Archive for April, 2009

April 21st, 2009

Embracing the Cliché I Embody

I don’t think I’ve commented too extensively about the particulars of running this whole operation from South America. And to be quite honest, I don’t exactly have a truly concrete reason for being here, apart from it feeling like the perfect, cliched thing to do.

I didn’t come to Colombia to promote this book, really; it’s just something that’s developed since I’ve been over here. I came over here to work, not in writing and certainly not in porn. I had a limited-contract employment in Cartagena for one month, and only then did it seem feasible that I might be able to make this project come to some sort of fruition.

Since meeting my marketing guru and project manager Shane and beginning to work with him in late March, this thing has come a long way. Notably, we’ve added a surprising number of personnel to our staff. Shane’s brought aboard a web technology expert, and a design superstar, both of whom will be working to make the site and the book look flawless and enticing.

For someone who’s so used to doing absolutely everythin (very much to a fault) in his creative life by himself, it’s absolutely flabbergasting to suddenly be part of a “team,” the stated purpose of which is to improve and ultimately bring success to a book that I wrote . . .

I love it! I absolutely love it.

And yet none of this can keep me from realizing that I’m being a fucking cliche over here in Colombia. Maybe it’s not Paris of the 1920’s, but the concept of being a writer-expatriate is as well-worn as the very idea of “finding yourself,” or serving your country as a foot soldier in some noble battalion . . .

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April 19th, 2009

Shelley Lubben: Porn Missionary

I was hunting on Youtube, and I came across a rather odd story: The Pink Cross. Shelley Lubben is a porn missionary, and she wants to save your soul. Check it out.

YouTube Preview Image


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April 9th, 2009

Pleasant Misanthrope


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April 8th, 2009

Fighting for My Life

I am excited.

I honestly don’t think I’ve felt like this in years. I worked all day yesterday, more or less, on the various tasks at hand, of which there are many. It was eleven o’clock at night before I remembered I hadn’t eaten any dinner. I took a stroll down the hill in this weird and deserted tropical fishing town with warmest breezes blowing and me wearing just some maroon Thai pants. Cut down the side of the mountain through the town’s ghostly white sand soccer field. Down by the beach it was louder, there were more people, muttering variants of Spanish and English and Hebrew. I bought a chicken hamburger, it was terrible, greasy, I didn’t care, walked fifteen steps to the side of the sea and sat on a log to eat and while I did watched a tied-up boat rock back and forth. And I couldn’t stop thinking about this project.

I feel like I am fighting for my life here. It is such a good feeling; like the stakes are high. I went to bed last night thinking about what I had on my plate — got to upload a version of the book to Kindle, got to register the site with Google, got to learn about keywords and SEO, got to assemble a personal list of media contacts, got to create a Facebook fan page, got to create a working bio for Shane to use — and ten other things. I fell asleep and I didn’t dream and I woke up and I was right back. I’m getting obsessed and I love it. I haven’t got anything else but this and I love it. It reminds me . . . well, it reminds me when I was on my mission to create porn. It reminds me of when I first moved to Los Angeles. I was 24 and I had logged about 8 months in Santa Cruz making my own movies; and when Periwinkle and I got pushed out of our house by our greedy landlord, I moved down south with the intention of going pro. The move took all my money and I showed up in Los Angeles almost completely broke — but I had a working computer, a dope video camera, a cheap studio, and a website. And I had a plan.

I remember those first months I spent there, toiling from morning to night on videos and writing, trying to figure out how to make a buck with my own ingenuity as a young adult in a new city. I had more chutzpah then than I have ever had before or since. I was calling up every single contact I had in my adult-film book and begging for work. I called up people I had never met before and talked myself up, like I really had something to me. It was amazing and I don’t know where I got the courage. But I really believed in what I was doing. And I had my back against the wall.

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April 5th, 2009

Terrible HOT in TAGANGA

No breeze is blowing, but I’m in the shade. And in the heat of the Colombian day I’ve got nothing to do but consider my marketing strategy for getting this book up off the ground, and directly into the hands of a public desperate for a porno-style adventure story.

The bad news: in the past, I have considered myself the worst salesman in the world. The good news is, I have considered the alternative (not selling); and in all incarnations of my fantasies, it leads to me waiting tables for a living. A noble profession, I suppose, but not for me, due to the fact that I am BAD at food service. I am bad at so many things. Teaching. Singing. Washing things. No, I cannot do many things professionally; thus, the incentive for me to suddenly get GOOD at selling things, principally, this book, is high indeed.

But the real piece of good news is that I have teamed up with a very savvy marketer. I’ll call him a MARKETING GURU, to use a modern-day (and rather gay) term. His name is Shane and he’s a GODDAMN GENIUS, to use a more specific designation. Ole Shane has got a certain ability to think outside the box: and let me share with you an idea he hit me with.

Sam -

Something to consider as background to our next conversation.  Not that I’m advocating you do something like this, but an interesting idea:

Josh Freese, the Devo drummer whose wildly creative “freemium” packages drew widespread attention to his new record, is raking in the cash as buyers snap up his inventive, value-added deals.

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April 3rd, 2009

Alive in Taganga

So here it begins. With me sitting in the antechamber of a dimly lit hostel in Taganga, Colombia, tapping away at my computer while outside the sun is setting and dipping in the sky, while a big-ass lunky Swede asks the woman behind the desk sweetly for a cup of coffee. Because of the heat I am not wearing a shirt and thusly, deranged Latino mosquitoes are biting the hell out of my lower back and elbows. But none of that matters right now. ‘Cuz I’m a man on a mission.

About three years ago I set out to write a book about the most exciting and idiotic period of my entire life: my multi-year venture into the muck and filth of the sepulchrous sinkhole some call the titty industry: ie, Porno. It was a grand time marked by incredible naivete, unceasing horniness (hey, I was 24), and an unbelievable, seemingly bottomless supply of brassy, boastful, mildly maniacal supporting characters who couldn’t have been more ripe for parody had they been sent directly to my desk from casting central.

In retrospect, writing a book about my personal journey in porn was the EASY part. . .

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