SwampLog: Blogathon 2005

Fin.

This was much harder than the 2003 'thon.  Not just because of the obstacle course, but also because the subject matter was so much closer to me.  I really haven't written about my bout with cancer, and it brought back so many memories.

To everyone who was a part of Blogathon 2005, thank you.  Thank you for staying up.  Thank you for making a difference.  Thank you for not being spectators.

To everyone who pledged money for the American Cancer Society, thank you from every cell of my body.

I'm going to sleep now.  Good night / morning.

Supply / Demand

The sad thing is, I'm downloading music from my server just as fast as I'm playing it on the Blogathon webcast.

I've really enjoyed doing the radio show this year, and I hope to do it again next year.  Yes, I'm volunteering again before I get done with the first one.

Rose just got back.  She went to go take a nap.  I told her it would be fine, since there wasn't going to be anything for her to do, and she's already been phenomenal all day long.  Rose rules.

30 minutes left.

The Final Countdown

One hour!  Sixty minutes!  3600 seconds!

Special props to Colleen, who answered the "Call Devin's Damned Cell Phone" challenge.  She's blogging on TinMonkey.com, and she really got me during that prank, since she's at the Center of all things Blogathon.  I'm just out on the fringes.  Hi, Sheana!

Yours Truly,
Hong Kong Phooey.

You Did Something

I just emphasized this point on the Radio Free Blogathon broadcast, but I want to say it again:

Each and every person who stayed awake for 24 hours for the only purpose of raising money for their favorite cause is a hero.

You are a hero because you didn't just give lip service to a cause.  You didn't count on someone else to do the work.  You didn't wait around for the problem to fix itself. 

You acted.  That's what heroes do.  And I am damned proud to be one of you.

Tally Of Stimulants and Blogging Fuel

Venti caramel macchiato (with very little caramel)
Grande house coffee
Cinnamon roll
Medium Coke
Big-ass fajita burrito (from Tacomole)
Regular Coke.
Classic Star burger w/ bacon (from Carl's, Jr.)
Venti caramel frappucino

...and that's all that has fueled me for the last 22 hours.  You have GOT to be kidding me.  How have I not passed the fuck out?!?

50 In 50: 1984 - 1993

Let's Go Crazy, Prince & the Revolution
Mother Universe, Soupdragons
Welcome To The Jungle, Guns 'N Roses
Black, Pearl Jam
Love Removal Machine, Cult
Your Love, the Outfield
Groove Is In The Heart, Deee-Lite
Boy (Go), Golden Palominos
The New Style, Beastie Boys
Hey Jack Kerouac, 10,000 Maniacs
Don't Change, INXS
It's Tricky, Run-DMC
Tempted, Squeeze

Honorable Mention:
Kayleigh, Marillion
Me, Myself & I, De La Soul
Elevate My Mind, Stereo MCs
Can't Truss It, Public Enemy
Centerfield, John Fogerty

Howdy, again!

It's linds, that canadian chick that D talked about ages ago.

At any rate , he's scrambling around like a chicken without it's head, trying to get blogathon radio up and working properly. Snafu indeed. So what's a girl to do, but come here, and cover his ass?

Now, if you were reading about oh.... nine hours ago, I posted something on the american myths about canadians. this time around I'm going to dish out some tunes to you, since that's what I'm doing for my blogathon run over on The Glamazon Shoe diaries.

I've got a lovely little ditty for you, One of Devin's favourites, and I should know. this man isa HUGE fan of queen, so what better to play than Fat bottomed girls, since i AM a fat bottomed girl, and I know D would appreciate it?

Without further ado, I've got Fat Bottomed Girls, by Queen, right here, on the swamplog B2k.

Kisses!

Linds

You Drive The Bus, You Fly The Plane

Okay.  The broadcast is underway, and I think I might be able to keep it between the ditches. 

The cool thing about broadcasting here at Starbucks is that it feels like I have my own studio... of course, it's surrounded by club kids and the aging hipsters sitting immediately to my right, staring at me through the glass.  (I had to angle my screen so they wouldn't read the last line.  Har.)

If you want to give a shout out to your site monitors, high pledgers, or other Blogathon participants, do it!  IM me using any of the links to the right, or e-mail me at blogathon@devinandmarty.com .  C'mon, world!  This is YOUR SHOW!

Hands Across America: Hold The Line

The event went by in far too much of a blur. My crew got in place early Sunday morning, to make sure that anyone getting there early would have an idea as to what was going on.

We had four pairs of line monitors. I worked with Tricia Haire, and couldn't tell you who else was paired with whom.

As the event time approached, someone called out that they needed a flag down at the end of our segment. There were two large American flags by Alisa Ulferts and Mike Reynolds. Alisa grabbed the flag, pole and all, and started running at full-sprint towards where it was needed. A photographer for the Dallas Times Herald saw this and snapped what was supposedly a gorgeous shot.

I never saw the photo, but someone said that it was stunning.

We linked up hands, and this electric feeling was everywhere. We sang the "The Star-Spangled Banner," "God Bless America," and those who knew it sang "Hands Across America." We swayed back and forth, and let the emotion wash over us all. And, all too briefly, it was over.

Once the line cleared out -- and they disappeared pretty quickly -- we packed up what gear we had left, and headed back to Dallas. There was an after party scheduled at the Fast & Cool Club on Greenville Ave, and although none of us were close to being able to go in there normally, we were told by everyone from the regional director on down that we HAD to go.

When the regional director was thanking everyone, my team was singled out as the youngest on the roster, and the one with the best retention rate in their segments. We were cheered, and someone picked me up from behind and shook me. I think might have been Don.

That night, I knew that I had a kind of a pull on my friends. If I believed in something enough, I was able to rope my friends along into joining me on the occasional crusade. I would get the "grand idea" from time to time, and through force of will alone, I was able to drag people along with me. This bit me on the ass later on, but it was all for a greater cause

Meanwhile, it's late. The party went on until midnight, and Don politely suggested we get the gang back to DeSoto. We're driving back from Dallas, the cheers and pats on the back and the genuine affection from everyone involved ringing in my ears... and Wendy is taking my chin in her hands and bringing my lips to hers.

We kissed in the back of Don's conversion pickup truck, holding hands, and watching as the full moon rose in our wake. Anything was possible. We could do anything. The world was ours.

When we got back to my grandmother's house, the parents of the majority of my teammates were there, and they were quite pissed. Well, mostly. The news coverage did a little to soften the blow of us being out far beyond our normal curfews. We said our goodbyes and congratulated each other once more on a job well done.

All told, HAA raised $20 million, which was distributed to over 1,600 homeless relief organizations around the country. Seven million people were a part of "the line." My team were responsible for 700 of them, and directly brought 75 to the party. The event may have been looked down upon by skeptics, but I would venture to say that out of those seven million people, at least half of them looked at homelessness in a different way following the event.

I didn't see a lot of Wendy in the months that followed. She moved soon afterward, and I never got to say goodbye. Nothing else came of the kiss.

Hold Yer Ears, Folks! It's Showtime!

Okay, I THINK I've ironed the kinks out. As long as the bandwidth holds up, I'll be broadcasting from 5:00 am EDT on at Live365.

If you are looking for something to do for your last four hours, click on the IM links to the side, and message me. I will play requests as best as I can, but honestly, this is held together by bailing wire and chewing gum on my end.

I'll finish the Hands Across America tale before the broadcast starts, and then I'll have a divided brain. Like that's anything new.

Hands Across America: Assembling The Team

I was assigned a section of the line.

To reset, I'm sixteen years old, a sophomore in high school, and I'm coordinating a charity event that is the talk of national media.  Pretty big stuff, but I was wired for this kind of thing.  Just wanted the opportunity, and here it was in my lap.

Once I was able to get the preliminary stuff in gear, the powers that be told me I needed to get my team together.  Since I had a half-mile-long segment, I needed to have eight other people working with me to keep everything from degenerating into chaos.  I rounded up my usual suspects -- Don Herring, Alisa Ulferts, Keith Black, Mike Reynolds, and a few others.

We started spending a lot of time in Dallas, off Main, where the Hands Across America regional offices were located.  We answered phones, filled out paperwork, and made ourselves integral parts of the organization.  Questions about our age were quickly silenced when we had Grand Prairie sewn up before Arlington or Fort Worth.  Helluva coup.

We were starting to hear reports that there wouldn't be enough people to fill out the line segments in desert areas like Arizona and New Mexico.  We didn't dwell on that -- just needed to worry about what we were doing.

Sunday, May 25, 1986 was here.  It was time to shine.

SNAFU!

I swear, if anything went according to Hoyle today, I would likely pass out.

The Live365 player, while doing quite well with every other file on my machine, isn't playing nice-nice with files purchased from the iTunes Music Store. Which means I have to call an audible and see if I can burn the files and start from scratch, with 90 minutes until I'm scheduled to take the helm of Radio Free Blogathon.

Hands Across America: Jump In Line

All in all, it was a heady time to be Devin.

I was emboldened by Live Aid and the New Activism of the '80s to try and get involved any way I could to help others. When Hands Across America was announced in the last months of 1985, I knew I had to get involved in some fashion.

So, I called the 800 number from the TV ad and asked them to send me an enrollment kit.  What came to my house was a long-form commercial on VHS along with the music video for Hands Across America.  I decided that I was going to roll my own little drive to populate the line, and get pledges for everyone that was interested in participating.

The way HAA worked was, you basically bought a place in line -- if memory serves, it was $35, and that got you a place in line, a certificate, and a t-shirt.  There were higher pledge levels, naturally, but I focused on getting as many people in line as I could.

I hit the high school population and my church, the two areas I knew I could get the most enrollment and money from.  By the time I was done, I had enough pledged money for 12 people to hop in line.

When I took the enrollment and pledge intakes to the Dallas headquarters, they asked if I would be interested in helping further.  There was no way I would say no.

the long and winding road

just hi. i'm guessing hardly anyone reading this will actually remember me, but my name is jessica - i used to have the sites notporn.org (like 7-8 years ago) and pika-grrl.net (like 4-5) and beautiful-geek.net (like 2-3) and now i have evilprincess.net. i did the 'thon for the first three years, and between the last one and this one i've let my blog slip off into vast nothingness.

but anyway. you get to hear about my fantasticly wonderful weekend. aren't you thrilled? hope you need a good laugh.

i semi live with my boyfriend - which for the most part is a coaster. he's unpredictable and petty, which can lead to some interesting conversations. i try and hold myself above being petty because i think it's stupid. if you have a problem, say it. don't be cheap. don't be spiteful. don't say things you know for a fact have no ground or empty threats. but every now and then, something else has set me wrong before he starts with me and i cannot resist temptation - and oh god, does he HATE to be proven wrong.

last night, i saw my boyfriend get really upset and show any type of adult behavior in being able to just say what's on his mind, except none of it was directed at me. he and his brother were getting into a fight that's been about - eh, two months in the making. my boyfriend's been annoyed by something for a while and after about two months of him bitching to me about it, i told him unless he said not to, i was going to say something 'cause i was tired of hearing it.

that's a trait some of my friends have a problem with. my honesty. but they can fuck off. don't do things you're not proud of and you won't have to lie now will you.

anyway.

he asked me to leave for a while because he was border line and wanted some time alone, which was fine with me. i didn't really know what to do with him and i could tell he needed it. i wasn't planning on going back when i left, but an hour later - and drunk unknown to me - he told me to come back. we watched some tv and *cough* went to bed kinda early as he was getting up to go fishing this morning and i was exhausted from work and looking forward to sleeping in.

he leaves the computer signed online to AOL when he leaves, preventing anyone else from logging onto it, which is kinda fuckin' annoyin' if you ask me. his computer also has modem and rebooting issues and kicks him off always.

he got up. went fishin'. left aol on. i woke up. vegged in bed until i saw him get booted off. signed on. he came back.

let the fighting begin.

"did you kick me off" no "you're lying" no im not "yes you are i know you are" no i'm not. stupid bicker, petty remark, low blow, cheap stab, etc. all this going on 'bout 9am, barely even awake, as i'm packing everything i own out of his house because his way of ending the yes you are no i'm not phase was to say "get the fuck out of my bed and out of my house". i leave, call someone i consider one of my best friends (simply for the fact that tho he may not be around much, when i NEED him he is THERE), go to his house and hang out for the day with him at his job.

i didn't talk to chris (my boyfriend) for hours. i was too upset. i didn't want to even deal with it. but before i left there i said a few things i'd been wanting to say for a while, but i'm the type of person who'd usually rather get over something than argue about it, then when i finally get mad enough to say something, let everything that's been on my mind spill out. finally, out of boredom, i read a few of them and started talking to him.

i don't know why. i kinda wish i hadn't. i don't know what i'm going to do. i don't know what i want to do. i live an odd kinda life style. most of my friends are dj's, for a good while i was well known in "the club scene", and yes. i party like a rockstar. chris is not involved in this part of my life. i like this. that way when he is an ass to me, i have something that's completly and totally mine. he cannot stand most of my friends because of the things we choose to do when we go out. he has problems trusting me when i say i'm not "doing anything" because some of my friends have a good amount of whatever i want only a phone call a way.

i have many logical reasons i'm with him. he keeps me out of trouble, for one thing. and on a schedule. and i need that right now. if given the chance, i'll meander off with my friends for the night until 2am and i can't afford to do that with my job as far away as it is. we get along fairly well when he's not playing on his mood swings. we're also "good" together, if ya know what i mean (heh). and he lets me beat up on him a lil bit from time to time when i'm bored. we like to cook together. read.

i have no emotional reasons i'm with him. i miss him now. it's the first time we've spend a night apart in months. i told him i was going to stay out tonight to clear my head.

how did i go from being very content that i was done with him to missing him and looking forward to seeing him tomorrow? why did i let myself get back into this at all? i should have left him alone when i told him to piss off the first time. i wound up telling him a LOT of shit i thought and felt in reguards to how he treats me and how he acts and his attitude in general and how much i think it sucks lately and that he has to change.

said he would try.

but do i really believe him? can i believe him? i'm not sure if i have the heart to.

what do you think? email me and tell me.

Shifting Gears

Alright, with the Cancer thread worked to its conclusion, there's one more story I want to tell tonight. The 20th anniversary of Live Aid (and the Live8 shows) have made me think a LOT about my own foray into Big Charity. Had I not done this, I probably wouldn't have been doing the Blogathon events.

I need to gather my thoughts, but after our final Guest Post of the night, I'll tell youse guys about my experiences with Hands Across America. May 1986 was a great time to be Devin...

Easter Egg

I believe in love at first sight. Some call it chemistry. I like to think of it as magic. It may not happen at first sight, but there is a moment where you cross the threshold from mere conversation to "Holy
crap! This person is absolutely amazing!"

It's similar to feeling like you've been hit over the head with a breakaway chair (I would imagine.
I've never been hit with one.). I think how you react to that moment can change your life. Do you pursue the feeling or do you dismiss it?

Sometimes the feeling goes both ways and sometimes it's "close but just not quite a bull's eye." I think the worst thing that can happen if you try is that even if it doesn't work out, you have the experience and all the growing that happens when someone really cool shares a part of their life with you.

That's worth risking a little heartache, isn't it?

=M=

Devin Gets Cancer: Part Four, Climbing Back

February 24, 1995. I had gone through six session of chemotherapy and radiation treatment. Looked garish. Had the bumpiest skull this side of a Klingon. Wished for death by the third session, and had a visit by God that doesn't sound nearly right on screen.

And there I am, in Doctor Jameson's office, hearing him say something else.

"You're in remission."

I didn't know how to react. Was I grateful, had I become accustomed to the cancer, was I suspicious? It was all of these things in the end. Jameson listed out a schedule for me to have tests run to make sure the cancer didn't come back over the next five years, but the words kept ringing in my ears.

"You're in remission."

When someone I know finds out I have beaten cancer --

Wait. I didn't "beat" cancer. Not by myself.

If it weren't for Jameson and his amazing staff, or my circle of friends like Marty and Thomas, or my family, or the folks at the American Cancer Society... I wouldn't have survived. It was a group effort, and together, we beat cancer.

I'm damned lucky. I have a perspective on life now that I didn't have before. I have a life. And I'm living it right now.

50 In 50: 1974 - 1983

Bear in mind that the next two decades were the hardest to get down to ten songs each. I'm still arguing with myself on which ones to whittle down. So, there'll be an honorable mention list for each.

These are in no order.

Stayin’ Alive, the Bee Gees
Surrender, Cheap Trick
Two Hearts Beat As One, U2
Separate Ways, Journey
We Got The Beat, Go-Gos
Bohemian Rhapsody, Queen
Money, Pink Floyd
American Girl, Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers
Fortunate Son, Creedence Clearwater Revival
Give Up The Funk, Parliament Funkadelic

Honorable Mention:
I Know What Boys Like, the Waitresses
Southern Cross, Crosby, Stills & Nash
Wildfire, Michael Martin Murphey
Life In The Fast Lane, Eagles
Words, Missing Persons
Running With The Devil, Van Halen
You May Be Right, Billy Joel
Don’t Stand So Close To Me, the Police

...Okay, So Where We?

Team SwampLog is living up to its name.

When the AC adapter for my Powerbook decided to poop the bed, I thought I was royally screwed.  I should never underestimate my friends.  Lola and Marty did a great job making sure I had enough time to get a replacement adapter, get to the 24-hour Starbucks and get ready for the home stretch.

While I'm glad to see each and every pledge up there, we're only about halfway to the goal of $1000 for the Tarrant County chapter of the American Cancer Society.  If you're waiting for the end of the event, DON'T.  If you want to program the hour of DAMradio but want to make sure you don't ge outbid, QUIT IT.

All three Schwag items are still up for grabs.  I'm really fond of each item, and if you aren't, you should go take a look again at each item (one) (two) (three).  Once these go off the block, they won't be offered again.  Period.

We're now on Ventura, east of Sepulveda.  If you're out and about, come by and say "hi."

Baseball as Religion.

Baseball as Religion.

"I believe in the church of baseball. I've tried all the other major religions...."

They retired Former Rangers' manager Johnny Oates' number today. I was there. I was nearly moved to tears. I had only met Layst once, and that was briefly, but it was important for me to be at the Ballpark while they honor this man.

In the years since my bar-mitzvah, I had often wondered why I couldn't feel passion about religion. What was that I was missing? Judaism is fine and seems to be the core values that I come back to most -- don't steal, don't kill, why pay retail when your uncle Sol can get you a deal.... When most kids were experimenting with booze, sex and drugs, I experimented with the Christianities in high school, flirting with the Mormon religion (okay, it was so I could spend time with Kim Kilgore) and Church LIte, I mean Methodist (okay, it was so I could spend time with Karen Vasquez).

I have never understood the zeal with which people pursue their religion, and living here in the buckle of the bible belt, on would think that I have plenty of opportunities to observe this phenomenon. I couldn't understand the passion of the Baptists. I couldn't understand how their lives can revolve so much around their church. I wondered what it was that I was missing.

Then, last season, I had one of those post drunken epiphanies, sitting on the big steps inside the Ballpark one Sunday morning when all the good folks were just getting out of service. To me, baseball is my religion. There is the ritual -- the first pitch, standing for the national anthem, The Clap. There are the hymns -- the national anthem, Willie Mickey & The Duke, everyone please turn to page 66 in your programs to join us in "Take Me Out To the Ballgame". There is the congregation -- those people who you see at the game every week.

It's the feeling of belonging that I get when I pass through those hallowed gates. It's the serenity I have knowing that even after September, there's still four more weeks of baseball and the promise of another season only months away. It's that when I am at a game, I know most people are there just because their company gave them the season tickets, or they're with a date or let's go to the ballpark to get drunk. But then I meet the people -- maybe not the ones who track every pitch, every strike, every fielder's choice -- but the people who follow the game, and I know I am not alone. I have found kind.

=M=

It's A Mixed-Up Jumbled-Up Shook-Up World

(By way of introduction I mention to you now that three years ago I was a smouldering young thing with nothing more on my mind but makin' it and Courvoisier but today's post will serve well to show you that I have, quite unfortunately:  Grown Up.)

Today I did three things that I have never done before:

1)  Made my own dog food

2)  Watched an entire foreign film without falling asleep

3)  Drank champagne with breakfast.

The first thing is easy to explain--our dachshund suffered a herniated disc in May that required an MRI and some fairly invasive spinal surgery.  His recovery seemed to be going great until last week, when he started showing weakness in his hind legs again.  Our regular vet said we had two options:  Take him back to the neurosurgeon, who might recommend another $5000 MRI/surgery combo; or we could see the holistic vet at $140 a pop. 

We went to the holistic vet.  Who offered nothing less than DOGGIE ACUPUNCTURE.  I am pleased that human existence has progressed to this point, where we want for nothing and consume everything but oh my god I feel like such an unbelievable yuppie, having taken my dog to an ACUPUNCTURIST. 

Short version of the story is that she recommended several types of supplements combined with homemade dog food (1 oz. starch, 2 oz. veggies, 3 oz. protein) so that's what I did today.  I was a little concerned--it looked so BLAND but what was I going to do?  I don't think Scooter (the dachshund in question) would appreciate it if I kicked it up a notch; nor would I much appreciate it if he yakked in the bed again.  It turns out that WHOA he ate like we'd been starving him for weeks--looks like the recipe was a success!

...

Number two is easy to explain--If you've seen The Motorcycle Diaries, you'll know what I'm talking about.  Who could resist two hours of Gael Garcia Bernal?  NOT ME.  Honestly, that man is hot enough to put on my toast and eat for breakfast. 

...Which brings us to my third point:  Drinking with breakfast.  Normally I spend Saturday morning knitting with my ladiez at a terrific coffee shop a few minutes from home, but today I was required to stay home and wait for the Orkin Man (bees in the attic.  don't ask.) so what better solution than to have the ladiez come HERE for knitting?  No better solution, I assure you.  I made a killer frittata (cave-aged gruyere, crumbled english bangers, bell peppers & shallots) and the world's worst bellinis.  Turns out there's a reason why bellinis are made with peaches and not raspberries! 

So there you go, three amazing things I've never done before--I heartily recommend every one of them to you.

Up For The Down Stroke

In all of the frenzy to get the technology at bay, I completely missed the halfway mark for the Blogathon.

Yippee.

You'll pardon me if I'm not entirely enthused, but the technical difficulties have sapped me.  I won't be able to finish the "50 in 50" series until I can hop on my server at home and get the master document, and I won't be able to do that until I get a machine of my own.

There are plans in place.  Plans within plans.  And I'm counting on everything to fall into step so I can fulfill my obligation to you, dear reader / listener.

There are groovy things planned.  The last four hours of Radio Free Blogathon are mine to shape and mold as I see fit... if you're taking the ride with me to the finish line, I invite each and every one of you to roll "The Last Mile" with me, from 5:00 am - 9:00 am EDT.

Happy thoughts... happy thoughts...

The next voice you'll read is Lola Getz.  Don't let her resigned aire fool you -- she's a hot minx.

Schwag Auction Number Three, Y'all!

Item Number Three is now open for bids: a Free Pass at the world famous Moonlite Bunny Ranch!

Dennis Hof, the Pimpmaster General of the United States, is a very giving individual.  When we approached him for a unique giveaway for today's Blogathon, we figured he would be able to hook us up with a selection of shirts or other memorabilia from the Bunny Ranch.

Dennis would have none of it.  Period.

He instead offered a free pass at the Moonlite Bunny Ranch in Carson City, Nevada. 

Please understand: this is only a free pass for one round of service.  This does NOT include transportation to or from Carson City, nor does it include lodging at the Bunny Ranch.  And it DAMN SURE does not include gratuity.

That said, if you've seen HBO's "Cathouse," you know that this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to experience the amazing ladies of the Moonlite Bunny Ranch for yourself.

Starting right now (9:00 pm EDT), bidders need to send an e-mail to blogathon@devinandmarty.com with the amount they would like to bid on the item. The item has a minimum bid of $100, and is valued at far more than that.  The bidding will only last until the end of the Blogathon, at 9:00 am EDT.  One hour prior to the end of the auction (at 8:00 am EDT), I'll post an update on the bidding. If you want the item, send in your best bid. Don't wait around to "snipe" the item, since it won't work that way.

If you are the winner, I will e-mail you with instructions to make that amount as a pledge for the Blogathon.

So, get bidding... Now!

Please Note -- When the Powerbook went down, there were bids on both existing items -- the Girls Gone Wild promo pack and original Yirmumah! production art.  Those bids need to be re-submitted at this time, and bidding will be held open until the end of Blogathon.  Make your bid now.

One Mystery Solved

Well, we found Jess.  She missed her Guest Post slot because of some domestic strife.  She asked me to relay the following bit:

Jessica's tip for the day: do not let your anger get the best of you and expect people to speak to you after. Think before you act.

Good advice for any situation.  She says she'll try to hop on and talk about it later.

Shattering Your Illusions

Hello everybody, Linds here, that Canadian Chick that Devin was mentioning some 12 odd hours ago. I'm escaping from my turf over at the Glamazon Shoe Diaries to do a scheduled guest post for Mister Pike, which, I'm thinking couldn't be better timing for him, while he sorts out some minor technical difficulties. Dev's over at GSD, writing his own post, so lets get this party, started.

Now, it's come to my attention that you Yanks have some funky ideas about Canada, and I'd like to dispel some myths, some urban legends about Canada.

1.) Do you guys live in igloos?

Uhm. No. Not unless my igloo has stucco siding. Right now it's about 30 degrees celcius, which is comparable to about 86 degrees fahrenheit. It's smokin' hot here. And I'm stuck in the dungeon, instead of roasting in the glorious sunshine.

2.) Do we have Dogsleds to travel around the place?

No again. Not unless my galpal has a 250 dog-powered Ford Escort Z2X. 

3.) Mike G asked me, once, rather tongue in cheek, the saucy tit, if we ate blubber sandwiches for Lunch. I'm sure SOME do, but y'know, it's not like we go out and kill whales to get grub. We have supermarkets, we have Safeway, fer gawd's sakes, and I should know, I was an employee there for almost five years.

4.) Do you guys wear those cute little "Mount Me" hats?

Sweetheart, No. I believe what your talking about is the "Mountie" or the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. the general public doesn't wear those. I was told once by a friend from Seattle, that the style of clothing we wear is fairly european in style, but not liederhosen etc. The typical canadian is usually seen sporting a pair of jeans, sneakers, a hooded sweater, and a smile.

I've run out of time, but I'm sure Devin would appreciate another stopover from this sassy Canadian broad. (You guys know that this is all tongue in cheek, yes?)

At any rate Au Revoir from the Great White North!

Devin Gets Cancer: Part Three, Radiation Vibe

Since the growth was directly under my larynx, the odds of me keeping my voice were 30-70.  Doc Jameson agreed with me that going after the growth with chemo and light radiation treatment would be the better way to go for the long term.

I had heard horror stories about chemotherapy, and no one could really tell me why.  The one person who I knew that had gone through treatment, Blender, wouldn't talk about it.  The night I decided to go with chemo, I gave him a $20 bill and said, "We're doing chemo."  He proceeded to get me rip-roaringly drunk.  That was the last time either of us mentioned it.

There are now three ways you can get chemotherapy, but ten years ago, the "pill" wasn't available outside of a research project.  You either had to get the treatment as an injection similar to a flu shot, or on an IV drip.  The drip was more effective with my immune system, so that's how we went for the six sessions.

The radiation was a bit more subtle -- a small gun, aimed at the area my growth inhabited, caused a warm sensation on my neck.  The chemo was different.

I read somewhere that chemo kills you by degrees.  After the third session, I believed it.  I couldn't keep any food down for a day after treatment, and my once stocky frame was less and less defined.  At my lowest, I had dropped to 138 pounds (67 kilograms).  Then, after the third session, I was in the shower.  My hair started coming out in clumps while I was washing it.

I got pissed.

Pissed at God, pissed at science, butmostly, pissed at myself.

Outside of my inner circle of friends -- Marty, Thomas, Blender, and Joe -- very few people know what I was going through.  I would pass off the stomach distress as bad pizza or whatnot.  But I was NOT going to walk around looking like I had mange. 

I grabbed my razor, and shaved my head.  Bald.

This made it impossible to ignore.  Jackasses at the club would see the head and comment, "Hey, what, are you going through chemo or something?  Har."  When I would tell them, "Yes, I am," it shut them up in a hurry.

When I went to see Doc Jameson for my follow up from the third session, he gaped at my skull.  "What did you do?!?"

"Screw this.  I'm tired of hiding behind a full head of hair!  I'm facing this thing head on, and this cancer can suck on it!  If people can't handle it, they can, too!"

Jameson tried not to bust out laughing.  "You lost some hair, didn't you?"

"Yes, I did!  And that's the last time I'll ever lose hair from this.  If any more comes off, it'll be form me!"

"You goofball."

It was my turn to gape.

"You do remember I told you that there would be some gradual loss, then nothing more, right?"

He was right.  He did tell me that, but in my rage, I had completely forgotten it.  Which, in the long run, was fine, because I think having the bald pate caused me to quit hiding behind everything else and face my cancer once and for all.

Murphy's Law of Tech

You have GOT to be kididng me.

My trusty Powerbook G3 -- the road warrior that has been a bastion of dependability for five years (you see where this is going, right?) -- gave up the ghost in the last hour.  I'm holed up at an internet cafe on La Brea, hoping that I can get a replacement Powerbook in the next two hours.

Once again, Mike G has busted eight miles of ninja ass to keep the SwampLog posts coming.  Thanks to him, and with luck, we can finally break the $500 barrier due to his efforts.

In other news... you cheeky bastards had better start pledging and bidding.  I'm not screwing around here.  If one of the two items we have on bidding blocks would appeal to any of your friends, bid for them.  What, you're too cheap to get something good for your friend?

I'll get back on track with posts, including Part Three of Devin Gets Cancer.  I swear, the story does have a happy ending.

At least now I don't have to worry about adrenaline.

A World Watches...

Huh.

The power of the 'net.

Some background. Dev's off gallavanting in La-La-land with the P1WAC to cover the X Games and Cowboys training Camp. He then gets the crazy-wacky idea that he can do the blogathon too. I, in my infinite generosity offer to lend a hand here in Dallas.

Right at 7:00, he calls me in a panic saying the laptop id no more and can I do a post. Readers, thank the lovely Linds that I was at my PC in the first place, doing a guest post.

Right now I'm not sure what's going on. Heck, he might have a post done while I was writing this. I know enough not to count him out though.

Mike G.

AAAHHHH!!!

CRISIS:

from LA I just got the word that Dev's laptop died.

Will update as news comes in.

Mike G.

Boingy, Boingy, Boingy...

Okay, The last time I did this (in 2003), the only time I ventured out of the Swamp was to go to Starbucks for a few hours, then head back to the Swamp.

50 In 50: 1964 - 1973

Help, the Beatles

I could have picked any one of a dozen or more Beatles songs, but I truly think 'Help' personifies why the Fab Four were so timeless.

All Right Now, Free

Classic riff, blues improv in the break, and Paul Rodgers' made-for-AOR howl. Can't get any better.

All Day and All Of The Night, Kinks

I've said it repeatedly -- the Kinks don't get nearly enough credit for being innovators of rock. You can cut this song open, look at the rings, and see the genesis of hundreds of rock bands after it.

All the Young Dudes, Mott the Hoople

Glam was captured by Ian Hunter and company with this track.

Won’t Get Fooled Again, the Who

Meet the new boss. Same as the old boss.

Can’t Find My Way Home, Blind Faith

A personal favorite, which has Eric Clapton, Ginger Baker, Steve Winwood and Rick Grech making ethereal magic.

Get It Together, James Brown
Get Up (I Feel Like A) Sex Machine, James Brown

Listen to 'em separately or as a pair, and you have Kid Dynamite turning into the Hardest Working Man in Show Business before your very ears.

Gimme Shelter, the Rolling Stones

The plaintive nature of Jagger's voice in this pushes your heart to ache.

Try A Little Tenderness, Otis Redding

You've got to have soul, and Redding owned it. In Spades.

Schwag Auction Number Two, Y'all!

Item Number Two is now open for bids: Production art from the webcomic Yirmumah!

DJ Coffman and Bob McDeavitt draw the funniest funny on the Web. Period! Anyone who disputes it needs to go see for themselves. They want to help Kick Cancer's ASS, so they're offering up the original art for their strip, "Cave of Cliches." This is truly a one-of-a-kind item.

Starting right now (6:30 pm EDT), bidders need to send an e-mail to blogathon@devinandmarty.com with the amount they would like to bid on the item. The item has a minimum bid of $100, and is valued at far more than that. The bidding will only last one hour. At the halfway mark, I'll post an update on the bidding. If you want the item, send in your best bid. Don't wait around to "snipe" the item, since it won't work that way.

If you are the winner, I will e-mail you with instructions to make that amount as a pledge for the Blogathon.

So, get bidding... Now!

P.S. -- Since none of youse guys bid on the First Schwag Item, the Girls Gone Wild prize pack personalized by GGW founder Joe Francis and other entertainers, it is now sitting up for grabs. Make your bid now.

Robyn Simms Cozies Up To Us

The rules are simple -- each person has 120 seconds to tell us all about their thang. Start the clock!

D: So, tell me about the comedy troupe.

Robyn: The Tiny Bandeleros are a long-form improv group here in Los Angeles. We perform regularly at Acme Comedy Theatre on La Brea and all over town as the opportunity arises. We'll be at the Improv Olympic West on Hollywood Boulevard on the last Saturday of the month, and we'll be at the Out of Bounds Improv Festival in Austin on September 10 - Saturday night.

D: Have you played in Austin or Texas before, or is it your first time?

R: It's our first time, though one of our members, Brandon Burkhart, is originally from Texas. He went to college in Austin and grew up somewhere around there, and he's excited to be performing at home. I've been to Texas before -- I was there for Mike Alonzo's wedding. A lot of comedy people were there and we had a great time. We're really looking forward to this trip!

D: Could you imagine promoting a comedy show without the internet, the way troupes had to promote 10 years ago?

R: I can barely remember life before the Internet in general. I don't know how I booked plane tickets, talked to my friends, did anything, never mind promoting something. i've been doing comedy for a long time, back to when we went down to Kinkos, xeroxed flyers and passed them out. The Internet is great. It puts you in touch with people all around the planet.

D: You just got married, and you used a jug band. What's the story there?

R: It was an ultimatum: We couldn't get married unless there was a jug band. Steve wouldn't get married without a jug band playing the Imperial March. So I said, "OK". And that decision was made in Texas.

Robyn blogs as well. The wedding photos are enough to drive you hypoglycemic.

3X Last Rites...

It looks like Devin doesn't know to leave well enough alone. Mike G. here with another guest post. Given that I have to follow up Girls Gone Wild talk, this is an uphill battle.

So how about a near-death experience?

Well, sort of.

Once upon a time, way way back in sixth grade, I wasn't feeling too good one day. I figured it was a simple stomachache, and decided to soldier on. I actually fought through it for at least two days. Looking back, I'm still at a loss as to why, since pain and I have never been close. On the afternoon of the second day, it was getting to be too much. It was decided that my parents should be called and according to my mom, I was a very sickly pale of yellow. Not this bad, but maybe close.

So it was off to the doctor. The normal examinations were done, and the order was handed down to go to another doctor. This new doctor did pretty much the same thing and decided that my appendix [the do-not-remove mattress tag of the human body] had to go. So in less than two hours, I had gone from classroom to office to office to hospital bed. Then I'm in an operating room being told to count backward...

I woke up surrounded by my parents and other relatives, then quickly passed out again. A few hours later, I had a visitor. Some quick background first:

I'm Catholic born and raised[with minimal scarring]. My folks sent me to a private Episcoplalian School from K-6th grade. On my first day in Junior High, I almost asked where the chapel was.

So my visitor was the reverend from my school. We spoke for a while and he said a prayer for me, which was nice. About an hour later, the priest from my church stops by for pretty much the same thing. I was okay with this at first. Besides, it's a good idea to cover all the bases.

After lunch I had a third guest. A close family friend asked their minister form the Baptist Church to say hello. I was very polite , but underneath I'm starting to sweat bullets. After he left, I remember asking my parents if there was something that they weren't telling me.

Believe me, this story isn't meant to overshadow Devin's tale of courage. I'm in awe that he continues to do a lot of what he does. I just thought this might make someone chuckle.

Courage,

Mike G.

Devin Gets Cancer: Part Two, Bearing The Bad News

The blood work came back with the same results: I had throat cancer.  No two ways about it.

When I was told this, there was a weird rushing sound in my ears, and the doctor, in quick order, gave me the name and number of an oncologist, who could better work with my treatment.  I know he did, because I had the phone number in my hand a couple of hours later.  I'm certain I wandered around Presbyterian Hospital for a while, and when my friend Chris found me in the hallway, he took me across the street so I could have a sub sandwich.

I had not been working at Dallas Alley for a few months, but was still quite friendly with the staff.  So, that night (a Wednesday), I went to see Blender, a bartender who had gone through prostate cancer treatment two years prior.

"They were right.  I have cancer."

I was expecting ... well, I don't know what I was expecting.  Blender came around the bar, hugged me.  I cried for a very long time.  He didn't say anything.

He asked me precisely what kind of cancer I had, and I couldn't tell him.  None of the paperwork I had with me had the official diagnosis on it, and he got pissed.  That's when he told me to get on the horn the following morning and call up the American Cancer Society.  They'd get me the information I needed.

By the time I got to see the oncologist the next week, the ACS told me everything I needed to know about my cancer: what it was (stage II oropharangeal carcinoma), where it came from (genetics, most likely, since I didn't smoke or live in a high-risk pollution area), what the survival rate was for the stage I was in (quite high -- over 80 percent), and what my treatment options were.

When I went to see Doctor Jameson, I had an idea what I wanted to do to get after this growth under my throat.  He agreed.  We were going to go after it with chemotherapy and radiation.

Schwag Auction Number One, Y'all!

Item Number One is now open for bids: a Girls Gone Wild gift bag, personalized by GGW founder / millionaire playboy Joe Francis and other entertainers

Starting right now (4:30 pm EDT), bidders need to send an e-mail to blogathon@devinandmarty.com with the amount they would like to bid on the item. The item has a minimum bid of $100, and is valued at retail far more than that. The bidding will only last one hour. At the halfway mark, I'll post an update on the bidding. If you want the item, send in your best bid. Don't wait around to "snipe" the item, since it won't work that way.

If you are the winner, I will e-mail you with instructions to make that amount as a pledge for the Blogathon.

So, get bidding... Now!

50 In 50: 1954 - 1963

This is a project I threatened to do months ago, but never did the bloody thing justice. The way I figure it, today's as good of a time as any.

To recap:

Rolling Stone is marking the Fiftieth Annivesary of Rock this year, noting that Elvis Presley's Sun Studios sessions were in July 1954. Something I've always toyed with was taking the last fifty years to task and making my list of the "Fifty Best Songs of the Last Fifty Years" for the site, and the first batch of those songs is listed below.

Here are the guidelines: Wholly objective. You will not have heard of quite a few of them, and I'll try my best to have links to them through the iTunes Music Store. There will also be ample lobbying for your favorite songs, but it will do no good. Make your own damned list. The list will piss me off. I hope it pisses you off as well.

Hey! Bo Diddley, Bo Diddley

Rock musicians owe so much to Bo Diddley, and I would be amazed if a quarter of 'em know it. From the beat to the rhyme structure, it's like listening to rock's family tree.

That’ll Be The Day, Buddy Holly & the Crickets

Like so many in this part of the list, Holly did his part to change music... from his garage. This and "Oh Boy" will never sound dated to my ears.

Wipeout, Surfaris

Surf rock was a burgeoning form of rock, but this simple paean to bustin' waves and bustin' ass was a revelation.

Maybelline, Chuck Berry

Unparalleled. Berry was the real deal then, as he is now.

Money (That's What I Want), Barrett Strong

You've heard so many versions of this song, but Strong had a real fire behind him. I'm thinking there was a heartbreak somewhere in there.

Crazy, Patsy Cline

A ballsy broad the likes of which we'll never see again. I'm certain she could kick Faith Hill's ass.

Ain’t That A Shame, Fats Domino

A bridge between the blues and rock, Domino's rollicking piano was rock before the term had been invented.

Rock Around The Clock, Bill Haley & the Comets

Do you have to ask?

Blue Suede Shoes, Carl Perkins
Hound Dog, Elvis Presley
Long Tall Sally, Little Richard
Whole Lotta Shakin’ Goin' On, Jerry Lee Lewis

I'll think of these four songs as the cornerstone upon which the last 50 years of rock was constructed. I'll cheat here, since these are not one song, but part of the whole.

Discuss!

Well, Phart.

I have no idea where Jess ran off to. I'll spank her later.

Thanks to Mike G, who stepped up to the plate to fill the post void. I've said just this week that Mike is pure genius on so many levels... but his damned humility keeps getting in the way.

The next mini-meme should make up for the whole disjointed bit. I hope.

Everything Old...

Hi Folks,

Mike G. here, fufilling the role of the juggler while the clowns cart off the broken bodies of the trapeze artists.

I usually ply my trade over at Churn, but Devin asked me to help out during his quest to kick cancer's ass. Personally, I think he just wants some time to convince a few struggling actresses that he's a producer and shoot some 'test footage', but that's neither here nor there.

So here's some knowledge you can share with your local nerd. It may come in handy one of these days.

Remember Star Wars Episode III? One of the elements that managed to be cool and retarded at the same time was the droid general Grievous. Bad-Ass killer Robot? Yes please. Bad-Ass killer Robot with asthma? Uhhh...

But one of the elements that made him more palatable were his bodygaurds, known as IG-100 MagnaGuards. Designed by Grievous himself, they were fierce warriors. Instead of being programmed, Grievous chose to train them, ensuring that they would learn the way he wanted them to. He also refused to maintain their outer cortosis shells, which made them look battle hardened and more imposing.

And now the kicker.

If you recall the famous bounty hunter scene in Empire, you'll notice a particular droid known as IG-88. Design elements of the MagnaGaurd and the Lancer droid [seen in the Clone Wars cartoon] went into the 88's creation.

And now you know.

Courage,

Mike G.

Quickie Post

The next voice you hear is supposed to be Jess, from Beautiful-Geek fame.

Except I haven't heard back from her yet.  She said she was fine with the time...

I'll post something more substantive in a bit if she remains off the radar.

Office Gossip

I'm kind of disappointed there's no aspiring actors, screenwriters, or such at the 7th and Figueroa Starbucks. The closest I've come today is right now, where the gent sitting 10 feet from me looks like Franco from 'Rescue Me.' And I'm too shagged out to ask.

This is in direct contrast to yesterday's Starbucks visit, where there were no less than three screenwriters and two looking-for-work actors at the Hollywood & Vine location. The kicker to it all was the one (might have been an actor or a writer) who was talking to some phantom voice on a cell phone that may or may not have been on. "Well, that was four months ago, when I was working on that pilot for the WB." Wow.

I do like Los Angeles. The vibe here is like any other big city, such as Chicago, New York, or Dallas. Everyone's on their way to or from something, trying to get down the road and get out of your way. That said, the "work" a lot of these cats are heading to / from is entertainment. Whether it's music, movies, television, radio, or whatever, it's still their day job.

Listening to Dan Haggarty at dinner Thursday night, it struck me at first how many times his stories were peppered with references to other actors, until I got it. It's just like he was talking about people at his office, or in another branch of the business. Office gossip is still office gossip, and there's always someone leaving the cover sheet off the TPS report, and someone getting banged in the copy room.

Devin Gets Cancer: Part One, Breaking The News

I had just gotten done with my first physical I'd had in seven years. My father told me, in that way he always did when he wanted to shame me into doing something, "If you have something wrong with you, you won't know it until it's too late."

Dammit.

So, I had them poke and prod me incessantly for a few hours. Blood work, glands checked, reflexes measured, puffs of air blown into my eyes and hard plastic cones shoved into my ears. Thank Bog I wasn't 35, or I would have had to start singing "Moon River."

After the date came and went for them to call me back in to the doctor's office so I can get the results, I began to get a little anxious. There's a phone call to set up an appointment, three days late. I'm huffy.

When the doctor finally walks into the brightly lit room, I'm pacing. "Come on," I'm thinking, "out with it."

He says hi, then opens my file folder. Looks at it again. Looks at me. "We want you to have some more tests."

"More tests? C'mon, you have to know me better than I know myself after all that."

"Nevertheless, there's something that we need to make sure of."

"What, do I have cancer or something?"

Silence. The kind of silence that doctors use to let stuff sink in. Hard. They have to teach this kind of stuff in medical school.

"Maybe you should sit down."

He tells me that there's some abnormal readings from my white cells from the blood work, and it's consistent with cancerous lymph node transmission. He'll have the blood work done by the end of the week. It's a rush job.

At least, I'm pretty sure he told me this. It was kind of dark and fuzzy in there, all of the sudden.

Previews of Coming Attractions

No, it's me. It's really me. The Marty in devinandmarty.com. I realize that my celebrity status in this whole soiré is by means of riding Devin's coattails on this one. I also realize that this is a bonus post. Some might call it an interruption.

I'm in a strange mood today. I don't write often. I should perhaps post more. Live in The Swamp is always at least...interesting. But, today, to help D out, I'm honored to be part of this event. Personally, I think he invited me as a guest blogger just so he could get an hour or so of shut-eye. Or booze. Or both.

So, my blog opens tonight at midnight. This blog has not yet been rated. Please turn off all cell-phones and pagers during the blog. Sit back and enjoy the show.

=M=

Overheard

Last night, I had dinner with the wonderful / amazing / effervescent Rose Auerbach.

R: If you had lived in L.A., you would have likely been married and divorced by now.
D: You mean, more than I already have?
R: I keep telling you, the lesbian you married in Vegas doesn't count.
Bollocks!  Elvis said "I do," and we were.
R: Anyway, you know what I mean.
D: See, I couldn't get married to an L.A. girl.  The bullshit meters are set far lower than anyone in Texas.  It's hard enough to get Texas women to respond to my unique and charming brand of bullshit.  I would have to come up with new and exciting forms of bullshit to compete.
R: It's not that our meter is set lower... but look at what we have to deal with.  L.A. is filled with musicians and actors.  The math is inescapable.
D: So, what you're saying is that, out here, my bullshit wouldn't stink?
R: I'm saying your bullshit would be a different brand, and that might give you an edge.

Alright, What's In It For Me?

As I type this, there's $295 pledged for the American Cancer Society. I'm eternally grateful to everyone who has pledged.

However, a lot of you haven't. You're not going to burn in hell or anything, but you do want to know one simple thing:

"What do I get out of it? You're going to type whether I pledge or not."

That's accurate. But, because I'm a giving person, I'm going to let you in on a little secret... there's pledge incentives coming. I'll 'splain.

The person who pledges the highest single amount today will get to program a whole hour of DAMradio on Friday, August 26. This podcast, though highly illegal, is heard and adored worldwide by stockbrokers in New York, tour guides in Australia, and US Army personnel stationed in Iraq. It's your big chance to inflict your musical tastes on the world.

We also have three one-of-a-kind items to offer up, and these are excellent:

• 4:30 pm EDT: A Girls Gone Wild gift bag, personalized by GGW founder / millionaire playboy Joe Francis and other entertainers
• 6:30 pm EDT: An original piece of art from Yirmumah! creators DJ Coffman and Bob McDeavitt
• 8:30 pm EDT: A "free pass" at the Moonlite Bunny Ranch in Carson City, Nevada (as seen on HBO's award-winning series 'Cathouse'), courtesy of Bunny Ranch owner Dennis Hof

Here's how this will work:

Starting at the times listed above, bidders will send an e-mail to blogathon@devinandmarty.com with the amount they would like to bid on the item. Each item has a minimum bid of $100, and each item is worth far more than that. No bids will be accepted in advance of the start time, and bidding will only last one hour.

At the halfway mark, I'll post an update on the bidding. If you want the item, send in your best bid. Don't wait around to "snipe" the item, since it won't work that way. Meh.

Spread the word today -- if you know someone who would like any of the items listed, call them. E-mail them. Do it NOW.

No one ever said charity ever had to be polite.

No Room On The Sidelines

"The art of living is more like wrestling than dancing." -- Marcus Aurelius

I've been asked repeatedly while getting ready for this week why I would head out for a week to Los Angeles -- and in the middle of hanging out with Pauly Shore, Bobby Trendy and Dan Haggerty, take a whole day and devote it to holding a Powerbook and spilling my synapses.

Marty told me once that I am the most fearless person he knows. I think the exact opposite is true. He believes that my attitude towards life stems from a lack of repercussions. In much the same manner as an employee who looks at his boss after he's already turned in his two weeks' notice and says, "What are you going to do -- fire me?" he thinks I have the bit of dialogue with God, saying "What are you going to do -- kill me?"

Believe me, I'm not nearly that much of a nihilist.

I think my attitude towards life stems from a deep-seated fear to "missing out." I don't want life to be a spectator sport. That's why I take every opportunity I can to experience it at close range. It's why I jumped at the chance to head up to the top of the Stratosphere, and it's why I have a little bit of sympathy for those who didn't take the ride.

The title of my 2005 year-end CD, in fact, is borrowed from Hunter S. Thompson. 'Buy The Ticket, Take The Ride.' Great advice from a giant of a man.

Letting It All Hang Out

While on the way into Las Vegas on Wednesday, the P1 Wild Ass Circus van passed by the Stratosphere Hotel & Casino. The spire, reminiscent of Seattle's Space Needle, has four thrill rides at the top of its 900-foot tower.

Everyone in the van was looking at the rides, shaking their heads, saying "There is no way you could get me on that damned thing."

Everyone, that is, except me.

This is the video clip we produced for the site, showing that I have no fear of heights, or certain death if there's a ride malfunction. It's an 18.9 MB QuickTime clip, and you can download the free player here. Enjoy.

Team SwampLog

There'll actually be a few guest characters showing up today, doing Guest Posts:

All times are Eastern Daylight Time...

Jessica, from Beautiful Geek fame  -- 3:00 pm
Mike G, America's favorite 28-year-old comic book geek -- 5:30 pm
Ty Walker, the inexplicably right-leaning sports reporter -- 7:30 pm
Linds, some Canadian chick I know -- 9:30 pm
Lola Getz, the first blogger I had a crush on -- 11:00 pm
Marty Yawnick, the Boogaloo Shrimp to my Shabba Doo -- 1:00 am

They'll be detouring the festivities at (for the most part) randomly selected times, at my request.  They all rock the planet.

Yes, this means I have a rudimentary roadmap as to what I'm doing today.  Don't ask me how I managed it.  I have no brain cells to rub together.  I need more coffee.

There's a guy two tables from me with earplugs in.  I guess he doesn't like Starbucks' selection of music.  He's a moron -- they're playing Sly & The Family Stone right now.  Righteous.

Early Faves

You should be surfing the Blogathon Webring, located over there to the right, so you can see what people worldwide are doing for their respective charities. There's a lot of great people working their ass off all day. Here's some of my favorites early on:

For The Love Of Greys is a site by Jenny & Kimmie, benefitting Greyhound Adoptions of Florida. Greyhounds are my second favorite breed of dogs -- if I didn't say that boxers were my fave, Nik would surely beat my ass.

Erik Anderson is the first DJ working Radio Free Blogathon, doing a great job holding down the dawn patrol. Check out his blog while he keeps the radio station between the ditches. (By the way, I'm working the graveyard shift -- 5:00 - 9:00 am EDT) for Radio Free Blogathon. Graveyard. AGAIN!!!

Lindsey LeBlanc is blogging for the Canadian Cancer Foundation, so you know for a fact that she's going to get some pimpin' from me. Also, she has tasty nipple rings.

It IS A Visual Medium, After All...

Some photos from the first hours of the 'thon.  Apologies for the slapdash nature of the pics -- I'm still struggling with basic motor skills.