THE TATTLER. The unofficial gossip column of the National Poetry Slam. For Saturday, August 12, 2000.

Happy Saturday, slammers, and welcome to issue 2 of "the gossip column I love to hate," as quoted by an anonymous attendee. (And we love to hate you TOO!) your faithful staff at THE TATTLER is once again ready to dish the dirt. Afraid? Confused? Take our hand as we walk down the road of slam gossip.

SUGAR AND SPICE, BUT WHERE'S THE VICE? Although we are grateful for the buckets of free liquor sent our way last night at the Met, THE TATTLER has a particular bone to pick with this year's contestants. Namely - when the hell did poets start getting married and stop doing drugs? Used to be (in what we like to call the salad days) that a trip to the nationals guaranteed you more pot than a Cheech and Chong marathon, and at least one slightly kinky dalliance behind a well-placed shrub or in a hotel laundry room. We are sorely disappointed in the general lack of pruient behavior at this year's competition! People, listen to us - stop the after-hours poetry circles, put down your Miller Lights, light up a big ol' doobie and get down to some serious third-base action. We know what we're talking about!

AND BY THE WAY...Kim Holzer Leeds would like you to know that she knows who the virgins are. If you would like more details on this enigmatic statement, please see her after the show.

BIG SHOULDERS, STEEL BALLS...A little bird whispers to THE TATTLER that a certain Palm-Pilot-wielding poet from Chicago gave a serious dressing-down to a certain poet from Ohio, over a poem he performed Thursday night on the subject of Chicago. Details are sketchy at this point, but informed sources tell us that the confrontation came to a crashing halt when the line was uttered, "Ahh, you're all just a bunch of fuckin' hippies anyway." Said one observer from Albquerque, "Man oh man, don't fuck with Chicago poets. They'll tear you a new asshole!" Nicely put, my friend.

HOOTCHIE MAMA! Reports continue to arrive to our sleek headquarters on the eighth floor of McNulty Hall, concerning various acts of public nudity about town. Thursday night during the second round of competition, a certain overenthusiastic member of the Woodstock team, getting a bit miffed at the audience, apparently hiked her leg up on the side of the stage, exposing the crowd to...well, let's just say that THE TATTLER has now seen two piercings that we never want to think about again. And in the always popular Prop Slam Thursday afternoon, our favorite Chico badass Bear apparently stripped to the birthday suit while performing her "yo mama" piece. Bear, we love ya! Now let's follow these fine examples after the finals tonight, shall we?

QUOTE OF THE DAY: From a woman who prefers to be anonymous, talking about her recent...um, frustrations, late Friday night in the dorms - "They claim that students come first here, but I guess visitors don't come at all!" Fight the power, our fresh funky friend.

THE HARDEST WORKING MAN IN SHOW BUSINESS: "Hi, I'm Nick Fox! I'm from Mesa!" Yes, Nick, hello. We know.

AND ANNOUNCING…THE FIRST ANNUAL TATTIES! After all that talk at the Slam Family meeting today about awards for the slam community, we here at THE TATTLER decided that too much is never enough. Here then are our picks for awards we would like to see the NPS hand out, compiled by your humble staff and our army of secret corrspondents.

(This newsletter is in no way affiliated with the National Poetry Slam, Slam Inc., the Providence festival staff, or any other part of this year's competition. Please share your TATTLER with your friends!)

Back to 'The Tattler'

Copyright 2000, Jason Pettus and Shappy Seasholtz. All rights reserved.