Wood problems

Here in the libraries of Gram Ponante Towers, the ratio of things we write about to the amount of information coming in is about 1:8. Posting every press release, rumor, contract star hijink, and multi-hundred dollar deal signing would make the casual reader (I’m not saying there is anything “casual” about Gramponante.com readers; they are all intense, hypersexual, and electrifying) that Porn Valley is just like anywhere else, rather than a magic candyland of lubes and jellies and people blowing me.

So I might go on a set and not write about it if there’s nothing interesting to say, or someone might tell me something interesting that I’ll choose not to print so that the delicate order of the porn world – and, indeed, America – mightn’t topple utterly.

But a little while ago I was on a set and saw wood problems for the first time, and watched as the talent and crew dealt with them.

If there’s 50 scenes being shot in Porn Valley in one day, an informal survey (just like AVN’s sales and rental charts, we like to keep our surveys informal around here) revealed that at least ten percent of those might be hindered by wood issues.

I remember seeing a re-run of M*A*S*H as a kid. I watched that show a lot. I still don’t know why. Everything went bad when Henry died. Anyway, there was an episode where Hawkeye couldn’t score, and it freaked him out. “I just couldn’t,” he said.

I didn’t know what that meant, and I wasn’t about to ask anybody. But because I didn’t understand it, I remembered it, in the same way I will remember the election results of the past several years on a statewide and national level.

So as I slinked in the background of the set the other day, and heard the male talent say, “I just can’t,” and the director say, very gently, “Well, do you think we should call it a day?” and the female talent giggle nervously and run out of the room, saying, “I’ve gotta pee,” I thought, “Maybe I wasted a few gallons of gas in Los Angeles traffic getting here, but I think I’m gonna pass.”

This was a gonzo set. There were no production assistants with needles full of sustenance or bags of little blue pills. The female talent, well, didn’t seem emotionally accessible enough to foster either intimacy or an erection (I think she ate all the little crackers and drank all the Red Bull, too), and it was the end of a long day. The guy took it in stride.

“Occupational hazard,” he said. I get it, too; about a year ago I spilled Jagermeister on my keyboard and had to go to Kinko’s to type up a story about Swedish MILF gangbangs.

I know that sometimes wood issues are handled differently. Many people get testy when there’s money involved, and it’s not like the lighting guy is going to jump in, even though he wants to. But on this set, what so concerned Hawkeye was dealt with gracefully.

The next scene was announced. The talent from the first scene packed up and left. The crew stayed where they were. I put down my notebook and held up my hands like a croupier. The new talent came in. The scene being shot was for an entirely different movie, but they used the same couch. The director said to the female talent, “Now say, ‘Put it in my ass.'”

“Put it in my ass,” she said.

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