2002-09-26 - 3:36 a.m.
I walked out of my room at 3:30 and found the television displaying an image of a hooker riding some black guy against a canopy of sheets. Mr. and Mrs. Cuteboy, reclining casually on separate couches, laughed as I was momentary stopped in my tracks as I went to the kitchen to get more wine. I'm drunk. "Oh... what's this?" I ask. Earlier in the evening I'd already established that Cuteboy's doing some editing work on this film someone shot.
"It's this guy who's making a film about being a pimp to get custody of his daughter back," Cuteboy says. To get his daughter back? I ask as the pimp and the hooker continue to gyrate wildly as the camera zooms into her trailer-trash face brimmed by a cowboy hat. "Yeah," Cuteboy replies, "this guy's making a film about the life of a pimp, to get his daughter back. To show that he's a respectable citizen."
"By making a film about a pimp?" Laughter punctuates every phrase any of us try to say. Incredulous, in my case. Cuteboy says yeah, that's what he's doing. "I don't believe you" I say as I go into the kitchen.
Coming back out, I ask again, as the pimp and hooker recline and talk dirty while swilling a bottle of Jack Daniels, He's going to show that he's a respectable citizen, like, a filmmaker?
"He asked me to make a trailer," Cuteboy says, still laughing as if his participation in this somehow implicates him in the horribleness of the film and the utter ridiculousness of this idea.
"To show in court?" I say. Maybe, he responds. "Please take no offense that I believe none of this."
We all laugh, and as the camera zooms into the bottle of Jack, Cuteboy says, "there's the tailer right there."
"Yeah, if I were the judge I'd give full-time custody right there," I said. "If I were a filmmaker, I'd do a film about this guy. Go to court, film what's shown and the judge's expression. Document how it comes out. A film-within-a-film. A metafilm."
More laughter. Stupidity is hysterical.
