Oh, Beth. You are driving me crazy.

As I think I previously mentioned, Beth Joy Knutsen is one of the staff members at my magazine, New York Tails, and is currently a contestant on Greatest American Dog on CBS every Thursday night from 8pm to 9pm.

She is most famous (or infamous) for "arguing" with the judges (Wendy Diamond in particular) when they were reprimanding her for dressing Bella Starlet (Beth's dog) too much so as to not be able to see Bella's God-given coat and Beth's grooming. Beth then (last night) had an argument with one of the other contestants (Laurie and Andrew, I believe, the black woman and the beautiful, well-behaved Maltese) about said dress-up.

I can honestly tell you, knowing Beth personally, that this is pretty much her personality. She is extremely sensitive, very expressive, and if she has something to say or feels she is being attacked in some way she will get very defensive. She has done that to me a number of times when we've disagreed about something (which is often!), almost always about the magazine, but as for me I chalk it up to the way she is, make an executive decision, and move on. It should also be noted Beth can be equally 'protective' and vocal against people whom she feels are dissing those she cares about.

And don't even get me started on how far Beth will go to defend Bella's honor. From anything. She also has five other animals in the house--a mix of dogs and cats--whom she is also very protective of as well. Nary a scratch or a hangnail will go unattended, to the immense delight of her veterinarians.

Why is she driving Bill crazy? (my much signifigant other?) Because I make him watch the show with me. I think it actually puts him in physical pain. To be quite honest, neither he nor I are particularly big fans of "scripted reality" shows (which to a large part these really are, let's face it) although I do enjoy "The Big Idea with Donny Deuche" and other shows that show people's inventions and ideas (in other words, you will not catch me watching "Idol" or "Bachelor". Ever.)
But obviously I have to watch GAD because Beth is on there.

Anyway, it's been kind of fun to watch Beth and Bella on television, I have to admit. (Someone I know is on national television and I have their home number and I'm one of the few people who's calls they immediately return!)

So for the countless readers of New York Tails who ask me if I know whether Beth went the distance--no, I don't. Not a clue. Not a hint of a hint. CBS apparently employs Satan's own lawyers to make sure every contestant and every single set member sign a blood oath that they will never, never, ever, ever tell anyone anything about the show until the final episode airs. And even then...they're watching you.

But, what I can tell you in terms of Beth, having known her "off camera" for some time, is that, yes, pretty much what you're seeing on television is WYSIWYG ("what you see is what you get, for all of you non-computer people out there). Perhaps it's turned up a slight (ever so slight) notch, but, nope, that's our Beth! Can't accuse her of pulling punches or holding back. I was, however, sorry to see another New York pair, Dr. David Best and Elvis, get voted off. I think they got a bum deal in a number of ways and Elvis was showing some improvement.

Well, good for you, Beth. You know very well we don't always agree with each other and we've had our own scuffles (and I'm sure we'll have many more) but good for you for Living Life Out Loud.

My Dirty Little Secrets

When I was a practicing young Catholic I used to go to Confession every week, mostly to talk, and always to the same priest. He knew who I was, and I knew him, yet I always met him behind the screen. Somehow that made me feel safe. Not that a 13 year-old had too many deep, dark sins to confess, but it made me feel clean as if the sun was shining upon me after a sudden summer rain.

Okay, my dirty little secrets:
1.) I hate selling ads. I mean, I really, REALLY hate selling ads. I am a writer, and I am a reluctant publisher only because I love to write and really believe in the mission of New York Tails. And I believe in my people (our writers and volunteers). You could not assemble a better, bigger-hearted, devoted and intelligent team of people if you tried. It is just dumb luck that they all came under the New York Tails umbrella and I am honored to have them under it.

But, as publisher, I have to make sure the magazine keeps afloat, and a big part of that is ad sales. And, just like every magazine (and I mean every magazine) now-a-days, we are feeling the pinch not just from the advertising migration to online media, but the economy as well. We have an excellent product--award winning, even, with many of our associates and past contributors going on to national fame. But damn if I know how to sell it. I have to force myself to make X number of cold calls every day, and I even get afraid of calling my renewals. Why? I have no freaking idea. I'm just not a sales person.

When I was strictly on the editorial side on other publications I had nothing but thinly-veiled disdain for the ad side (and, truth be told, many of the sales people were world-class A-holes, like trying to whore me out so they could close the deal on an ad. I never allowed this to happen; even got fired once for it!) But I must say I do have a new appreciation for being on that side. When I call people up as "Diane West from New York Tails doing a story on..." you can see and hear their eyes light up. When I call as Diane West, publisher, seeing if you'd like to advertise in our next issue..."not so much. On top of all this, the summer is a notoriously slow time for ad sales (heck, sales of any kind, except maybe beer and watermelon). Put these together and you have a perfect storm of depression and fear.

2.) I am trying to clean my house for real this time. I've put it off since a big move back in November. I dream a dream of a day where I know exactly where the scissors are, where this month's rent bill is, where my socks without the holes are.Everyone tells me I'm going to feel better and more in control of my life and my surroundings after I declutter. Maybe.

I am unearthing all sort of dirty little secrets. Love letters from boyfriends long past (even married) now. Heart-rendering, wrenching, pain-filled letters and wild professions of love. Several marriage proposals--all rejected except one (which was later rejected.) Pictures of friends whom I haven't seen or spoken to in years, or who have moved to the other side of the world and have completely different lives now. Friends who just drifted away for reasons known and unknown. Friends who have died. Friends whose faces are a little chubbier now, a little more worn, eyes a little less bright. Photos of children I watched grow up who are now in college or who have children of their own. Yikes.

But, of course, in writing this I'm wasting time and procrastinating from dirty little secret #1.

At least I feel a little better.

Greatest American Dog, Beth Joy and Bella, and the New York Tails Magazine connection

Okay, play "Six Degrees of Separation" with me.

1.) Beth Joy Knutsen and her "Bella Starlet Dog" will be making their prime-time debut on CBS tomorrow (July 10th) at 8pm EST (that's Channel 2 for you guys in the New York-metro region).

2.) Beth Joy Knutsen and Bella "write" a column for New York Tails magazine called "Tails About Town" and have done so for several years now.

Oh, wait, that's only two degrees of separation. Maybe even one. Hah hah!

I got to be honest with you. When I first met Beth, Bella and her husband Steve, I thought maybe Beth was just a little too much into her dog. (Yes, I know, I can hear the 'howls' from you dog people already--"ain't no such thing as being too into your dog!") Actually the first time I met them Bella wasn't with them; they were with their very, very cool cat, Beastie. (There are six animals in total in the Knutsen household, not counting two humans.) They were all wearing Giants jerseys. (It was for a photo contest we were running at the time.)

We kept in touch, and then Beth and "Bella" started writing a column for New York Tails called "Tails About Town." Pictures, parties -- real social butterfly-type stuff. Fine with me; I'd rather be writing. Still thought she was a bit nuts, though.

Well, shows what I know.

Now they're both on prime time TV with their lives just about poised to change forever. And in case you haven't noticed, CBS is pushing this show hard. And Beth in particular. She's been in the
New York Times, New York Magazine, People...more every day.

There I am, waiting in line at the pharmacy with my bag of potato chips and Twix bar, leafing through People magazine while the lady in front of me decides she grabbed the wrong conditioner and "will be right back!" in mid-checkout and there's Beth on page 48.

We're all really, really proud of both of them.

Good luck, Beth Joy and Bella! (and, no, I have absolutely, positively NO idea how it turned out, who won, or anything.)

Here's their biography from the CBS "Greatest American Dog" website:

http://www.cbs.com/primetime/greatest_american_dog/bio/beth_joy_and_bella_starlet/bio.php

Do I Look Like A 'Ho, Or Was He Just Slow?

We were doing a photo shoot out in Coney Island the other day for our August cover (it is a big surprise, trust me, and just might get national attention! Seriously!) Sorry I can't let the cat out of the bag just yet because you never know who is reading your blog (you know who I'm talking about if you're reading this--think I'm *that* stupid?) but it is great.

Anyway, Barbara (my photographer -- check out her website at hppt://www.hansenphotographics.com
and I were packing up her equipment in her car (not cheap cameras, I can assure you) when a rather, eh, 'confused' young man, 23 if he was a day, came up to us. I was a little wary of this because the trunk was open, Barbara was bent over into it, and he comes over while his boys hang back. My spider sense (or street sense) was tingling.

"Um, excuse me, do you girls live here?" Skeezer said, taking off his jersey and, how can I describe it, caressing his bare chest (no chest hair, by the way.)

"No," I said, planting myself between him and Barbara who is in a very vunerable position. I am also trying to block the contents of the trunk. I look over to his boys and give them a chin nod just to say yeah, I see you, too.

"Um, do you come here a lot?"

"No...we come here once in a while. This morning we were taking pictures."

"Oh. Well, uh, do you know the area?"

"Not really other than right here, no."

"Oh," Skeezer says, still caressing his bare, bony, pale chest. "Because, um, I'm looking to get served.

Now perhaps I am slow. Perhaps years of working on a pet magazine till all hours of the night have fried my brain. Suddenly I get a picture of Skeezer on the Boardwalk getting approached by a summons server with him accepting the summons. Why would he want to get served on the boardwalk? I think to myself.

"You want to get served?" I ask.

"Yeah, served. You know where I can get served?"

Suddenly that light in my brain that says ooooohhh, he means serviced.

"You mean serviced?" I said. Hey, I figure if you're old enough to ask, you're old enough to say it right.

"Yeah, yeah," Skeezer says.

I fold my arms and plant myself even more firmer in the asphalt beneath me. "No, I don't know where you can get serviced." There was so much ice in my voice I could almost feel it crackle in the air.

At that point his boys, if not him, got the point that I was not amused and a tangle with me was not going to be an easy day's work. "C'mon, c'mon'" the Skeezettes said. "Let's go."

"Oh, oh, oh, sorry to have bothered you," Skeezer says.

I stare him down until he walks away.

Then it hits me.

"Barbara, do we look like 'ho's, or was that kid just %$#@ slow?"

Ick!

This happened to me once before when an ex-boyfriend and I were walking along Hollywood Boulevard in Hollywood many years back. What the song says is true--NOBODY walks in L.A., except from the door to the car and to another door. Being New Yorkers, we said, eh, let's walk around a bit, no realizing that the only people who walk in L.A., at night at least, are either working-class immigrants coming or going to slave-labor jobs or people who are employed in the aforementioned "service" industry. We both had extraordinarly long hair, were dressed in all black, and wearing our punk jump boots.

Eventually, a car with tinted windows pulled up to us. Great, I said to myself. A cop wondering why we're actually walking. The horror! We must be miscreants.

"Hey!" a voice called from the window. "How much for the pair?"

Ex-boyfriend looked at me, and I at him, quizzically. Then, in one of those moments that happens when people know each other well, we had a mutual, unspoke oohhhh moment.

"C'mon, let's keep walking," Ex says.

"Now wait a second," I said, going up to the car (just a bit closer, definately not to the window or within grabbing distance. "I'm curious to see how much we're worth."

"DIANE ARE YOU CRAZY LET'S GO!"

"How much are we talking?" I said to the voice in the car.

I won't say, but it wasn't bad. A little lower than I was expecting, but I had no reference point. I probably could have haggled for more. We kept walking. No matter what price he was willing to pay, my dignity, health, and safety aren't for sale at any price.