I Have Answers For It All

Most unusual search phrases people used to get to my main site in August:

drunken cassowaries
castrate newborn son
hypnotizing men
insulated coveralls cold

And for like the 100th month in a row, the most popular search phrase: braceface.

How Happy Am I?

The new fall season of Dr. Phil has begun!

This Week at the No Tell

Karl Parker is the featured poet this week at No Tell Motel.

Chris' Latest Mistress

I suppose it was only a matter of time before Chris moved on from ignoring me for his G4 Powerbook perched on his lap to ignore me for his new road bike. Bitch better watch out, I'll slash her tires.

Pimpin' Ain't Easy

Just got back from the beach this evening. Managed to only burn part of my arms -- succeeded in keeping the face (canvas) protected with sunscreen and big hat.

Read many wonderful submissions. Heartened. Not sure how many to take. What to do, what to do. When first discussing the No Tell concept with a few friends, some expressed concern that it would be difficult to offer consistent quality by publishing so many different poets and requiring a minimum of five poems from each. While I felt confident it could be done properly, their doubts did give me pause. I suppose it's still early on and only time will tell, but I'm excited about the work coming up and already am torn over certain submissions. Also, I no longer feel bad about past rejections I've received from journals.

Tender Buttons suggested doing a "Weekend Quickie" where we publish poems on Saturday/Sunday by poets that "almost" got selected for the regular weekly feature. Yeah, like I don't have enough enemies already. "Um, I'm not willing to take you out for dinner and a movie, but I'll give you ten minutes with me in this closet."

Clearly lawyers do not understand the poetic ego -- clearly an entirely different beast from the lawyer ego.

Beach

Headed to the Outer Banks in a few. Will bring some of the No Tell submissions sent last week that struck me for closer consideration, some journals to review for NewPages and the latest issue of InStyle (fall fashions!). Hopefully I'll get some writing done too. But this all probably much too ambitious of a plan. I am headed to beach, for God's sake.

This Week at the No Tell

Tony is the featured poet this week at No Tell Motel.

For those of you using the RSS feed you'll notice it's not updating regularly. Chris will work a fix for this when we get back from the beach.

draft

No Tell

1.
Not as unlikely as I’ll attest, nor as
disagreeable as assessed.
Why else do motel maids trouble knocking?

2.
God bless America, for begetting a
place where we could meet
and do this.

Molly's Catullus Translation

David Lehman wrote to me this afternoon to share one of Molly's translations he used in FU: An Anthology of Fuck You Poems. Of course I was already quite aware of this translation, it's the translation that made me fall in love with Molly.

Improba Carmina

I will fuck you up the ass and in the mouth,
Aurelius, you sodomized ass-licker
And Furius, you perverted cock-sucker
Who read my sensual poems and conclude
I'm too wanton. For everyone knows
It's meet and proper for a poet to be
Pure, pious, and always correct in his behavior.
But we don't expect the same of his poems.
Of mine they'll say sure, they have wit, they have charm,
They're so sexy and lewd they can
Arouse -- I won't say boys, but these hairy
Men whose unstiff dicks wilt on the vine.
You who have kissed many thousands of mouths
Upper and nether, man and girl,
How dare you think me less than manly?
I will fuck you up the ass and in the mouth.

-- Catullus, trans. Molly Arden

Catullus was born in Verona in 87 BC and died in Rome in 58 BC. He had a love affair with a consul's wife, whom he calls Lesbia and whose real name may have been Claudia. He praised her pussy ("A single whiff and you'll get on your knees") and denounced his rivals for her affections ("scumbags") in immortal verse.

Molly Arden went to Bryn Mawr. She is a contributing editor of "Classic Literature in Translation." She lives in Ithaca, New York.

Day Later

It's been a fun two days. People are checking into the motel and some are submitting already (and others are threatening). Thanks to everyone who's linked to it.

My next major project: Finding a bathing suit for next week's trip to the beach.

No Tell Motel RSS Feed

For those of you into this kind of thing: No Tell Motel RSS Feed.

For those of you who have no idea what this is, don't worry about it.

The Big Announcement

OK, OK, the prolonged strip tease is over, time for the goodies:

With great fanfare and the cutting of ribbons we announce the opening of No Tell Motel, an online poetry journal. Edited by Reb Livingston and Molly Arden, No Tell Motel features a new poet each week, a new poem every weekday. Each year will see the publication of 52 poets and 260 poems. Featured poets in August and September will be Jennifer Michael Hecht, Anthony Robinson, Karl Parker, Heidi Lynn Staples, Shanna Compton and others.

Jennifer Michael Hecht is our first featured poet. Every day this week we'll publish a new poem by Jennifer. Next week our featured poet will be Anthony Robinson, every day we'll publish a new poem by him. And so on.

Why a New Poem Every Day? Why Not Do Issues or One Weekly Post?

Our intention is to give each poet and his/her work the in-depth attention it deserves. Publishing a new poem each day encourages frequent traffic and repeat visits (as opposed to putting it all up at once and having the journal remain static any length of time).

--------------

Related Business:

To the select few who have been "in the know" and sworn to secrecy. Thank you for your discretion. The duct tape has been removed. Blab away. Please, blab to all your friends. Please link to No Tell Motel.

You don't need to ask me if it's OK if you submit, yes please do, but before you send anything, please follow our Submission Guidelines. They're a little specific. If it turns out we have to decline using your submission, please keep this in mind: I *loved* your poems and really wanted to use them, but that damn Molly . . . well, sometimes there's just no pleasing her.

Special thanks to Nancy King for the sassy web design and Chris Morrow for his 24 hour technical support. Both of them deserve sainthood for putting up with our nitpicky requests and last minute changes. We are extremely grateful to all the poets who so graciously agreed to submit their work before seeing the finished product. I personally would like to thank Molly, for her counsel and for being such a straight shooter.

Your Mom Isn't Here

Go ahead, jump on the bed! You know you want to. We want you to. (wink)

Hum

Plunk in a quarter, maybe something will vibrate.

12:01 a.m.

I don't know about you, but I'm excited.

Frank the Bunny Sez . . .

. . . the doors will swing open in 1 day, 7 hours and 48 minutes.

There's No Telling what he means by that.

Kitty Farmer: "Okay, now girls . . . I want you to concentrate. Failure is not an option. And Bethany, if you feel the need to vomit up there . . . just swallow it."

Oooh Baby Baby

Now wait a minute, y'all
This ___________ ain't for everybody
Only the sexy ___________
So all you fly mothers, get on out there and ___________
___________, I said!

Color TV, HBO, Swimming Pool

The announcement involves: 2 discrete women, 4 very zexy poets with room keys (that's just the beginning, no stopping there!), an old college roommate and a nerd working in the shadows.

Appreciating All That TB Does For Us

Oh wait, I found another picture of Clyde. For some reason he's hiding his face again. It's not like he's disfigured or anything like that. These pictures were taken in 2002 when Tender Buttons kindly gave them a bed. They played with the bed for a few minutes (when these pics were snapped) and then Clyde promptly took a whiz in it sending it straight into the garbage.


Clyde, pre-diabetic diagnosis


Darla, non-diabetic

The Diabetic Getting Squeezed

This is the only picture I have of Clyde available to post online. I'll take a better (non-torture) one this evening and put it up it.

Even Better

Clyde is home. After one half dose of glucose the vet felt that Clyde's diabetes is obesity triggered and is hopeful that presciption food will be enough to treat him. So no daily shot in the butt for now. Thank goodness.

Kids Eat Free

Cheatin' hearts are always welcome!

Shhhhhh . . .

No need to park around back at this establishment. We're hot for discretion!

Better

Clyde's glucose is down to 123. He'll either be coming home this evening or tomorrow.

Diabetic

It's official, Clyde is diabetic. His glucose is 460 and his cholesterol is 300. He'll be spending a few nights at the vet to get regulated. When he gets back home it'll be a special diet and a daily insulin shot (in the butt!).

Assurance

Our ___________ won't be sticky or moldy. We'll set out a new one every week day. Freshness is a priority.

Heart Attack Clyde

I just got back from the vet with Clyde, my 10 year old male cat. Over the past two weeks I've noticed he's been drinking a lot of water and urinating more than normal. At first I thought Chris was forgetting to give them water in the mornings and I chewed him out real good about "responsibility" and how two little lives depend on us for everything.

The vet did some blood work and will let me know tomorrow -- he thinks it might be diabetes. But the horrible part was ten minutes after they took the blood, the vet came out and showed me the vial -- the blood had separated, half of it looked like regular blood and the other half was fat -- like warm congealing bacon fat. Apparently Clyde has really high cholesterol which is a sign of a bad metabolism. Looking at it made me woozy.

I'm also perplexed, both of my cats only get Science Diet Lite. No treats, no people food, no tuna or cheese. Unless there's a hidden stash of twinkies I haven't discovered.

On a lighter note, there was a 12 year old helper working in the office and she tried to lift Clyde to put him on the scale, but she could barely do it. He's lost weight though -- he's only 19.11 pounds, not 22 anymore.

Frank the Bunny Sez . . .

. . . the doors will swing open in 8 days, 17 hours and 44 minutes.

There's No Telling what he means by that.

Middlesex Student 1: "Mom said the school is closed today because it's flooded, and there's feces everywhere!"
Middlesex Student 2: "What are feces?"
Middlesex Student 1: "Baby mice."
Middlesex Student 2&3: "Awwww."

Fill in the Blanks

Ozzie Nelson: "What do you get when two ___________ produce an ___________?"

Mike Brady: "___________ celebrating dishwater, breast ___________ and lunar phases?"

June Cleaver: "Ahem. We like to think we offer more ___________ than that."

Tips for Winning Reb's Favor

1. Bringing up Pittsburgh is good -- unless you refer to it as a filthy, smoky, miserable or rainy city.
2. Never disparage Buffy the Vampire Slayer in any way.
3. It's all about respect.

Tips for Winning Molly's Favor

1. Don't abbreviate already short words.
2. Use ellipses sparingly.

Frank the Bunny Sez . . .

. . . the doors will swing open in 10 days, 20 hours and 19 minutes.

There's No Telling what he means by that.

Donnie: "Frank, when's this gonna stop?"
Frank: "You should already know that."

When My Husband's Away . . .

. . . my long lost 9th grade telephone boyfriend sends me an e-mail! He's way dreamier than I remember, but then again, I was a flat-chested braceface in those days, so I suppose I have no room to talk. He said my web page was "pretty darn interesting" which I believe is code for "nutty."

I was taking a break from my top secret peanut butter and jelly project to goof off and yah! this surprise message. Turns out he's a musician living in LA and was just signed by a record label, a real one, not one of those out-of-the-basement kinds. So I got to thinking, in a couple years when he's famous and lending his name to political causes, what stories can I sell to Star Magazine? After pondering it I realized I'm screwed, we never even held hands or kissed. In fact, I never saw him out of school. Him calling on the telephone was more than enough to drive my mother into a tizzy. So, 9th grade telephone boyfriend, your fame and reputation are not in jeopardy from me, even if I was down on my luck dancing for chicklets, I don't think I'll be able to use our past association for any financial gain.

He found me on the West Mifflin alumni site. As did a childhood friend, who wrote last week and said:

i am trying to figure out if i know you or not.  did you go to locust grove elementary school?  and is your birthday on christmas?  i can remember going to school at locust grove with a girl named rebecca, she was a year younger than me. and her birthday was on christmas.  she was always really nice to me even though  i wasnt very popular.  and if that person is you.  just wanted to say thanks.  i have always wondered what happened to her.(you)

See, I wasn't always a troll. Maybe someday I'll share the tale of what made me into what I am today.

The Choice

Chris is headed to Indianapolis for a day and will be back tomorrow evening. So of course, what to do? Pick up a Chipotle vegetarian burrito or make nachos for dinner?

Coincidence?

It's a known fact that a lot of my dreams deal with an excessive amount of anxiety. I have at least three bad dreams a week and frequent nightmares. Rarely are the dreams dealing with actual events I'm worrying about in real life. When shopping at the mall, I don't fear that a huge alligator is going to gobble my friends and me. But that's happened in a dream. My dreams range from the standard "walking around in public with no pants" to "being pursued by a crazed murderer and watching him hack up a bunch of innocent people before its my turn" to some rather unique situations. Often these dreams include Chris, but not the kinds of things I spend time fretting about (like, is he going to bust his ass again playing ice hockey tonight).

I wouldn't even bother to bring up this dream if it wasn't for Tony's blog entry today. He mentioned Ricky Ricardo -- how often does that happen? Friday night I had a Ricky Ricardo anxiety dream and while Tony did not make an appearance, the subject of Tony did. TB and Chris can vouch for the dream because I shared it over dinner last night (although I didn't understand the significance of the second half of the dream and only shared the Ricky Ricardo part). Also, as you can gather from Tony's blog, he's been dealing with his own anxiety issues as of late. So what does this all mean? Interpretations are welcome. The dream below:

I brought Chris to a "literary" party. He had an injured leg so instead of sending him off to get me a drink, I asked him what he wanted. He asked for water and a Coke. When I came back with the drinks, he was canoodling with a woman I did not recognize and was singing the Ricky Ricardo "We're Having a Baby, My Baby and Me" song to this hussie. They ignored me, so I set the drinks down and decided to mingle. I was devastated that he knocked up this broad, but decided to be strong and not let it ruin my night. I bumped into a poet friend of mine who said "Let's first take care of business, you should know that I'm moving to Portland, Oregon." I said that I knew another poet from that area and mentioned Tony. My poet friend said he never heard of him. Then this friend grabbed my ass and walked away. I went back to the room where Chris was crooning his baby's mama, but they were gone.