1) You can’t control what people think about you, so just be who you want to be. If they can’t catch up, or don’t want to, screw ‘em.

2) Gut instinct is just as important as cold calculation.

3) Dancing has nothing to do with rhythm, skill, or dexterity, but everything to do with letting your groove out.

4) The energy you spend on worrying about your present situation is always better served plotting your next move.

5) The fewer details you have in your alibi, the better it will go over.

6) The way to a man’s heart is not through his stomach, but his spinal column.

7) In your lifetime, you should take at least one road trip that has no destination.

You should make a habit of saying “thanks” to the people whom you love.

9) Having a low-market-value car does not exempt you from auto theft.

10) Life is too short to worry whether or not your socks match.

11) Baby carriages, in the wrong hands, are instruments of evil.

12) The more expensive your sunglasses are, the faster they’ll get pilfered.

13) Friends will buy you drinks; real friends know when you need those drinks without asking, which drinks will get you schnockered the fastest, and will physically block you from paying a dime when you need to tab out.

14) Never get into an eating contest with someone twice your weight.

15) You shouldn’t begrudge the nature of your family. Your mother is supposed to dote on you; your father is contractually obligated to lecture you on money; your siblings are legally bound to annoy you when you only have one nerve left.

16) You can drive from Dallas to Los Angeles in less than 24 hours.

17) Savor your moments of triumph when they come. Take notes. Get pictures when it’s feasible.

18) Always try to exceed your grasp, but don’t beat yourself up too hard when you fall short.

19) Pack light.

20) Learn which things you really need to keep, and how to throw things away.

21) Never turn down an invitation to a toga party.

22) Life is too short for bad beer, lousy music, or basic cable. You get what you pay for.

23) If a total stranger offers you a blow job, don’t be coy.

24) Walking on the grass releases oxygen, which makes the world a better place to live in. So, when you have an opportunity to walk on the grass, take it.

25) You can sleep when you’re dead.

26) Not everyone likes karaoke.

27) There are no strangers in the land of baseball.

28) Don’t be afraid to tell your friends what they need to know, regardless of how much it hurts. If you don’t, they will never hear it.

29) If you have no control over something, you must not agonize about it.

30) Learn how to say goodbye.

31) If you can’t laugh during sex, you’re not doing it right.

32) Not everyone appreciates being corrected on their grammar.

33) Don’t use inexperience as an excuse to be closed-minded.

34) Question everything. Blind faith is lethal.

35) If you think there’s a possibility your employer is taking advantage of you, the odds are overwhelming that your employer is not only doing it but trying to figure out new and exciting ways to exploit you even more.

36) Don’t delay joy.

37) You have two families in your life: the one you’re born into, and the one that you acquire along the way. I have been extremely lucky with both.

38) You should make a habit of telling the people you love that you do, in fact, love them. This doesn’t have to be awkward, or painful, or “cheapen the word.”

39) Crumbs… are.

40) Never – NEVER – think that “it can’t get any better than this,” or “it can’t get any worse than this.” The universe LOVES to hear you say that.

The record currently sits at 120 hours, set by Suresh Joachim on Canadian radio in June 2003. Joachim is a serial record breaker, holding the Guinness marks for over 60 different things like ironing, the largest bridal party, and longest distance on a treadmill.

Now, bear in mind, I’ve pulled a lot of all-nighters in my 40 years. The run-ups to Live Aid and Hands Across America were multi-day stretches without sleep. In my Twenties, there were full weekends without the slightest hint of snoozing – and a few of them were while drinking, which is supposed to make you groggier as the day progresses. I’ve pulled three different shifts for the Blogathon, where you blog for 24 hours straight at 30-minute intervals.

Well, after last night, Suresh can breathe a little easier… because there’s no way in hell this year’s model of Devin can go for six days without sleep. He barely lasted one.

The dress rehearsal for The Runsheet Thursday night ran until midnight, after which I went in to my new video editing gig to get my hours for the day. Following that, I did my usual Friday morning radio row appearances with Rich Hancock at Rational Broadcasting, and Pugs & Company on CNN 1190 Dallas. By the end of Pugs’ show, right around noon, I was begging for death. While I did make it home safely, I had an even more stupid idea, to attempt to stay up a little longer to balance out my sleep schedule (and not sleep away the remainder of the day. This lasted all of three hours, and I crashed for a three-hour nap. Around 6:00 pm, I woke back up, had dinner with Manda, watched the majority of the Rangers / Rays game, then crashed again, waking up at 7:00 am Saturday.

Kids, there’s a moral to this story – and I’m mostly telling it to myself, to document this little escapade for the pat of me that, around November, will start thinking of the six day radio shift for charity (and to set the record in the process). Because I know myself. Too well. By Halloween or so, I’ll start thinking “if I can prepare properly, and do a lot of caffeination, I can make it through a week.”

No, Future Devin, you bloody well can not.

You’re going to be 40 years old in a month, and you simply can not handle the physical strain on that kind of level. It’s a wonderful idea, and one that would be a great PR stunt for whatever projects you find yourself entwined in at that time. You’d likely raise a lot of money for whatever charity you attached yourself to. However, you’re overweight, have had a couple of heart issues, and aren’t built for that kind of marathon.

Perhaps, if you start preparing now – by losing the weight and keeping it off, doing some light jogging and the weight training that you have the equipment for in your garage yet collects dust and boxes – you can think about this for December 2011. Past that, get the idea out of your head. Really.

Roger Ebert can’t remember the last thing he ate. He can’t remember the last thing he drank, either, or the last thing he said. Of course, those things existed; those lasts happened. They just didn’t happen with enough warning for him to have bothered committing them to memory — it wasn’t as though he sat down, knowingly, to his last supper or last cup of coffee or to whisper a last word into Chaz’s ear. The doctors told him they were going to give him back his ability to eat, drink, and talk. But the doctors were wrong, weren’t they? On some morning or afternoon or evening, sometime in 2006, Ebert took his last bite and sip, and he spoke his last word.

Ebert’s lasts almost certainly took place in a hospital. That much he can guess. His last food was probably nothing special, except that it was: hot soup in a brown plastic bowl; maybe some oatmeal; perhaps a saltine or some canned peaches. His last drink? Water, most likely, but maybe juice, again slurped out of plastic with the tinfoil lid peeled back. The last thing he said? Ebert thinks about it for a few moments, and then his eyes go wide behind his glasses, and he looks out into space in case the answer is floating in the air somewhere. It isn’t. He looks surprised that he can’t remember.

Manda is surprised on how selective my memory is. It’s not stuff like “Why didn’t you remember to do this household chore?” or anything like that, but even more fundamental things like when I heard a certain story, or a joke that she told me weeks ago. It’s frustrating to her, and maddening to me.

I don’t know when I started having issues remembering things. It’s not an “old age” issue, nor is it any sort of ADHD. I can recall most things clearly… at least, I think I can.

Do I need to start writing everything down? I’ve got a speech-to-text iPhone program – do I need to start using that at every turn? “My keys are on the table.” “Manda’s keycard is on the mantle.” Banal.

There was a time when I thought my memory gaps were linked to my headaches, but now I’m not even sure the two have any correlation.

Now, I’m wondering if it has any similarity to what Roger’s missing from that amazing databank of his. When you think you need to remember something, you put it down into whatever filing system your Memory Warehouse uses. However, if you have a “last” something, but are making no effort to “make” it your last, is it as memorable?

Blathering, I know. I also know that misplacing my laptop bag isn’t close to being on par with what Roger’s going through. Just a catalyst.

With all of my attention focused on Red Carpet Crash, I haven’t been doing any personal blogging in months. With Twitter absorbing my random thoughts and dispersing ‘em to the cloud, anything longer form generally has to do with entertainment, so on to the Crash it goes.

Blogging about not blogging. If ever there was a narcissistic act, this would qualify.

• My neck.
• My shoulders, particularly the muscles behind my shoulder blades.
• My elbows.
• My sternum.
• Both of my knees.
• My ankles.
• There’s one tendon on the top of my left foot that has shifted out of place, and screams at me with each step.

I really don’t have a lot of trepidation about turning 40 next July. Yes, I think about it every now and then, but only to wonder what the hell happened to the last 39 years. It doesn’t seem like I’ve been alive that long, and the last 25 years have been one big blur.

So, now that I’m unemployed, you would think I’ve been relaxing a bit, trying to recharge my batteries.

Not even close.

I’ve been busier in the last three months than at any time in recent memory. Working to keep Red Carpet Crash stocked with new article and video content has been an all-consuming effort. Manda and I have seen more movies in the last eight weeks than we had in our previous 24 months. (Granted, the majority of ‘em were free, except for the second time I saw “Inglourious Basterds” and took Manda; or “G.I. Joe,” where the movie tried to kill me and wound up costing $1800. Lorenzo di Bonaventura’s about to get a bill from me.)

My point – and I swear to Buddha that I have one – is this. I do not feel like I’m pushing 40, nor do I feel like I’m even concerned with the prospect. Hell, there was a time when I was certain I wouldn’t live to see 30. Now, not only am I certain I’ll see the back side of “the hill,” but I have a reason to keep rolling on it. My best days physically may be behind me, but my best days as a human? Those are in front of me.

2) Ben & Skin are also gone from the CBS family. They’re drastically funny entertainers, who deserve a helluva lot better than what they got.

3)

4) My current project (other than trying to figure out where my next paying gig is, and keeping Manda happy) is a movie site called Red Carpet Crash. Head there, bookmark it, visit daily, tell your friends, sign up for the various contests, follow us on Twitter & Facebook, devote your free time to making RCC a success.

5) If you know of any job that would be anywhere near my skill set, please lemme know and I’ll take it from there.

Amanda says I get too long-winded in telling this story, but you know I love a good tale. It starts at City Streets, in Fort Worth, on Friday, 29 July 2005.

I had finally gotten a job that would allow me to get out of DJ work, a career I had pretty much had my fill of. It was my last weekend at the Blue Monkey Lounge, and I damn near didn’t show up for that night of work. Stupid dumb work ethic.

While I didn’t always follow my own advice, I tried to quit dating women I’ve met in bars. It never ended well. I broke this rule at my own peril… literally.

And, laws, did I hate bachlorette parties. There’s always a mindset within the participants that the room belongs to them, and regardless of the demands, they’ll have their way or hell will be dished out.

So, I was predisposed to dislike Erin and Amanda. They were the advance guard of Tanika’s bachlorette extravaganza, and were saving the big table. Amanda turned in a song, and in short order Ray handed me her slip.

“Really. She’s serious? Okay. Mandalicious, come on up.”

Stage names like that never bode well.

I then got a gander of the song she was singing. “Run-Around” by Blues Traveler? Easily one of the hardest songs we had in our catalog. I was thoroughly skeptical, and it came through in my introduction of her.

The track starts, and she nails it. Completely.

I was stunned. Gabberflasted.

Ray saw my look, and says to me, “She’s pretty good, huh?”

I pick my jaw off the floor, and regain a bit of my composure. “Yeah, but she hasn’t hit the second verse yet.” I cross my arms and wait. The second verse rolls around… and it’s better than the first.

The song ends, and the crowd gives her a good reaction. I stop her, and quiet the applause. “Folks, she just picked on of the hardest songs we have, and nailed it. Please give her another round of applause.”

In the middle of the clapping, she leans towards me, grabs my shirt front and pulls me close. She whispers in my ear, “There’s a reason they call me Mandalicious.” She lets go, leaving me standing on the stage, slack-jawed.

I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

We introduced ourselves properly after I started the next singer, and told Ray I was taking a break. We talked throughout the night, slow-danced to something good… kissed outside the bar.

I cornered Erin later in the night and said, “Tell me everything, now.” Erin replied, “She’s single. She likes you. Don’t fuck it up.”

As the night ended, I was invited to breakfast with the bachlorette party at an all-night joint called the Old South Pancake House — usually not a good thing, but everyone in the party dug me.

Erin hadn’t eaten anything substantial for the whole evening, so when she got to Old South, she was on the verge of hypoglycemic shock. I wound up taking care of her — “Hey, can I get another pitcher of orange juice here, please?” — while trying to get to know Amanda more. She’s a microbiologist, had been in and out of serious relationships for a while, and was open to dating again.

I wanted to spend a lot more time with her… but the whole thing was screwy. She had a wedding the next day, and I was leaving for Los Angeles for a week and a half he following Tuesday.

We sat there after figuring out we wouldn’t see each other for a couple of weeks. She batted her eyelashes at me.

“Your timing sucks.”

On the road trip out to Los Angeles, Amanda and I messaged each other through our phones at least twenty times a day. I’m not exaggerating.

By the second day, everyone was tired of hearing about Amanda, with the exception of Richard’s wife. She would see my face light up when Amanda would text message me, and she would start in immediately.

“Is that your lovah?” I would answer back non-chalantly at first, but after a while, the idea grew on me. “I hope so,” I started to respond.

That Saturday, I sequestered myself away from the rest of the group to do Blogathon. Being two time zones away, Amanda messaged cutely, “I’m two hours ahead – want to know how it ends?”

I messaged back, “We fall madly in love and live snappily ever after.”

It was the first time I had really given any thought to a serious relationship with her, and was totally fine with it. I didn’t know it at the time, but she was as well.

Now, being Los Angeles, and being out on a Wild Ass Circus trip, I could have gotten in a whole lot of trouble that week… but something held me back. Something wonderful was waiting for me back in Texas. I had no idea what, but at least I knew it. Now, i only had to not screw it up.

I’m not sure if anyone’s even reading the good ol’ El Blog, either by stopping by the blog’s page or by feed reader. But, just like Robert Neville, if there’s anyone listening, I’ve gotta broadcast.

Still working. This is certainly not a foregone conclusion.

Lost 50 pounds, on a “cookie” based diet called Smart For Life.

Manda and I have moved to Grand Prairie, away from the west Fort Worth house we’ve spent the last three years in. Not only is it closer to my work (by two-thirds), it’s also four miles closer to her work in south Fort Worth.

The big thing on my mind, though, is my mind. Or, more accurately, my brain.

In the last few years, there have been periods of weeks where I’ve had splitting headaches. They’ll come in batches, and sometimes they respond to Excedrin Migraine or other heavy-duty OTC meds. After a few of them, they go away and everything’s fine, until the next one.

If it was just headaches, I would chalk it up to stress. But there’s also the problem of my memory… and the holes in it.

With an increasing frequency, I’ve been forgetting things. Things like where the breaker box is in our new apartment, when I’ve told Manda that I’d found it and where it was when we moved in. Nothing of earth-shattering importance, like my wedding anniversary (May 27) or things of that nature. But I’m finding that I need to write down things every day, or I’ll lose the day-to-day stuff.

Hypochondriac? I didn’t use to be. Now, I’m wondering if I have cancer again. And I’m going to the doctor to find out next week.

I’m not writing this to be melodramatic, or make anyone worry. I guess it’s mostly for me. If nothing is wrong with me that time away from work or other methods of decompression would fix, I get to look back and say what an idiot I’ve been in the past. But, i there is something wrong, I can look back here and say that this was when I first acknowledged it.

• I sound bad.
• I look bad.

The audio on the clip is straight from the sound board, and I’m telling you (and have had this confirmed by people with nothing to gain by lying) I sounded a lot better than this clip makes it out to be.

Meanwhile, had I not seen myself in this video, I wouldn’t have been as motivated to lose the weight I’m losing now. That’s not just a muffin-top I’ve got working – it’s a full on undulating waistline overflow. Bleargh!

So, with all that said, here’s the footage of Masters of Nun performing live at the House of Blues (the full story’s here.)

If you’re following me on Twitter (and if not, why?), you know that I’ve been doing a retro music show called “Headspace” on the Indie-Verse. That’s the HD side channel for 105.3 The FAN, which is also streaming atIndie-Verse.com. “Headspace” is a lot like DaM Radio, in that I’m playing whatever I feel like as long as I find it moderately good. The “format” is loosely aligned as anything that falls between Talking Heads’ debut at CBGB’s and the release of Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” “Headspace” runs Tuesdays and Fridays at Noon CST.

Tomorrow’s show is a bit different, though. I saw that Wendy & Lisa were releasing their fifth album, White Flags of Winter Chimneys, independently of any recording studio – recorded, produced, and unleashed online all on their own. Can’t get more Indie than that. So, put in an interview request with their management, and a week later, I’m telling the Girl Brothers about the time I saw them, along with Prince & The Revolution, at Reunion Arena on New Year’s Day 1985.

The show that contains that conversation, along with tracks from their new and older albums, airs tomorrow at Noon. Listen in at Indie-Verse.com or on 105.3 HD2 in Dallas. You’ll dig it the most.

(If you’re good, I *might* post the interview in its entirety. It’s a good rollick through their careers, and I had to cut a lot of it out to fit in the hour I have on “Headspace.”)