I need to write up the extraordinary 19-course meal we had at Calima Dani Garcia in Marbella last night, but while I get around to that, here’s a quick (and not very well-shot) video of the flamenco dancing and singing that entertained us later in the night.
Despite my earlier prediction, I didn’t end up swimming in the ocean waters off Malaga. The beach itself is stony with unimpressive waves (very Skegness), and the mist is so persistent you can’t see any decent distance. Looks perhaps interesting for a walk first thing in the morning (the sand was too hot when I went down at 4pm), but no swimming appeal.
The problem with coming from Australia is that northern hemisphere beaches nearly always seem like a disappointment. Not that I’m a big ocean hunter anywhere on the globe, but there’s not much that impresses me the way the NSW North Coast still always does.
Getting from Sydney to Malaga takes a while, so the last thing you want is delays. But I had delays aplenty on the 40+ hour journey between those two places, most of them caused by mechanical problems on aircraft.
Getting between Sydney and Singapore was no problem. The trouble started when we got back on the plane. Sitting a few rows in front of me in Premium Economy (win!) is a guy who, to put it charitably, has had way too much to drink. A decision has been made to remove him, and after bringing in a few burly-looking security guard types, he agrees to leave. A good idea — you don’t want a sloshed vomit fountain sloshing around the cabin on a 13-hour journey. But that means a good 30 minutes of delay while we wait for his luggage to be removed as well. (Memo: if you want to get smashed before boarding a plane, please travel only with hand luggage.)
That’s done and we pull back and try not to sleep through the safety announcement, but we haven’t even left the ground when another problem is detected. One of the windscreen wipers isn’t working. We have to return to the gate and get it fixed. At least we’re in Singapore, a true 24-hour airport, but that still means we ultimately take off two hours later than scheduled.
It is events like this that make me glad I schedule flights in a paranoid way. I originally had a seven-hour gap between landing at London Heathrow and flying out of London Gatwick (pretty much unavoidable if you want to get to Malaga). Even with two hours delay, I have oodles of time, and I’m at Gatwick via a National Express Coach with room to spare. Our flight is put back 10 minutes because of late incoming aircraft, and the BA First lounge is pretty ordinary and lacking in power outlets, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.
We take off, cross the channel, and then hear some very suspect noises from the landing gear. In due course, the captain comes on and announces, rather long-windedly, that because the indicators to check if the landing gear works aren’t giving readings, we need to return to Gatwick to avoid the risk of leaving a hard-to-service aircraft in Spain. We’re turning around, but will need to fly for 20 minutes or so to burn off fuel. Great.
We land, and after initially telling us we’ll disembark while they work out what to do, BA decides to shift us all into a plane being bought into the next gate. We can’t get off until we’re ready to move to that plane, and even our route between the gates has to be approved by airport administration. All that results in us eventually arriving in Malaga three hours behind schedule, and means I don’t actually hit my hotel room until 10pm.
These annoyances go with air travel. I’m not that bothered really, and unlike previous occasions, there’s been plenty of communication on what went wrong. But I feel sorry for the people who have to sit next to my sweaty body on the plane.
Anyway, now I’m here, soaking up the glories of the Kempinski Hotel Bahia Estepona — the kind of place I only ever stay in when someone else in is footing the bill. The picture above shows the view from my room (I’ll take better pics with the good camera tomorrow). The grey area is actually where the sea is, but there’s so much mist you can’t see it. That doesn’t mean it is cold and unpleasant, quite the opposite. This might be the trip where I actually get to swim in a European ocean, rather than just looking at them. It’s about time.
I ought to be paying more attention. How did the fact that Roxette are shortly releasing a new album escape me? “She’s Got Nothing On (But The Radio)” sounds exactly like you’d expect, though it doesn’t start with the typical Roxette crashing guitars. I agree with Paul at FizzyPop!! that more Marie would be nice, but we’ve got a whole album (Charm School, out in February) to handle that.
In an interview in today’s Australian, Qantas CEO Alan Joyce has the gall to suggest that Qantas handled the volcanic ash-induced delays on flights out of Europe back in April this year well:
How the company managed its way through (the volcano crisis) was a real credit to it, and the feedback from passengers, and the positive impact it had on our reputation, was actually quite good.
I was on the first flight Qantas actually ran out of London after the volcano incident, and, as I’ve already documented for Lifehacker, it was a total shambles. What made it so annoying, and makes Joyce’s comment so galling, is that much of what went wrong wasn’t to do with the climate — which Qantas can’t control — but with its ability to communicate with passengers — which it absolutely can. If the litany of miscommunication, outright lies and pointless inconvenience Qantas delivered on that occasion is supposed to be a “real credit” to it, I shudder to think what a bad experience might be like.
As I detailed yesterday over at Lifehacker, I managed to finish my novel-in-a-month challenge. If you didn’t catch it there, here’s the cover (click on it for a bigger version) and the blurb for Shot:
“I’ve produced 219 adult movies. What have you done with your life?”
Mark Anderson is Australia’s most successful porn producer, responsible for the legendary Crocodile Cumdee series and for convincing two former Neighbours actresses to pursue a career in sex films. But how did a nice suburban boy from Beecroft end up as a porn king? Mark’s tale ranges from Vegas to the outback as he explains how to deal with porn star wives, when to tell your parents you’re a XXX mogul, why you should never appear in your own films and the importance of the dildo contingency plan. Because even when you’ve made 219 movies, life doesn’t always go the way you want.
And because people keep nagging me about it, here’s your chance to read the first chapter. Comments welcome!
Chapter 1: THE BIG SHOT
I’ve produced 219 adult movies. What have you done with your life?
In October 2008, I met Ben Parker at the bar in the Melbourne Qantas Club lounge. It wasn’t a planned meeting; we both ordered the same beer. Ben’s the director at an agency which hires out motivational speakers. We got chatting and I told him what I did.
This isn’t always a good idea, obviously. If I sense that someone is going to be offended because I work in porn, I usually just say that I’m in media production and leave it at that. I’m not ashamed of my job. I just can’t be bothered having arguments about it most of the time. I could sense an opportunity here, though, so I told the (ahem) naked truth.
Being honest turned out to be a wise decision. Ben readily identified himself as an occasional porn viewer, and it turns out that he’d actually seen my very first feature, Down & Dirty Down Under. It’s a reasonable guess that the beer might have helped in making him confess this so readily.
Having told him the rather weird story of how I’d entered into the business, I could sense Ben was getting excited. And not excited in the manner of a viewer of one of my movies; excited because he thought he’d spotted a way to make money.
“So Mark, ever thought about speaking at conferences? I reckon you’d be pretty good.”
Conferences as such aren’t a big feature of the porn world. The typical industry event involves a scantily clad “actress” (who everyone will have forgotten about in two years) cutting a ribbon before we all head to the bar to network. In this context, “network” is often code for “get sloshed”.
There are a couple of big XXX industry gatherings held in the US, and I usually head to those over the Australian summer. But I’ve never thought of speaking at them, and I don’t know how much insight I’d have to offer for the cash-hungry Yanks who dominate the market. “And our next speaker is Mark Anderson, the well-known Australian porn mogul.” I couldn’t quite see it.
But that wasn’t what Ben meant. He was thinking of the typical dull business event where accountants discuss tax law or IT geeks find out about what’s changing in software. In that context, I could see that someone talking about the production of Crocodile Cumdee 9: Ayers Cock would be an appealing change of pace.
Ben certainly thought so. We were onto a second beer by this time, the flight having been delayed.
“You’d need to tone it down a bit, of course,” he remarked knowingly. Corporate audiences wouldn’t be expecting to hear in-depth descriptions of preferred porn star positions. The fact that they might well end up sleeping with their colleagues after the inevitable drinks, dinner and dancing was, I gathered, beside the point.
“On-set stories would be good, but you’d need to come out with some business lessons, stuff which you’ve learned that can be applied to other industries,” Ben suggested. Having survived piracy, stoned actresses, an unexpected murder and fierce competition for a decade and a half and made a decent amount of cash into the bargain, I figured I could deliver that.
“There’s plenty I could say about useful business skills,” I said. “People management can be tricky when half of your employees are running around naked.”
“That’s the kind of thing. You want to titillate them a bit but not go overboard.”
The bottom line was that there was a constant demand for new blood on the corporate speaking circuit, so Ben reckoned that it might be worth adding me to the books. I knew all about novelty being important, and I was happy to try it out.
Indeed, the more I thought about the idea, the more I liked it. I’d always enjoyed debating and public speaking back when I was a teenager with time on my hands, and getting paid for it made the prospect much more appealing. And I’d always taken an analytical approach to the porn business, so it wasn’t like I needed a bunch of new ideas.
I came up with that ‘219 movies’ opening line for my speech on the flight back to Sydney. Then I wrote my whole draft presentation one night the next week, in a hotel suite where we’d shot several scenes for the fourth instalment of the Jackhammer My Crack series earlier the same day.
Unfortunately, Ben’s offer came not long before the global financial crisis really hit. In one way, that could have been helpful. There was less money to spend, so companies that might have held out for a big name speaker suddenly had to think about other, cheaper options. Alas, it didn’t work out that way.
I did one speech for free at a pharmaceutical company convention, so that Ben would have something on video he could show to other clients. All that NovaCron had to pay for were my travel costs. It seemed to go over well, and the feedback forms were extremely positive.
That didn’t mean everyone liked it. I’ve known for a long time that you can’t please all of the perverts all of the time. Given the topic area, there were the inevitable angry screeds asking why a “Satanic smut peddler” (that’s a direct quote) was being forced on them at a professional event. I’d presented a fairly sanitised version of my life, heavy on the business lessons and light on the lube, so that seemed like a criticism issued on autopilot. I mean, I never even used the word “rimjob”.
Prudes aside, the overall reaction was positive. A couple of audience members even said they felt inspired to think about making their own movie. Good luck, I sniggered to myself when I read that. If people think they can build up a business with access to a cheap camera and cheaper genitalia, experience will disillusion them soon enough. But while it seemed everyone liked me, no-one wanted to hire me.
Ben thought the timing was just unfortunate. “Everyone is getting all panicked and conservative,” he explained to me a few months later. “No-one wants to stick their neck out by hiring a porn producer as a speaker, just in case they end up getting stick for it.” I noted that Getting Stick wasn’t a bad title for a future video, but I couldn’t argue with him.
Anyway, almost a year and a half has gone by and there haven’t been any other offers for paid work. A couple of companies tried to book me for freebies, including (to my surprise) a charity that specialised in offering computer access for the homeless and disadvantaged. I was almost tempted — I felt like the speech was going to waste — but Ben said that doing too many free gigs set a dangerous precedent if you weren’t already well-known and scoring a lot of paying work.
I’m still on the Speaker Easy books in a technical sense, but I suspect that Ben has moved on to pushing other clients. He sends me a friendly email every now and then and offers to take me out for a beer to “discuss prospects”. Nonetheless, it’s the former sports stars and the ex-board members who keep on getting the speaking jobs.
Sure, part of me is a bit disappointed. For a start, it would have been an unusual marketing opportunity. I’m sure that I’d have mentioned the names of a few titles I’ve produced, and I bet that least one person in the audience would end up renting or buying it out of “curiosity”.
More importantly, it would have been an extra source of income and a validation of my success as an entrepreneur. And let’s face it, no-one is entirely immune from the notion of being applauded by an audience.
But I didn’t really go into adult movies to become famous. After all, if I’d wanted to do that, even fleetingly, I’d have appeared in one of my own videos by now. And that hasn’t happened so far, even though I only got into this business because my girlfriend suddenly announced out of the blue that she really wanted to star in a sex tape.
Wanna read more? I promise I’ll keep everyone up to date on my editing, agent-hunting, publisher-pitching and ebook explorations.
Picture by delicategenius at the Windows Phone 7 launch
The Australian launch of Windows Phone 7 bought out everyone who was anyone in Australian tech journalism, including me. I wrote up the main local details of the launch event for Lifehacker during the press conference, and followed up later in the day with some musings about the current app supply for the platform. Something tells me I’ll be writing a fair bit about it over the next week or so.
Generally when my stories get republished on US Lifehacker, it happens straight away, but sometimes there’s a delay. Last week’s Lifehacker 101 column on why PCs reboot made a belated appearance stateside yesterday.
Tuesday’s Streaming column looked at the Mongaliad project and whether people actually want multimedia novels. Elsewhere on Lifehacker: