Wink tugs Blair to a park across the street from the café and begins to look for a primo spot to do some Winky business. Watching this, Blair cocks her head. "Are you as mesmerized by Wink's tushy-hole as I am?" she asks. "It's a bummer, because I'll take her for a walk and I'll find that all I'm looking at is her flipping Eye of Mordor. The fiery eye. I get so transfixed, and I think, "This walk was a washout. I got nothing spiritually out of it.'" She sighs heavily. "I thought getting a dog would uplift me, but all I can do is watch her get ready to lay a deuce."
Blair steers Wink toward the swing set and commandeers a ride, and the conversation turns to the topic of homemade sex tapes. Someone gave her a copy of the Paris Hilton romp, she says, but she wouldn't play it. "I'm not one with incredible morals or ethics," she says, "but I would just feel yucky watching it. And I'm not attracted to either of them, so it wasn't like, Wow."
One swing over, a fat guy in a grease-stained T-shirt is pushing a pissed-off-looking 2-year-old. Blair decides to bring him in on this. "Would you be so embarrassed if a sex tape came out of you publicly?" she asks.
His eyes bug out. "A what?"
"A sex tape," Blair repeats. "Like the Pamela Anderson–Tommy Lee thing or something. I would die. I can't even fathom it. I think you're foolish to make one, and if you make one you've got to burn it. Like, after the champagne's worn off, you have to realize it's not a good idea to make something like that. Ever."
Swing Dad clearly doesn't know what to make of Blair. But the director of Hellboy, Guillermo del Toro, says he's enchanted by her restless, irrepressible mind. "I call her Monkey Brain," he says. "She likes outrageous humor. She is, in many ways, one of the boys. But if you have a more personal chat with her, you find out she also has a lot of depth. She's lived a very full life."
Ah, yes, her life: growing up in Michigan, living through some hinted-at but unspecified family drama, moving to New York to become a photographer, struggling to the point where she was practically living in the streets before being spotted by a talent agent. Intimations of darker forces hiding behind the kooky antics. Maybe Blair could shed a little light on this?
"Here's the thing," she says, rolling her eyes. "I was born in Michigan and ... You know, it's boring. Who cares? Who cares who I was, because I'm gonna be—" She throws her arms wide with a dramatic flourish. "I'm gonna be Marilyn Monroe! Write that! Print it!"