Cold Mountain is on TV right now. Still cracks my ass up.

In Pittsburgh for the weekend, saw 300 last night. All I can say is: nice can!

Tomorrow is the first day of NaPoWriMo -- which I'll likely be writing in the car on the way home. Perhaps an Ode to Breezewood.

Did I say I was going to post these poems? Yes, yes I did. Well, OK then.

At Long Last: Shafer Hall's Never Cry Woof

Available today on Lulu for $15

Coming soon at Amazon, B&N and Powell's

Woof Woof!

Just approved Shafer's book -- check back late tonight for more information!

My Britney Moment

Aaack, crisis -- what to do?

Solution: New cut and color!



Bangs -- I haven't had those since 1994. They made me look young and I hated that -- now, I don't think that's such a bad thing.

Gideon didn't recognize me. I picked him up and he screamed, tried to get away. Eventually he figured out who I was. I think. I hope it's recognition and not super-quick acceptance of Daddy's new girlfriend.

Bringing the Poetry Back to the Jackal

Warning: I'll be trying my hand at NaPoWriMo -- it's my intention to post a new poem here every day in April.

Initially I was just going to post them to my secret poem blog -- but what fun is that?

To get in NaPoWriMo shape, below is a poem I wrote last night:

[snip!]

Modeling Our One-of-a-Kind Lolita & Gilda Necklaces by Caroline Maun

Last Night's Burlesque

had leather straps, two stripped dresses and a new Burlesque record of $69 (!!!). Check out the photos here.

What are you waiting for?

Where I'll Be Tonight

Watching Jill, Bernadette and Marcela TAKE IT OFF.

fyi

No Tell Motel is accepting submissions until the end of April. Our reading period will be closed from May until the end of August.

This Week at No Tell

Erika Howsare keeps changing by changing its understandings this week at No Tell Motel.

Weekend Bits

I'm pretty sure CNN reporter John King was on our plane back from Frankfurt. Recognized him sitting in business class as I boarded the plane. I gawked a good long time, even after he shot me a wtf? look. He's shorter and grayer than he looks on TV. Everybody is shorter and grayer in real life.

Chris was skeptical -- but at baggage claim there were silver equipment cases with "Property of CNN" stickers. Again, why he ever doubts me, I do not know.

* * *

On our trip I noticed Chris' jeans were all pretty ratty so last night we went to the Lucky Jeans store -- they're one of the few makers of an x-long jean (Chris has a '38 inseam). The store had one pair in his size, a different cut that he's used to -- leaner. He wasn't sure if he wanted them or not, but then Gideon sneezed so Chris wiped Gideon's nose using his bare hand and then directly onto the jeans he was trying on -- right in front of 2 salesmen -- so guess what? We bought the jeans.

Yeah, I know.

Monday Night is Almost Here

Burlesque Tomorrow!

Jill Alexander Essbaum, Bernadette Geyer and Marcela Sulak

Got back last night, just in time for "Friday Family Date Night" -- which isn't quite as romantic as it's predecessor, "Friday Date Night," but I can't say it's any less interesting. We leave for one week and Gideon's double dipping his chips!

Must have brought the gloomy Prague weather with us -- when we landed it was sunny and 72 degrees, it's now raining and dark.

Regular blogging will resume shortly -- but until then, hey, doesn't this guy look a little like Frank O'hara?

Museum of Communism

Wasn't permitted take pictures in the Black Madonna House (Museum of Czech Cubism) or during the tour of The Municipal House, therefore I will post more pictures from The Toy Museum in the Castle from Sunday. It's been overcast and raining the entire week. Not that I'm complaining. What I am complaining about are my wussy thin-soled boots that can't protect my cupcake feet from the mean cobblestones -- everything is cobblestone here. Yesterday I broke down and purchased a pair of moon boots. Now I can walk on flaming spikes. Another thing I'm gonna complain about: dinner last night. Not the dinner specifically, the meal was great, paid for by one of Chris' nice vendor friends, and we ordered two bottles of wine and dessert and it was totally Czech fancy. What I'm complaining about is table of gnarled, grizzled douche nozzles who complained about us being loud. See, we really weren't being loud, sure the guys had hearty laughs, but it was all behaved and nobody was drunk -- and we could hear the other table's conversation too -- besides, they were totally in my line of view, but I had the decency not to complain about being subjected to ugliness. I didn't fly through an ice storm all the way from Reston Fucking Virginia so I could gaze on Mr. Liverspot's shushing prune face, but it's something I had to deal with and I was big enough to take it in stride. I mean really, you step outside your house and go into the public sphere, you're going to have to tolerate a certain level of human behavior. Jovial nerds chuckling in a restaurant is not a particularly egregious offense. Trust me, I've witnessed and in a few cases committed egregious offenses.

But hey, look at these freaky toys:

A Moment of Ham Lucidity

According to Chris, I'm "ham crazy" -- I think there's ham in everything.

This Week at No Tell

Craig Perez ain’t had no lovin’ since January this week at No Tell Motel.

80's Avant-Garde Barbie

Click to enlarge

Dear Gideon

I hope you find the photo below as inspiring as I do. Embrace potty power!

Love, Mother

Made It

My scheduled 5 1/2 hour layover in Zurich was a mad rush to gate -- but I made it. I'm in Prague. Ordered chicken curry at a Thai restaurant and they sprinkled bacon on it. The Other Rebecca warned me of the hooved beast meat -- TOR knows what she's talking about.

Screw positive thinking -- 3.5 hours delayed. I still have a little wiggle room to catch my connecting flight, but I'm getting nervous.

Flight delayed an hour, which will be fine, if it's just an hour, oh, they just changed it to 90 minutes. Hmm, positive thinking, positive thinking.

The airport is a mad house -- lots of angry people, lots of long lines.

Doing all that last minute stuff one needs to do before leaving the country. Called the credit card company last night to let them know of my travel-- last time they shut off my card thinking it was stolen. They took my information, but said I had to call back today because the people who handle vacation overrides weren't in until the morning. I was annoyed, but glad I did. Apparently the person I spoke with last night set up the card to work in Paraguay.

Yesterday I recorded some poems and an interview for an upcoming Poetry Foundation project -- a walking poetry tour of Washington, DC. I'm going to be the Dupont Circle poet. Yee-haw. The foundation must have read here last week that I'm planning on giving them all my poetry wealth.

The 10 day Prague weather forecast predicts rain/snow for a good portion of my trip. This should trouble me, but it's not. I have a stack of over 100 books/journals that I've been trying to squeeze in time to read. It will not be the end of the world if I'm stuck inside somewhere.

For the Record

I could share my tale of humble beginnings and how I pursued my great American dream, my rise to mommy-blogging/poetry micropress publishing power. But seriously, that shit is pretty boring, at least coming from me -- and probably not especially rare. If you're really interested, buy my biography after I die. I'm sure my biographer (no doubt a very dear friend, the one person who'll visit me in the nursing home) will do a much better job presenting my pulled from bra straps story. I just wish I could be around to pick who plays me in the movie. Let it be stated for the public record, I do not want any descendants of Gwyneth Paltrow playing the role of Reb "Fucking" Livingston. I don't care what my goofy-ass grandchildren claim.

I'm envisioning an actor possessing the qualities of Lucille Ball, Lily Tomlin, Gilda Radner and Diane Keaton.

This Week at No Tell

Anne Heide makes her wine of them this week at No Tell Motel.

Behold: POET RAGE

She has opinions. Opinions contradicting your own. She keeps expressing them -- and she doesn't go out of her way to be sweet about it.

She must be infected with POET RAGE



Oh no, now she's eating her offspring!







Oh no, not the kitty cat! Hey wait, she's eating . . . that's kind of hot!



RAGE AGAINST THE PANCAKES!


Photos by terrified husband

Replacing the power source was the solution, long live No Tell!

After a morning of running around, Chris finally tracked the needed part to a store in Woodbridge. For those of you not familiar with northern VA geography -- let the phrase "fucking Woodbridge!" explain.

Hopefully this part will be the solution to the server problem.

Late night server malfunction -- No Tell Motel and No Tell Books (and the AWP pictures posted here) will be down until morning when we can get a new power supply.

I'm rich, bitch!

Apparently spending one's own money to publish and promote work one admires is not a good use for said money. I feel the shame and it burns. From here on out, any money originally intended for No Tell projects will be given to the Poetry Foundation.

A Day in the Life of a Culturally Elite Poet

7:30 a.m. Culturally Elite Poet Spawn wakes. I say, how about you go back to sleep? He doesn't. He's smelly, he needs a bath -- I contemplate Blake's "Songs of Innocence and Experience" and tell him he doesn't have it so bad. Wipe him with a warm wet cloth. Prepare breakfast: Cheerios. Toast. Fruit. Milk.

9:00 a.m.: Walk CEP spawn three doors down to daycare.

9:00 a.m - Noon: Correspond with other CEPs.

E-mail Shafer Hall, CEP, friend and poet whose first book, Never Cry Woof, will be published from my powerful and privileged press that I run from home on my personal laptop. I write, Shafer, on the very first page, do you think "Coin" in "Roman Coin datebook" should be capitalized?

Conduct e-mail exchanges with three other CEPs. Chat with additional CEPs via comment fields on poetry blogs.

12:30 p.m. - 1:00 p.m.: CEP exhaustion, take 30 minute nap.

1:00 p.m. - 2:00 p.m.: Personal phone call with non-CEP, doesn't even read poetry, therefore not blog-worthy.

2:00 p.m. - 3:00 pm.: Log submissions sent to the very influential online magazine I run from my home on my personal laptop and personal home server. Don't bother reading submissions, just note the names, decide who I personally like the best and/or intend to sleep with. Correlate with my AWP notes, make sure I reward all drink buyers and past tug job givers. Reject CEP who puked on my new AWP shoes -- make "I'm Reb 'Fucking' Livingston" statement.

3:00 p.m. - 4:30 p.m.: Pick up CEP spawn. Tie him to chair. Read my own poems outloud, gauge his reaction. Make appropriate edits.

4:30 p.m.: Take shower. Put CEP spawn in line-edit time-out.

5:00 p.m. - 6:00 p.m.: Dinner -- dinner-time conversation: Shel Silverstein is a proletariat cocksucker. Not in *my* house, mister!

6:00 p.m. - 7:30 p.m.: Poetry Memorization Fun Time! CEP spawn memorizes first 10 poems in Bedside Guide to No Tell Motel.

7:30 p.m. - 8:00 p.m: Jammie-Jam/TV Time. Tonight: Earth Girls are Easy (starring Pittsburgh native, Jeff Goldblum, unfortunately no CEPs were on TV tonight)

8:00 p.m. - 9:00 p.m.: Correspond with 3 additional CEPs. Accidently respond to e-mail from insecure cultural nobody poet. Realize mistake. Boil laptop. Pray correspondence never becomes public.

Did I mention I'm going to Prague next Friday?

I'm going to Prague next Friday.

I've always wanted to go to Prague.

To Borrow an Idea from Jill Essbaum and Pervert it into Something of My Own

We're all band geeks. Every poet. From the handful of poets with six-figure book deals to the tenure-tracked to the award-winning to the adjunct to the tug-job-giving to the diyer to the never-been-published. Too many people are focused on who gets to stand in front waving the stick. Nobody else really cares (probably cause they have no idea how often band geeks get laid) which must be why it's so important to the band geeks. I remember in high school all the band geeks passionately bitching over who was gonna be "drum major." I think that's what it was called, I don't remember -- cause I didn't fucking care. I was like, just get your asses on the field during half-time and entertain me, you zit-faced monkeys.

Excuse me, but I rub elbows with all the dregs of society from fiction writers to network security engineers. I'm a uniter, not a divider. Heh.

Yeah

That would be really nice -- we're all talking about it, why don't we do it?

AWP Grubby Hand Report

Upon Arrival by Paula Cisewski (Black Ocean)
Directions to Minus World by John F. Kersey (Black Ocean)
The Man Suit by Zachary Schomburg (Black Ocean)
A Useless Window by Carrie Olivia Adams (Black Ocean)

The Knife-Grasses by Julie Doxsee (Octopus Books)
The Ohio System by Jen Tynes & Erika Howsare (Octopus Books)
Perfect Villagers by Sueyeun Juliette Lee (Octopus Books)
DJ Spinoza's Dozen by Eugene Ostashevsky (Octopus Books)
The Book of Truants and Projectorlight by Joshua Marie Wilkinson (Octopus Books)
The Tides by Genya Turovskaya (Octopus Books)
The Continuing Misadventures of Andrew, the Headless Talking Bear by Jonah Winter (Octopus Books)
Goodnight Lung by Samuel Amadon (Octopus Books)

PP/FF: An Anthology edited by by Peter Connors (Starcherone Books)

Thanks for Sending the Engine by Elisa Gabbert (Kitchen Press)

See Also Electric Light by Jen Tynes (Dancing Girl Press)
Two Kind of Arson by Brandi Homan (Dancing Girl Press)
the animal husband by Christine Hamm (Dancing Girl Press)
Bestigial Portions of the Dead Sea Scrolls by Robyn Art (Dancing Girl Press)

Stigmata Errata Etcetera by Bill Knott (Saturnalia Books)
The Babies by Sabrina Orah Mark (Saturnalia Books)

mortal by Ivy Alvarez (Red Morning Press)

The Logal Topographies by Alena Hairston (Persea)

CDs
The Book of Ocean by Maryrose Larkin (i.e. Press)
Six Electronic Review Copies: DaDaDA, Locket, Secret Kitty, To Delite and Instruct, Paper Craft, Chanteuse/Cantatrice by Catherine Daly
Reassembling A Machinegun in the Dark (An Against Fidelity Production)

I Hear Penthouse Stories Pays

So No Tell Motel is receiving a metric ton of unusual submissions and quite a few "out there" queries. At first I chalked it all up to the mention in the last issue of P&W, but last night I discovered we're also mentioned in the latest issue of Writer's Digest.

Well, the submission box hasn't been dull, that's for sure. I think my favorite so far is the guy bitching at us for not mentioning in our guidelines whether or not we're a paying market. Now normally I would respond, but he specifically instructed that we not respond with our "cliche-ridden lectures" about how small presses can't pay and how he could provide a long list of small presses that do indeed pay. Hmm, I'm at a loss, he doesn't want my usual lecture and he's now forwarded that same e-mail to me 3 times in the past week, so I'm working on a new un-cliched lecture because I am nothing except here to serve:

Dear Sir,

Only a total douche nozzle would expect payment from an unaffiliated, unfunded online poetry magazine published by two housewives working from their livingroom sofas. Judging by your m4d query sk1llz, we'd be more inclined to pay you not to submit, but alas, as a small press we simply haven't the funds.

Discreetly Yours,

Reb "Fucking" Livingston

The Secret to my AWP Success

right in front of me. Behold.


And that's the last of the AWP pics, I think.

15 Minutes of Bedside Manners

100% Dynamite Photos - Everybody Else

100% Dynamite Photos - Jill Alexander Essbaum Edition

with Bruce Covey


with Fritz Ward


with Dan Nester

100% Dynamite Blow Up Synopsizes

I'll post some more dark, blurry photos in a bit, but here's what Betsy and Mathias wrote about the Saturday night reading.

For me, the highlights of AWP were the Pussipo and 100% Dynamite Blow Up readings -- both wildly awesome events that I am thrilled and honored to be invited to participate.

Much of the rest of the conference was a mixture of suck (it wasn't you, it was me) and making numerous "apology" rounds to the multitudes of poets I managed to insult. Seriously. I'm not even sure if I made peace with all cause I don't remember it all. There were so many and I was too drunk to keep accurate notes.

It's not like I wasn't warned, my Vedic horoscope stated:

Effect of Mercury
You will be able to see the other people's flaws and instead of keeping them to yourself you will bluntly point them out. This should be avoided because you may lose a lot of popularity. There may be too much rivalry and opposition from brothers and sister.

Yep, I'm definitely not getting voted queen at the next Poet Prom. And thank god I didn't bring TB along.

My Final Goal in Life

is to marry Ken Rumble so when I die my tombstone will read "Reb Rumble"

When Chris left at 6 a.m. this morning, I woke up and said "Have a good reading" -- twice, he corrected me several times before I realized he wasn't a poet and I wasn't still at AWP.

It's good to be back amongst the ones not on their way to poetry readings.

Pussipo Reading

Most of my pictures didn't really turn out -- it was a very dark space. Below are a few that don't look too terrible.

Better than pictures, MiPO recorded the event, listen here. It's well worth the listen.

Anne Boyer


Catherine Daly


Lara Glenum


Kate Greenstreet


Janet Holmes


Amy King


Me


Evie Shockley


Sandra Simonds