Friday, February 1, 2013

Debbie Did

Nothing to convey today. Rhys was sick again last night. He feeds me cookies every day, covered in his own saliva. I'll probably feel the first southern tug on my bowels as soon as the door to the plane closes for Los Angeles tonight. I'll be seated next to a 24 year old giggly blonde, heading there to break into porn.

I've been eating a lot of beef and cheese lately, perhaps that explains my heroic resistance to the dreaded viral invaders.

Okay, no more anus talk today. I'm alienating those readers here who might not have one, or those that have two and are self-conscious about such things.

Isn't pornography funny. Are there people that actually act like that? I do hope so. I'd like to meet a few of them while I'm in LA. I recently saw a brief interview with the protagonist of Debbie Does Dallas. She has lost some of her star luster through the years. I don't understand, she seemed so glamorous then, in 1978. Who would have ever guessed that Bambi Woods would end up looking so spent. It looked as if she's had basketballs heaved at her for the last 35 years or so.

I once wanted to do a documentary short on porn contracts, those who write them, the various provisions within them. I mean, there must be contractual precedents for certain mishaps occurring, to ensure that those things videotaped are then handled with a sense of decorum. There must be events that are at once hilarious for some and astonishingly embarrassing for others. 

Okay, one more small bit of anus talk, then no more. I promise.

I mean, when a woman is getting butt-fucked by a select team of men there must be the occasional error. Is it provisional that those things are edited out and immediately become the sole property of the star's management company? They must be. The various acts and potential occurrences must be agreed upon in advance. Or, are these things just agreed-upon in that industry? Perhaps there is a code of honor that would prevent a producer from ever leaking something like that.

Speaking of leaking, a girl that I used to work with at Apple told me a story one day about a video clip that I absolutely had to see. I guess a porn cameraman was the unwitting recipient of "the gift..." In trying to get the best shot possible of the infamous money-shot, he got too close and ended up as part of the film. Nothing made this girl happier. She would laugh for minutes telling the story, having to take time to catch her breath. She never tired of it. A man getting cum on his face, there was nothing funnier in her world.

She would often ask why white people's porn always tries to tell a little story, a fantasy. She said when black people make a porn all the guys just come out of some other room, ready to do this thing. She would swagger a bit when telling the story, mimicking, with a certain heft in her gait, looking around with a sort of What? attitude. She said that white people would waste too much time setting up the scene, interviewing the girl. "Who the fuck cares what that stupid bitch has to say?" was her repeated point. There was no malice in her question. She merely wanted to know what all the setup was even about. "We all know what's going to happen. Why don't they interview the dudes with the swinging trunks?" That was the extent of her inquiry into the matter.

She was a riot.

I, of course, never had an adequate answer for her. I'm one of those that would likely interview a subject, get an idea of who she was before things unfolded as planned. Set the scene, etc. There are some who attach significance to such moments, however modest.

Though admittedly, it's difficult not to think of her now when a porn director will engage in a touch of cinéma vérité just before the arranged sequence begins. Not that I watch all that much porn, but sometimes it's the only honest thing that's on the internet.