Art by David Shrigley

Fact or Fiction?

JT LeRoy, the author of that brilliant piece of fiction "Sarah" as well as his supposed 'factual' memoirs "The Heart is Deceitful above all Things" is being discussed by the New York Magazine quite a bit at the moment... or more specifically, the idea that JT LeRoy is 'just a character himself'.

I read "Sarah" quite some time ago now, and absolutely loved the book. It was a bizarre, fantastic, almost mythical journey with a collection of wonderful and disturbing characters - all which required a decent suspension of disbelief.

Not long after I read LeRoy's "memoirs" ("Heart is Deceitful...") and was intrigued all over. They were brutal, horrific and exhilirating to read. Subsequently I attended a screening of Asia Argento's film adaptation of these memoirs at the NFT which JT LeRoy attended in person; and did a 'speech' before the screening.

He came out holding Asia Argento's hand, his face barely visible behind a long blonde wig and big black hat; the only distinguishing feature was the bright red lips he mumbled from. Upon being handed the microphone he somehow, painstakingly managed to read out an introduction to the film which we had been handed a typed copy of upon entering the cinema regardless in an almost incoherent, childlike voice. It was evident that the cinema crowd were becoming more and more uncomfortable during the reading.

At the time I remember thinking: 'Is this for real?' I had read these stories which were emotional but seemingly strong; I had a sense of this individual having lived through so much torment (much at the hands of his own mother), yet still here to tell the tale in a rich, evocative way. And here was this mumbling, shy, incoherent mess of a creature standing in disguise at the front of the cinema trying to string a couple of sentences together.

Soon after this, I read a host of discussion boards that focussed on the idea that JT LeRoy was actually an 'invented' character, and not real at all. I remember throwing my two bits in at the time by saying 'who cares?'...

What really interested me was some of the *extreme* reactions of people to the idea that his entire character was invented. Here's just one example:

As readers we've been lied to again. He doesn't exist. He never existed. And those of us who believed in him have been betrayed. Thanks a lot, JT, for making us think someone else felt the way I did instead of using my emotions as a means to pad their pocket and exploit their own need for literary/hipster cool "credibility." You'll pay in hell!

hhhhmmmmm. Say no more.

I personally love 'JT LeRoy's' writing and if he is 'invented' then I like the character that has been invented. Much like Andy Warhol who created a persona which he felt more comfortable presenting to the public - this writer (whoever that may be) has created a persona to write through.

So JT LeRoy, please keep on writing - and I will keep on reading.

Trash Time

She could have won the entire competition... if only they'd put her through.

I've looked at my last few posts and realised that it has all been a bit serious, so have decided to write about Saturday evening's trashy excitement: X Factor.

Yes, that's right. My Saturday evening was spent with OBF (Other Best Friend) and his partner, watching Simon Cowell et al on the first live show of the X Factor.

And what a show it was. Louis Walsh proved himself to be even more of a twat than was previously imagined (as difficult as that sounds);

Sharon appeared to have had even MORE botox to go with her new 'youth' look hair style (you've gotta love the woman);

and Simon Cowell (oh let's not go there, I have a soft spot for him for some strange reason. He's one of my "I'll never admit it but I kinda fancy him" people... Oops. Did I just admit that?)

Even more exciting, however, was how each and every act 'mentored' by Louis Walsh already seem to be morphing in to an act he has managed previously. i.e.

Shayne = Ronan Keating/somebody from Boyzone
Phillip = Any member of Westlife
Nicholas = A member of Boyzone/Weslife (how Louis managed that I don't know... he has a talent)
Chenai = Samantha Mumba (remember her??)

Yes, the guy's a fully fledged twat. But by gosh, he just adds to the superb trashiness of the show.

I admit it.

I'm completely obsessed and am now busy for the next 11 Saturday evenings.

Anxious Edvard

During my lunch break today I wandered down to the Royal Academy to take a gander at "Edvard Munch By Himself", an exhibition mostly of his self portraits.

Now, I obviously knew a few of his pieces (I mean, who doesn't know "The Scream") and didn't know what to expect above those really.

So it was a really pleasant surprise to be completely and utterly blown away. Most compelling were the pieces around his relationship with various woman (the most significant, in my opinion, being Tulla Larsen - it was so evident he ended up hating her!)

There was much discussion through the course of the exhibition about Munch's madness, but I'm not sure I think he was mad. (what is the definition of mad, anyway?) I think he was just incredibly anxious and lonely - and through the mass of self portraits he painted he was just trying to find out who Edvard Munch was.

Mr Muscle.

So, I was walking to work this morning from the bus stop through Mayfair... and Antony & the Johnsons' "Cripple and the Starfish" starts playing on my Ipod.

I've listened to the song before, yet this time, I listen to the lyrics a little more intently, and start crying. Yes, crying in the middle of Berkeley Square, Mayfair - all thanks to Antony. You can just hear the pain in his voice.

At first, I felt kinda embarrassed, but after a while I just let it all out. I mean, there's no point in not letting yourself go once in a while, is there?

And I can tell you, the Mayfair-ites didn't know where to look. Obviously they don't do tears.

The power of music, hey?

At first listen I wasn't convinced by Antony and the Johnsons' music, but now I'm obsessed. Bloody brilliant.

Praying for Charlie

oh... a slight update on 'Charlie, the naughtiest dog in the universe' post:

poor little Charlie has had to go in for an urgent operation to remove a possible cancerous lump from her side. she is now out of surgery and feeling much better. But obviously we are all worried it might be more significant.

so I am urging all to pray/send positive vibes/think about (depending on your stance) my little princess of a neice. please.

otherwise I will cry.

my new husband

It is a dark, cool, quiet place. A basement in your soul. And that place can sometimes be dangerous to the human mind. I can open the door and enter that darkness, but I have to be very careful. I can find my story there. Then I bring that thing to the surface, into the real world.

Haruki Murakami. My husband of the week.

I'm a little teapot

Sunday I went with a friend to see the Hayward's latest exhibition "Universal Experience - Art, Life and the Tourist's Eye".

I wasn't sure what to expect with this exhibition, and when we first walked in I wasn't convinced I was going to like it that much. The first room seemed a little odd, I've never been a fan of Jeff Koons' work - and his piece 'Bear and Policeman' did nothing to change that view. Maybe I'm just not clever enough.

However, the second room of the exhibition was an amazing installation. The piece was called The Moment (2004) by Doug Aitken and at first was quite disorientating - a darkened room, with only the light of the numerous hanging LCD screens. The piece was around journey and apparently the disorientation of waking in an unfamiliar place and was really beautiful; I spent at least 15 minutes in there and if it wasn't for the fact that there was most of the exhibition left to see, would have spent a lot longer.

There were other highlights obviously, it was a well curated exhibition, but worth mentioning (and the reference in my header of this post) was the piece in the Sculpture Garden - Zhan Wang's Urban Landscape. Basically this artist has recreated the London skyline with stainless steel tableware - so cool! Although my mate and I wanted a 'key' so we could work out what was what... we got as far as Big Ben and the London Eye!

Starship Troopers... Version 2

No, unfortunately not the Sarah Brightman song... although that would have been tres exciting.

Last night I went to a pre-screening of 'Serenity' at the Rex Bar, organised by a mate of OBF (Other Best Friend) and his partner.

Now, I'm a bit of a geek who likes the whole Sci-Fi/Fantasy genre - although quite often feel disappointed by the whole Hollywood treatment.

Serenity was very impressive. At least production wise. I mean, the special effects were amazing; the cast were all pretty gorgeous; the whole film had a slickness that the plebby public have come to expect from such a film. But what did amuse me somewhat was the writing.

Remember Paul Verhoeven's 'Starship Troopers'? When I saw that film I was pretty delighted by the fact that somebody had made a parody of the genre. Awful acting, deliberately cheesy, and in fact, the script was both witty and clever.

There was something reminiscent of this in 'Serenity'. The writers are obviously attempting at humour... but somehow it never really seems to work. I mean, don't get me wrong... there are *some* amusing moments - but I don't think they were the moments we were supposed to be laughing at.

Scott Weinberg from EFILMCRITIC.COM said that Serenity was "the cleverest, crankiest, wittiest, wildest, and most character-driven sci-fi adventure in 25 years; it's the best outer-space trip I've been on since the empire struck back."

Perhaps I missed something?

I say bring back Sarah Brightman.

Signing of the Breast

I was invited to a private party at the Rex Cinema and Bar on Friday night with some friends - the evening was supposed to include a private screening of 'Paris is Burning', which is one of my all time favourite documentaries... however, it unfortunately never happened ....

Apparently, there was another private screening taking part earlier in the evening, for Gene Simmons' Rock School.

Now, this screening was supposed to be finished by about 9.30pm, so that we could get in to the cinema afterwards and watch our film about drag queen 'balls' in New York City, which went on to inspire Madonna's Vogue.

At around 10.45pm (when we were fairly sure we weren't going to see the film), a gaggle of busty women emerged from the cinema, flanking a bloated, coiffured man - Mr Simmons himself.

Now, don't get me wrong - I was a *huge* KISS fan when I was younger. In fact, such a dedicated fan was I that my mother queued for 16 hours to secure myself and my mate tickets to their live rock concert at the Perth Entertainment Centre. And then humiliated me by making me wear cotton wool in my ears during the concert (I mean, as if it wasn't shameful enough having to go to the concert with my mother?! I was only 7 years old, but still!!)

So I was somewhat excited about seeing Gene in the flesh (and what a lot of flesh there was...). The climactic point of the event, however, was when a random woman from within the bar area walked straight up to Gene Simmons and got out her left boob (nipple and all) for him to autograph. What?!! I mean, the man must be in his fifties; is fat and bloated from years of excess, and has a hairstyle that puts Oprah Winfrey to shame!

I have to say though, there was a fleeting moment when I thought I could have asked him so sign my left buttock....

..... A Little Flesh

I gave myself a midnight screening of 'Andy Warhol's Flesh' over the weekend - my sister had sent me a box set of his films recently and having watched most of them between the ages of 17 and 19, I thought it was about time I had another look.

When I watched this film all those years ago, I remember being most struck by Joe D'Allesandro's complete beauty; but found the film a little tedious in pace. Perhaps that had something to do with age? I remember fast forwarding the VHS tape (remember those??) through much of it, but this time I watched the film in its entirety with avid interest.

On second viewing, I was enthralled. What a beautiful film! I hadn't noticed how very gorgeous the cinematography was - the light is gorgeous, the shots are beautiful (especially the sequence with Joe and the baby) and also, the film is absolutely hilarious!

My most favourite scene would have to be where Candy Darling and Jackie Curtis are sitting chatting to Joe as one of his 'girlfriends' does a manic 'tittie' dance behind them - now I know how John Waters was influenced by Warhol's films! Brilliant!

And... Joe D'Allessandro still looks as beautiful as ever.

The Very Cool Set.

So, I was invited to be my Other Best Friend's plus 1 (who says I can't have two best friends?!) last night at a chi-chi photography exhibition opening in a bargehouse behind the OXO tower.

The exhibition was for Jude Edginton, who has just won "Picture Editor's Magazine Photographer of the Year" and yes, the photos were really quite good.

Upstairs on the second floor of the bargehouse was the bar area.

Free champagne, burlesque door bitch, fantastic venue, great DJs - what more could you ask for, I hear you say? The thing is, that at events like this, it never really seems to go anywhere.

Invites are sent out to all these people in 'the industry' and then they all converge in their little cliques and stand talking to one other. No-one talks to anyone they don't know (why would you do that?!); anyone acting remotely interesting (like the guy who started dancing to PJ Harvey's "Down by the Water" in a rythmic yet staccato fashion very early in the evening) gets stared at, and not in a good way; the singles scout avidly for potential partners (but definitely don't speak to anyone they think looks interesting).

So after an hour spent in the very cool bar at the very cool exhibition in the very cool bargehouse, OBF (Other Best Friend) and I left. And went down by the river to drink a couple of pints. So cool.

I want one.

Date of the Blind.

So, I should have known when he said 'Let's meet in the Yard' that it was never going to work.

I decided to be very brave last night and go on a blind date. What little I knew about the guy seemed decent enough - works in the media (I've always been attracted to creatives), lover of music (an imperative for me) and over the phone, seemed to have a decent wit.

So I head to the Yard (bleugh!) and after realising that the photo I had seen of him was obviously 4 years old, began to chat. (I mean, image isn't *everything*, surely...)

But when I say 'chat' - it wasn't really a dialogue. In fact, I don't think I said that much at all during the 2 hours we were together. He just spoke about himself. Apart from the obligatory "what is it you do for work again?", to which my answer was treated with yet another diatribe about how fantastic his job was.

Although I could write a veritable essay about pearler moments of the evening, here's just a taster:

Date: Do you find it difficult being Australian?
Ziggy: Er... sorry?
Date: Well, surely you don't like it?
Ziggy: Fuck you! (said with a smile in my broadest Aussie accent while taking another slurp of my pint)

The end of the evening was possibly the finest moment though, at around 10.30am... Date obviously felt it appropriate to let me know that even though I was Australian (evidently a lower life form) that he found me attractive. He did this by grabbing my arse and saying "loving your look, man".

Wanker.

Think I'll just stay at home in future and watch re-runs of Prisoner Cell Block H.

Changing Room Etiquette

I went to the gym last night (yes, I know... I don't know why either).

Now, as a gay man, perhaps I am more aware than most of the issues in a male change room (ie. get showered, dressed as quickly as possible while not looking anywhere but the floor and leaving) - but it appears that this is not the case for others.

Last night, there were three completely inappropriate change room moments, in my humble opinion:

Inappropriate moment #1: Hirsute muscle man staring at himself naked in the full length mirror for at least 5 minutes, all the while flexing his freshly pumped muscles. In addition, numerous side glances to see if anyone was watching him. Surely Freud would have a thing or two to say?

Inappropriate moment #2: Another hirsute man changing his band-aid on... his right buttock, and gasping with pain when several hairs (on aforementioned buttock) got pulled out. Again, the words time/place spring to mind.

Inappropriate moment #3: Several pumped muscle men standing in a naked group, towelling themselves down whilst watching the sport channel with some random sport showing (how would I know which sport, I'm gay!?) and yelling/whooping with joy at some climactic sports scene. (I know, I know... if it wasn't for the sport this could almost be a scene from a gay porn film).

Men showering together
Originally uploaded by dcwooten.

Perhaps I'm just a prude?

Irritating gays.

Today's irritating exchange:

Me: Hi, how are you?
Mincy Queen: Fine, thanks.
Me: Do you work around here?
Mincy Queen: I'm just doing a freelance job in Conde Naste for Harrods.
Me: Oh, sounds great. Did you have a nice weekend?
Mincy Queen: Well I just got back from New York, so I decided to take it easy over the weekend, nesting, that sort of thing.
Me: Oh. (Mincy queen looks down at me with a sort of 'what the hell are you wearing?/you can't really be gay' look)

Why is it that I feel so inadequate when I meet gay men who stare at me with such disdain? I mean, anyone who has to throw in Conde Naste, Harrods and New York in the same dialogue has to be a complete *wanker* but still, I somehow manage to feel small in their presence. Ggggrrrrr.

Fancy a film?

Here's what I've seen recently...

1. Me, You and Everyone We Know

))<>(( "back and forth"

Debut film written and directed by Miranda July - superb! Like a throwback to the indie films of the early 90s! Really enjoyed this film; quirky, sexy, funny - I don't get all the bad reviews?! I mean, any movie that makes you laugh that much about shit has to be half decent?!

2. Charlie and the Chocolate Factory

Pains me to say this as I am a HUGE Tim Burton fan, having even enjoyed his lesser liked films, such as "Sleepy Hollow" (although "Planet of the Apes" was not his finest hour - perhaps he should stay away from remakes?!) BUT... this was a huge disappointment for me.

Disappointment #1: Oompa Loompas - I'm sure Deep Roy is a man of considerable talents, but in my opinion, the film fell flat every time he walked on screen. What the hell was Burton trying to do here? There was a rumour before the film was released that he wanted the Oompa Loompas to be completely different than the original, and was toying with the idea of having extra tall people play them - way cooler!

Disappointment #2: Character development of the children - the introduction to each of the kids was super exciting, and then nothing happened with any of them!

Disappointment #3: Johnny Depp's performance (again, very painful for me to say, because Johnny Depp is one of my many husbands) - I can *sort of* see what he was trying to achieve here - but for me at least, it fell flat. So, so disappointing.

3. Last Days

Again, I'm a huge fan of Gus Van Sant, and "Elephant" was one of the finest pieces of cinema I've seen released in recent years. Unfortunately, I think Mr Van Sant got a bit self indulgent with this one. The only way I can possibly describe it is as an exercise in tedium. With beautiful visuals.

4. Howl's Moving Castle

An apt end to my film critiques as; 1. a Japanese film to follow on from my Tokyo post and 2. a BLOODY FANTASTIC FILM.

Having *adored* "Spirited Away", I was hanging out to see Mr Miyazaki's latest offering - and in my opinion, he did not disappoint. The animation is pure joy, the characters are gorgeous and the direction is perfect. I LOVE THIS FILM.

Tokyo Desu Ne

It's been a while, mostly because I've been travelling over summer...

Firstly to see my family in Perth, Australia, and secondly to visit Japan - which is long overdue, I've wanted to go for as long as I can remember.

What a holiday! What it wasn't, was relaxing! Tokyo is the most exhilirating, busy, claustrophobic, fascinating, exciting assault on the senses one could expect!

I flew in to Tokyo on the Saturday, and my best friend met me at Nippori station with her brother (who lives there) and his Japanese fiance. Having only managed 2 hours sleep (at a push) on the plane from Perth, I was feeling and looking fabulous (please insert incredibly dry tone here).

Day 1...

After dropping my luggage at their flat via the subway (complete with men pushing people on to the trains with white gloves) we descended on Ueno Park, where a jazz festival was playing. The park itself was spectacular, with the centrepiece being a lake/pond full of lotuses. We sat at a small bar here as I was about to chew my own arm off, and had my first of many (and I mean MANY) yakitori, and a cold Asahi! (or maybe it was two, I'm not actually sure, as the rest of the holiday was pretty much a blur of beer)!

Of course, after a couple of beers I could have been convinced to go anywhere that night, so it was decided that we would meet some friends of them at the fireworks or "Hana-Bi" in Matsudo, of the Chiba Prefecture. My experience of fireworks has, I have to say, been somewhat limited... i.e. the Australia Day Skyshow on Perth's swan river which lasts for, oh, something in the vicinity of 15 minutes and usually ends with a number of tinnies being thrown and maybe a brawl or two. The Matsudo fireworks were a *slightly* different experience.

We were seated on a blue tarpaulin almost directly opposite where the fireworks were being fired from, and I have NEVER seen anything like it. Lasting for an hour and a half (I kept saying 'What, there's more?'), the display was incredible.

Stupidly, and perhaps because of the utter high I felt after the firework disply, I agreed to go on with the gang to karaoke... yes, really. By this stage it was about 10pm and given how exhilirated I was feeling due to the display (ok, probably boosted considerably by the amount of beer I'd drunk) we descended on the local karaoke bar. You might be thinking of a small little hovel somewhere that has a karaoke machine in the corner, but no... just the opposite.

Karaoke in Japan is literally an institution, it appears - and this first bar we went to (yes, there was other karaoke nights later) was an institution itself! I don't know how many separate rooms there were, but after about a 45 minute wait (yes, it is THAT popular) we were installed in a small private room, that seated all of us (6 adults and a child) with a video screen, 2 microphones and a veritable LIBRARY of songs to choose from. Given that my best friend and I were the newcomers to this whole event, we weren't the first to jump in here, and took our time to choose a few numbers and hopefully retain our coolness. (yeah, right). I'll leave more about karaoke till our foray later in the week, when any 'coolness' we may have had quickly abandoned us.



Even though I had only slept for 2 hours in the last 2 days and drank enough beer to make my belly appear distended, on our way home it was suggested that we call in to the local 'Izakaya' or Japanese style pub and of course, I said yes.

So, several more beers on and one of us slumped on the table asleep (the Japanese fiance no less, even though she is more of a beer monster than I) and I felt my chair jump across the floor. At first I thought someone had pushed my chair accidently, and when I turned back to my friend, she was looking at me with the same expression, i.e. "why'd you push my chair!?"

Her brother sitting across the table from us was smirking considerably at our bewildered expressions before informing us that we had encountered our first Tokyo shudder, or earthquake. I had a feeling this holiday was going to be a good one.



Day 2...

Started with a hangover. And a sore liver (actually I woke at 5am because my liver was burning, but anyway).

Some friends came and picked us up in their people mover and we drove to Kamakura, which apparently was the capital of Japan before the Edo period - and was incredible. Near the sea, it is an older Japanese centre and very beautiful. After a quick spot of lunch, we went to the Tsurugaoka Hachimangu Shrine.

This Shrine is reported to be the most famous of the "Hachiman Shrines"; which are dedicated to Hachiman, the kami of war, which used to be particularly popular among the leading military clans of the past.

"Shinto gods" are called kami. They are sacred spirits which take the form of things and concepts important to life, such as wind, rain, mountains, trees, rivers and fertility. Humans become kami after they die and are revered by their families as ancestral kami. The kami of extraordinary people are even enshrined at some shrines.

We then drove on to see the Great Buddha, also in Kamakura.

This bronze statue of Amita Buddha was cast in 1252 A.D. !! In 1498, a tidal wave swept away the great temple of the Buddha, leaving only the foundation stones. In the 500 years since then, the holy statue has been exposed to sunshine, storms, and snow. The latest repair was done in 1960- 1961, to strengthen the Buddha's neck and to make it possible for the Buddha's body to move freely on the base to prevent a damaging shock to the statue in case of an earthquake. The statue is 13.35 meters tall, and weighs 121 tons.

Other highlights...

Harajuku!


My best friend and I ventured in to Harajuku with her brother to check out this crazy area we had heard Gwen Stefani sing about all over her bloody awful solo album.

Hilarious.

Actually, there were some incredibly fashionable and cool areas around this part of Tokyo, but the main street of what is known as Harajuku was not particularly one of them, in my opinion - Takeshita Street (tacky street as we renamed it) seemed the equivalent of Camden markets. Omotesando seemed a bit like Bond Street, but the *super cool* area was Urahara street, where young designers and stores like Bathing Ape sat side by side. I literally could have spent a fortune here, if it wasn't for the fact that at 6'1 I was a giant and nothing fit me!!

I haven't as yet mentioned the toilets, and feel it is a fitting time.
Due, I'm assuming, to the overwhelming modesty of the Japanese, the toilets were a sight to behold. My particular favourite mechanism was the button that made a flushing sound, so that the sound of your own tinkle was disguised. Ingenious!

Hakone

Our only other trip outside of Tokyo was to an area called Hakone to the West of the city, in the mountains surrounding Mount Fuji. To get here we had to take a train called 'The Romance Car' which was, as it's name suggests, romantic.

Hakone was another amazing place. The mountains were amazing, as were the trees that covered them. Upon arriving and checking in to our hotel, (my friend and I stayed in a Japanese style room complete with tatami mats) we ventured out to see the hot sulphur springs at the top of some of the mountains, in an area called Owakudani. To get there we had to take a train, cable car and ropeway but it was well worth the visit.

Approximately 3000 years ago, Hakone's volcano erupted for the final time, creating what is today called 'Owakudani', roughly translated as "The Immense Simmering Valley".
Even today, white steam continues to rise from various pockets across the face of the mountain, enveloping the surrounding area in the distinctively strong stench of sulphur. In ancient times, the area had been known as Jigokudani ("The Valley of Hell"), but when the Meiji Emperor came to Hakone in the year 1873, the valley was renamed Owakudani.

According to popular legend, if you eat a hard boiled egg which has been boiled in the sulphur (the shells turn black) you will add 15 years to your life. Suffice to say, my friend and I ate them!

The evening at the hotel included an Onsen, or hot spring bath.

Bathers enter the onsen changing room, disrobe and head to the shower area with towel in hand. The onsen water is communal, so patrons must shower and give themselves a good soaping before entering the hot spring. Only afterwards may you enter the sacred bath waters.

Wearing your towel on your head, as many Japanese do, is optional.

The next day we caught a bus up to Moto-Hakone and walked along the Ancient Cedar Avenue, where the trees were planted in 1618. The trees were amazing, huge and this entire area was beautiful.










Which kind of finishes the highlights of my trip to Japan... but I did promise to mention karaoke at least once more before I finish this blog entry. I've decided however, that pictures speak louder than words....

Charlie the naughtiest dog in the universe

Normally when I travel to Perth for work (or pleasure) I stay with my parents, but given they are living in Broome right now (which is a 2 and a half hour flight away), I stayed with my sister, her husband and their recent addition, Charlie the pug.

I had been told quite a bit about this dog, as she is the most recent addition to our family and therefore very important. What wasn't previously mentioned was her utter and complete lack of respect for any human authority.

Charlie is 8 months old and possibly the naughtiest dog in the universe. There is a reason for this. That being the fact that she is also possibly the cutest dog in the universe - I mean, could you reprimand something this gorgeous?

(convulsing, convulsing)

Even if you did feel able to admonish her, it wouldn't matter. She completely ignores any critical words offered to her, it washes off her like water off a duck's back. Perhaps I should be taking lessons?

New York, New York...

'nuff said really. What an incredible city...