken with my 5 mp cell phone, so they're not really the best. I'll swap them out later with better ones.


Please don't judge my skinny flabbiness either. I haven't worked out at all since June as I've been locked in my office writing everyday and I've become flabby, pale and just honestly out of shape. But I'm on a schedule for my next three books and it can't be helped.


The person I was talking with was telling me about 'Wrecking Balm' and that it actually worked and was effective. She said it takes about 5 weeks to get a really good result and works very quickly. I've got five weeks. Why not? For $50 from Wal-Mart, per box, I thought I'd give it a shot. So, here goes.


This is what the directions state exactly from the product packaging.


Use the WreckingBalm System 3 times a week on an area about 1% of your body (approximately the size of your palm).


I'll update once a week to not be tedious. Fingers crossed.

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Rosary ...

Recently, I was asked to participate in a Halloween themed short story live reading. I was to show up and read a Horror genre tale to a live audience, mostly for laughs and cheap thrills as is common during this season. Due to unforeseen circumstances, I'm able to attend the event and so I was left with this story and nowhere to put it.

This is a tale about Unicorns, The Edge, Bono, going to Ireland, one man's Rosary and all that can go awry when darkness intervenes. Having written a bit of horror for the screen before, I believe in being original with material and not rehashing themes just to be cute. I hope you enjoy this story. It's a mere 15 pages at 5100 words and my Hallow's eve present to all my readers.

All the best,
Steffan

No harm intended if any feel I've trespassed on anything sacred. This, at least, is all fiction.

http://steffanpiper.com/Rosary.pdf

Shitbird ... 2012 ...

Unfortunately, some things are harder to let go of than others. Sometimes things are more difficult to say than you may have first imagined. Some things we want to say, at times, must be weighed, measured and considered, seriously before we do. Then, when you realize that you must ...

They're singing deck the halls ... but it's not like Christmas at all ...

Twelve things that I tell myself every night before I go to sleep ...

I've been repeating many of these for years. Some I keep changing. Most I try to live by – even if I don't.


1. You've got to do what you're meant to do.

2. Enjoy the things that you know in your heart wont last.

3. Everything will change. Everything.

4. No one will ever love you as much as you want them to.

5. Do what you need to make yourself happy. You must.

6. Your mind travels faster than your feet.

7. Sleep when you can. You won't always be able to.

8. Those you love the most are not obligated to love you back – and often won't.

9. Even if you think you know your fate, don't leave it to chance.

10. The best things in life are those that you'll never speak of.

11. The directions received from instinct are not to be ignored.

12. When in doubt ... there is no doubt.

Steffan

... Been writing ...

Been busy writing, trying to get two books done by the close of summer and it does take a lot of focus to  stay on track, but it is going good. Someone asked me the other day about writing and I just had to say that it's like pouring out water from an endless glass. I wish I could take credit for it, but I know I can't. I'm just thankful.

If life had a theme, this song, 40 by U2, would be it. Just wanted to share and not spend too much time blogging. This isn't my video, by the way, just something from Utube. Pay attention to the opening lyric.

Stay safe, have fun and enjoy summer.

A few word about Paul Hewson, U2 and their Tax Issues ...

Having followed this story for some time, I, too, like many others have been perplexed and interested in the moral ramifications of this story. But here's what I've gotten from this story that most people seem to miss, or choose to not fully address:
1. Tax avoidance is perfectly legal, it's tax evasion that is a crime, and there is a difference. We may not agree with what they are doing, but they aren't doing anything different than any other high profile artists or big corporations.
2. Bono's time spent campaigning for the poor is worth a thousand times more than his own personal fortune in money and effect. What he and the rest of the band do with their hard earned cash is of no ones business but their own.
3. U2 has invested millions, if not close to a billion dollars in Ireland's economy, directly, in the thirty years that they've been making money. Ireland has benefitted greatly directly because of their Pop Statesmen campaigning with National Pride for their home country.
4. U2 recently created a $6 Million dollar (one million dollars more than the Irish Government said they were cheated out of on 'projected tax revenue') educational endowment in Ireland for children who wish to learn music or pursue careers in music. I'm not too aware of other artists / musicians in this modern age that have done the same or anything close, even with the public knowing full well the US educational system has been grossly defunded. I haven't read too many other articles about other artists stepping up to the plate.
5. The last time I checked, U2 are not supposed to be the lifeblood of a failing domestic economy, especially one that's been spiralling since the economic decline began. Is it no mystery that one of the biggest and consistent cash cows would eventually become outed in the press for withholding the moment the politicians needed more money?
6. While the maistream press may seem set against U2, and specifically Bono (being the frontman and mouthpiece of the band), attacking them ad infinitum for the 'egregiousnous of tax evasion,' and continuing to report on the issue as if they were the perpatrators of some crime, it seems that bloggers en masse, back on their home Island nation, are more supportive of U2 and less supportive of the politicians as the news on the ground regarding how the majority of the money is spent is actually quite different in tone and scope as it's reported elsewhere. So, clearly, a lot of folks are just misinformed about Ireland's domestic political situation and see U2 as an easy scapegoat.


7. As an author, a writer and a critic, I have written a fairshare of negative things about both U2 and Bono, so I'm far from a kool-aid drinker even though I am a fan. While it might seem easy to demonize Paul Hewson in this as a non-paying sell-out, which the man is definitely not, this is actually an issue of Domestic Irish Politics, an issue that most people would likely fail to be able to grasp the complexity of without having boots on the ground, so to speak.
8. On a speculative point, perhaps both Bono and U2 may feel that they have paid MORE than their fair share into a tax system where they only seemingly earn less than 5% of their revenue from. Perhaps they completely disagree with the way the politicians are handling the money, which wouldn't seem far fetched if you've been following the news about DSK, the way the Euro has been handled and the IMF. Perhaps they feel those entities are inherently corrupt, and have been misspending the monies that they have happily paid them in the past, and is now inappropriate to continue to do so. Perhaps they felt it was time to base themselves elsewhere, as ethically, they they had reached a point, politically where:

"the operation of the machine becomes so odious, makes you so sick at heart, that you can't take part; you can't even passively take part ..."  

Yes, I always find it interesting that Mario Savio's words, uttered in 1964 must always echo when considering people's interaction with the state. Perhaps finally, out of National respect, they've kept their disagreement quiet, which they mostly have, as protesting it would incite many more to object, creating a more negative situation back home.



Interestingly enough, I have a lot of very-conservative friends that live in all parts of the United States, and I've had many conversations about U2 and their tax issue with a few of them, in person, on the phone and also over email. All of them point them out as if they're boastful heretics who evade. People who decry U2, but then attack US policies that protect taxation of the rich on their own soil need to fully look inward instead looking like blatent hypocrites. It's a position that just doesn't sit amicable with each other. Do you support what you think are socialist doctrines or not?
As a pretty politically conservative person myself, I do believe in a strong social safety net, which might seem incongruent. I just don't support a flagrant abuse of the system where everyone is entitled to some lush Roman-esque lifestyle which is just absurd and unfinanceable. I've blogged before about how Arts and Education, in the US, used to be funded by the Rockefeller's and people just like Bono, Bill Gates, Lady Gaga, Madonna, etcetera, but how today almost none of them don't contribute directly at all. It would be better if people voluntarily funded these things out of generosity, but where does the line stop and start where it's right or even just to expect them to, or legislate that they must, or contrive a system that forces them to unfairly.
All I know, is that I'm not U2, Paul Hewson or Lady Gaga and I don't face any of those choices at all with my money. But the conversation is ours to be had and ours to think on. Hopefully, we do so however with a fair perspective and realize that our idol's are not immortals, so to speak, and they're (very likely) also not demons, either. Artists are supposed to make us think – not fund our, or other, Governments misdeeds or growing pains.

Breakfast at 3am with Peter Falk ...

It was sad to hear of the passing this morning of Peter Falk. I never watched him on TV as a kid, growing up, for various reasons, but I saw plenty of Columbo via the beauty of re-runs and his appearances in film were very profound and thoughtful the older I got. From the Grandpa in The Princess Bride, which I wrote a lot about in a certain novel, to playing himself as an Angel in Wings of Desire and many other very memorable films. Those clearly being my favourite.

I met Peter Falk twice in life and was surprised both times. The first time I met him, I was walking my little dachshund 'Kira' over by Bob Hope's old house in Toluca Lake on Moorpark. I lived here for anyone curious as to where I was at in Burbank  / Toluca Lake between 2000 and 2007. I miss that place a lot since I've moved out to the desert, but everything has a time and place and it was definitely time to go after Fox was born. 1000 square feet is just too small for three people.

On one of the streets where we were walking, many of them homes of the stars, a film crew had set up shop and was in the process of filming something, most-likely for TV. A lot of exterior stuff for CSI, Criminal Minds and other similar police dramas are all filmed in this area. CSI Las Vegas had shot something in the building next to mine once and all I can recall about it was the nightmare of a parking situation it created for four days.

That day, I had stopped at what is affectionately known as a 'Roach Coach' and got a can of coke. As I was stepping away, a few feet in front of me was Peter Falk. I didn't know if he was part of the film set right away or not until he asked me point blank:

"Hey, whattya shootin here?" 

Flabbergasted, I tried to remain composed and I said that I didn't know, but it was likely a TV show. He smiled at that and bent down and petted Kira who had been sniffing around his shoes. Having met a handful of celebrities, I usually have a policy of not saying anything about being a fan or asking for autographs or anything of the kind and I've definitely met a few. I usually just behave as if they're my next-door neighbor whom I haven't yet met face to face but have heard about. This time though, I felt compelled. I said something like this:

"Mr. Falk, I just wanted to say thanks for the laughs. It really is nice to meet you." I put out my hand like an idiot, hoping for it to get shook, which he very casually did, and laughed. His response was something like:

"Ha! I'm glad you kids enjoy it. That's the best part."

It was a simple moment, but a real magic one for me. Being a huge fan of The Princess Bride, I really felt like he was a grandfather to us all. I think a lot of other people did as well.

I spent a lot of those nights, especially between 2002 and 2006 not sleeping at all and keeping very bad hours. I mostly rose when the sun came up and crawled back in bed when it went down. Having no obligations to be anywhere at the time, I spent a lot of time driving around the city at night and writing endlessly. Many nights, I ended up over at a local restaurant known as 'Bob's Big Boy'. The one in Burbank is a landmark and during the day is usually packed with tourists, lookey-loo's or studio folk grabbing a quick lunch. The Proximity to Warner Brothers can only be measured in feet. Looking back, I probably ate there two or three times a week.

One of the nights I was there, editing the previous mentioned book, I was sitting at a table by the windows in front and I was the only person there besides the cook and two other waiters. My waiter, Utai, who also shows up in the book, always brought my coffee with his thumb sticking half-way into the cup. A bit disgusting, but I felt bad constantly having to ask him to not do it. He just had some bad habits as a waiter, but was really a nice guy. Last I heard, he had retired from working at Bob's and had gone back to the Philippines.

That night, Peter Falk walked in and I immediately recognized him. I doubt he would've remembered me from when I met him with Kira though, which about a year and a half had now passed. He was sporting his signature late-in-life tan and had dressed very casually in jeans and a black button down shirt. Even at three am he managed to look classy.  Noticing that I was the only person in the place, he swiveled around, looking at the empty restaurant and said this:

"Well, I guess it would be rude if I didn't sit with ya. Are you working?"

I can still hear his voice in my head, because for a common person like me, it was a moment I'd never forget. "Sure" and "Please" were likely all I could manage. He had said he couldn't sleep and was driving around and decided to stop and eat. I had the feeling it wasn't the first time he had felt like that and likely not the first time in Bob's at night either.

So, we had breakfast together that morning and he even read over the two chapters I was working on. One was a chapter about a strip club, which made him laugh and the other was a chapter about the LAPD, which he was surprised by and asked me if it was true. We spoke for a while longer about the LAPD Rampart Division scandal that had plagued the city a few years previous. I did mention meeting him with the dog, we had another cup of coffee and then after a few 'nice meeting ya, keep at it. That's good writing.' and 'be well,' he departed.

For a moment there was a period of awkwardness as I was leaving too, but I didn't want to follow him outside as that would've been weird. So I just waited a moment, paid my bill and headed out. Mostly dazed by the encounter. I've told this story only to a few people close to me over the years and so I thought it was appropriate to write about it now.



Reading about him today, hit me with a wave of sadness and made a part of me wish that I had stayed in Burbank / Toluca Lake and possibly had a few more moments with him. I think that's the way it is for everyone when someone you admire or love passes. You just have to be thankful for the memories you do have and be thankful.

But of course ... one more thing ...

Breakfast with Peter Falk ...

It was sad to hear of the passing this morning of Peter Falk. I never watched him on TV as a kid, growing up for various reasons, but I saw plenty of Columbo via the beauty of re-runs and his appearances in film where very profound and thoughtful the older I got. From the Grandpa in Princess Bride, which I wrote a lot about in a certain novel, to playing himself as an Angel in Wings of Desire and many other very memorable films. Those clearly being my favourite.

I met Peter Falk twice in life and was surprised both times. The first time I met him, I was walking my little dachshund 'Kira' over by Bob Hope's old house in Toluca Lake on Moorpark. I lived here for anyone curious as to where I was at in Burbank  / Toluca Lake between 2000 and 2007. I miss that place a lot since I've moved out to the desert, but everything has a time and place and it was definitely time to go after Fox was born. 1000 square feet is just too small for three people.

On one of the streets where we were walking, many of them homes of the stars, a film crew had set up shop and was in the process of filming something, most-likely for TV. A lot of exterior stuff for CSI, Criminal Minds and other similar police dramas are all filmed in this area. CSI Las Vegas had shot something in the building next to mine once and all I can recall about it was the nightmare of a parking situation it created for four days.

That day, I had stopped at what is affectionately known as a 'Roach Coach' and got a can of coke. As I was stepping away, a few feet in front of me was Peter Falk. I didn't know if he was part of the film set right away or not until he asked me point blank:

"Hey, whattya shootin here?" 

Flabbergasted, I tried to remain composed and I said that I didn't know, but it was likely a TV show. He smiled at that and bent down and petted Kira who had been sniffing around his shoes. Having met a handful of celebrities, I usually have a policy of not saying anything about being a fan or asking for autographs or anything of the kind and I've definitely met a few. I usually just behave as if they're my next-door neighbor whom I haven't yet met face to face but have heard about. This time though, I felt compelled. I said something like this:

"Mr. Falk, I just wanted to say thanks for the laughs. It really is nice to meet you." I put out my hand like an idiot, hoping for it to get shook, which he very casually did, and laughed. His response was something like:

"Ha! I'm glad you kids enjoy it. That's the best part."

It was a simple moment, but a real magic one for me. Being a huge fan of The Princess Bride, I really felt like he was a grandfather to us all. I think a lot of other people did as well.

I spent a lot of those nights, especially between 2002 and 2006 not sleeping at all and keeping very bad hours. I mostly rose when the sun came up and crawled back in bed when it went down. Having no obligations to be anywhere at the time, I spent a lot of time driving around the city at night and writing endlessly. Many nights, I ended up over at a local restaurant known as 'Bob's Big Boy'. The one in Burbank is a landmark and during the day is usually packed with tourists, lookey-loo's or studio folk grabbing a quick lunch. The Proximity to Warner Brothers can only be measured in feet. Looking back, I probably ate there two or three times a week.

One of the nights I was there, editing the previous mentioned book, I was sitting at a table by the windows in front and I was the only person there besides the cook and two other waiters. My waiter, Utai, who also shows up in the book, always brought my coffee with his thumb sticking half-way into the cup. A bit disgusting, but I felt bad constantly having to ask him to not do it. He just had some bad habits as a waiter, but was really a nice guy. Last I heard, he had retired from working at Bob's and had gone back to the Philippines.

That night, Peter Falk walked in and I immediately recognized him. I doubt he would've remembered me from when I met him with Kira though, which about a year and a half had now passed. He was sporting his signature late-in-life tan and had dressed very casually in jeans and a black button down shirt. Even at three am he managed to look classy.  Noticing that I was the only person in the place, he swiveled around, looking at the empty restaurant and said this:

"Well, I guess it would be rude if I didn't sit with ya. Are you working?"

I can still hear his voice in my head, because for a common person like me, it was a moment I'd never forget. "Sure" and "Please" were likely all I could manage. He had said he couldn't sleep and was driving around and decided to stop and eat. I had the feeling it wasn't the first time he had felt like that and likely not the first time in Bob's at night either.

So, we had breakfast together that morning and he even read over the two chapters I was working on. One was a chapter about a strip club, which made him laugh and the other was a chapter about the LAPD, which he was surprised by and asked me if it was true. We spoke for a while longer about the LAPD Rampart Division scandal that had plagued the city a few years previous, I did mention meeting him with the dog, we had another cup of coffee and then after a few 'nice meeting ya, keep at it. That's good writing.' and 'be well,' he departed. For a moment there was a period of awkwardness as I was leaving too, but I didn't want to follow him outside as that would've been weird. So I just waited a moment, paid my bill and headed out. Mostly dazed by the encounter. I've told this story only to a few people close to me over the years and so I thought it was appropriate to write about it now.

Reading about him today, hit me with a wave of sadness and made a part of me wish that I had stayed in Burbank / Toluca Lake and possibly had a few more moments with him. I think that's the way it is for everyone when someone you admire or love passes. You just have to be thankful for the memories you do have and be thankful.