I muddle through my life as alienated as William Hurt's faintly bemused turn in the Accidental Tourist. Nobody does faintly bemused better than William Hurt.
There are some bright spots though. Among them is my divorce from money. I no longer deal with cash. All transactions are done with my trusty debit card. And I only deal with stores where I do the card-sliding so no one's grimy fingers touch my card. The only exception used to be fast food joints. But I don't eat there anymore and if I did they'd probably accept debit cards too.
I know this sounds a bit OCD. I also don't touch the bathroom door at work. I refuse to shake hands with people unless they are giving me large sums of money. I go out of my way to avoid being run over by women pushing double-strollers. The only person who touches me is my wife.
But I never get sick unless I am forced to fly on a plane full of coughing AIDS patients.
My alienation from humanity began with the advent of hands-free cell phones. Or maybe they are walky-talkies, I dunno. All I know is that when I see you carrying on animated conversations seemingly with yourself you look like a homeless person or a mental patient. And it makes me very uncomfortable.
Ah but I do keep tabs on y'all via my numerous media. I read several newspapers. I know that hundreds of thosands of criminals took to the streets in protest. They think it's a bad thing that laws are going to be enforced. I can't help but wonder why the INS wasn't on hand to round them up en masse. How silly is that?
I see that the UN Security Council, which is chock-full of nuke-hoarding nations, voted unanimously to condemn Iran's nuclear program. I am reminded of the times we used to steal pot from Whore Hey's mom, who admonished him not to use drugs. I mean, how hypocritical is that?
Since I can't attend concerts I read the reviews. I am amazed that such washed-up bands as the Outlaws, Molly Hatchet and Jethro Tull are still out there withstanding the rigors of the road to eke out a living. Isn't there something else they could be doing? Molly Hatchet once opened for my stepdaughter's band at a joint called Jak's. How embarassing is that?
Well my hands-free is ringing. I gotta go now.
by mg at 12:02 AM on March 28, 2006
The truth is that between being a parent, a husband, a prole, and an amateur bass fisherman, I don't have much spare time to devote to being a blog superstar myself, much less read any other blogs or blog-like web sites.
And while there isn't much you all can do to help me with the former, you can help me with the latter. (Or the second one. I always get the confused).
I can't say I'm likely to find much time to read them with any regularity, I'd like some advice on web sites that you all think are cool and think I, other anyone else reading the comments here, might enjoy.
I've been on the web now for almost 12 years, and at various points over that span I've spent as much as 20 hours a day actually on the web (we call that dark period "mg discovers mud's and nearly fails out of college"). Considering that my job is all about the inter-net, I do still spend a good chunk of my day in the ether.
But the parts of the day I spend on the web for personal pleasure are usually spent doing things pretty boring, like getting my finances in order, getting directions from here to there, or looking at furniture porn.
By some estimates there are now 8 billion weblogs. That average about 1.2 blogs for every person on the planet. But it can be so overwhelming that I don't even know where to begin anymore.
So, I'm counting on you clue me in. Do it and help a brother out.
Here is a relatively tame (work-safe) image of one Adriana Lima. Most of the other images of her aren't so work-safe. I invite you to google her to your heart's content and see just what I mean.
Some might be aware that she once dated Yankee shortstop and major hunk Derek Jeter.
This check has been in the news because she told GQ magazine that she is still technically a virgin. Now some who've seen her pix might find this a little hard (har-har) to believe. Not me. I think it is totally normal for a 20-something Victoria's Secret model to deny the superstar multimillionaire hunk her booty for an extended period of time. I mean, it's not like he could just as easily snag any Vicky's model he so desired or anything. So of course he'd keep dating her despite the platonic nature of their relationship.
I wonder if it was like old-time high school with the fumbling in the back of a limo and repeated, "No don't do thats" being ignored. He's a shortstop. I wonder if he even got to second base with her.
In 1963 the Pill was introduced, ushering in the so-called Sexual Revolution. All of this was very important as evidenced by the Capital Letters. Women were liberated at last! Before long they'd win the vote. But somewhere along the way the whole liberation thing got subverted, or even perverted.
Now, at an increasingly younger age, girls feel they must put out to be accepted. This is in part due to simple laws of supply and demand (see example above. They aren't dating anymore, are they?) Rival girls will do anything and guys tend to gravitate that way. (Here's your 50 bucks Mary. LTL!)
There isn't much anyone can do about that. But if you have or plan to have young daughters it is damn wearisome examining their underwear after every date or hook-up or whatever it is called these days. I'm glad mine (stepdaughters) are grown and married.
Would I feel the same way were my son to benefit from this newfound largess? No.
In recent months the following has taken place here: A guy called another guy a clown. A while later the one pumped six slugs into the other's head, laughing, "Who's the clown now?"
That isn't all. Two guys were in a liquor store. One tells the other that he (I'm not making this up) needn't snap the suspenders of a woman if he wanted to speak with her. So naturally the other guys pulls out his pistol and guns him down. Over at KFC one guy tried to shake another's hand. He lost his life as a result. Serves him right, no?
Some guys were playing in a pickup basketball game. A guy was watching when he became aware that another guy was eyeballing him. He didn't care for the way he was looking at him so he shot him dead.
Two guys were arguing about a pit bull with a propensity for jumping the fence. Wasn't long before they were chasing one another through the hood, firing randomly. Both wound up dead. They basically killed each other over a dog, which came out unscathed.
At another b-ball game there were two hard, flagrant fouls. A scuffle ensued among the players. A spectator joined the fray, stabbing a 17 year to death in front of his younger brothers.
Somebody took some laundry soap that didn't belong to him. He too is now dead from gunshot wounds.
What is the common denominator here? Guys. Oh sure, chicks will kill people when it is absolutely necessary. But leave it to guys to perpetrate this kind of senseless mayhem.
Or not. A woman stabbed another because she wore a dress without asking permission. In this hood it's all about respect.
Don't you dis me.
There's an old song called Desperados Waiting for a Train. There's another called Desperado. Although I assume this is a Spanish derivative of the English "desperate," just as bravura is of "bravery," I really have no conception of what it means. Oh sure I've had my share of scary situations and scrapes with the law. But I've never been a desperado. I've never been Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid hole up in that in that shack in Paraguay or wherever, surrounding by the entire national army. They take a quick look at each other, dash out with guns a-blazing and are promptly cut down in a hail of gunfire. No, that has never happened to me.
I'm a sucker for those A&E crime biopics. I love the narrator's somber tone as he tells tales of unbelievably sordid cruelty. The other day they featured cannibal/child molester/all-around asshole Jeff Dahmer. There was an adult black man calmly telling the camera about his encounter with Dahmer. First he asks him to come to his apartment to take nude pix for $50. Then he plies him with warm drink that is laced with a sedative. He slaps a handcuff on one hand, pulls a steak knife and propositions him. Then he talks about his fish tank. There's a strange smell like rotting meat, as there are folks rotting in vats. There's a human skull in the fridge and a skeleton in the bedroom, where they wind up watching Exorcist III, Dahmer's favorite flick. You know something is wrong when a cheapie sequel is someone's fave movie.
And yet he says there were moments when he seemed like a lucid, nice guy. Just an average Joe with a skinless noggin in the fridge and a stinky crib. He commented that the furniture seemed nice.
There was no mention of him attacking the frail Dahmer and attempting to slit his throat. Even though that is clearly what the situation called for. You might not know exactly where this is headed i.e. that you are tonight's entree, but you must know it isn't going to end swimmingly.
As Bob Dylan pointed out, you've got nothing to lose. You're desperate. You're a Desperado Waiting for a Train. Why not make your move, take a chance, roll the dice? What have you to lose? Your life? All indications are that you're going to lose it one way or the other, passively or in a blaze of glory.
I'd pick on my own terms. Extreme violence. And I always like my chances in violent situations, because I have no feelings one way or the other. When things start to heat up my emotions shut down. I am indifferent and cruel. Just like Dahmer, except I don't scarf folks anymore.
That's why I always wonder about the hundreds of people aboard the 9/11 flights that struck the Trade Center and Pentagon. When crazed Arabs wielding box cutters seize control of an airplane and start flying it toward an urban area at a high rate of speed, dude, it's over. You are a goner. No chance of survival. But y'all outnumber the subhuman scum 10-1. Why not pummel them and if possible beat them within inches of their lives, deny them their martyrdom and then feed them their own dick and balls as appetizers?
That would be the only decent thing to do, after all. Why sit there meekly being led to the slaughter by Mo Atta with his huge head that wouldn't even fit in Dahmer's fridge?
The good Senator Feingold is at it again, publicly using the word that the Democrats are scared to say but the Republicans loved to toss about during the Clinton administration (hint: sounds like a delicious Georgia stonefruit).
I am not a legal expert. I'm not even a law student (yet). I also don't have all of the facts, and I suspect Mr. Feingold also does not. And there is a good chance that, depending on how recent acts of Congress are interpreted, President Bush did nothing illegal when he authorized spying on American shores without a court order. But if he didn't do anything wrong, then he has nothing to be afraid of, right? If he's innocent then he should be happy to bring his case, with actual evidence this time Mr. President, to the American people so he can put this issue to rest and get on with his brush-clearing in Crawford or whatever it is that he does while his advisors decide what his policies are.
There are two things that make me think that he's not so innocent. The first is that whenever people ask him about the program, he talks about the results (which he also won't specify) instead of the actual legal footing that allows him to have such a program to begin with. Results are irrelevant - that's simply not how our laws work. Extenuating circumstances make the punishment less severe, they don't make the guilt go away. I also heard Mr. Cheney say earlier that Bush "clearly has the power" to make such authorizations. This isn't the first time I've heard this language from the Vice President. When someone uses the word 'clearly' instead of telling us WHY he thinks his point should be clear, it's usually because he has no actual evidence.
You want me to believe you? Give me something that actually has an judgeable truth value.
In the 9th grade I had a girlfriend, to the extent you can have one when you don't drive. Mostly we'd just sneaak off and roll around in the autumn leaves. There was lots of chest-heaving ministrations but no finale. Overall a rather frustrating experience for all.
At that age fumbling guys don't know how to close the deal. Though the girl would likely go along with it, he just can't get over the hump so to speak. Part of the problem is the tight pants teenage girls favor. They can be as difficult to take off as a bra can be to unsnap. When you're nervous.
Brenda was what is now known as a butterface. Pronounced curves, mousy face. Lots of fun, great personality. Prone to wearing flannel shirts with corduroys.
Our little romance fizzled out. By the next year I'd figured out a few things. Armed with my newfound prowess I'd approach her; but there was always a hangup. Busy with studies, new boyfriend with car, whatever.
Then came the news that swept the school. She'd been riding along with said boyfriend. She was leaning out of the passenger door for no particular reason, as high schoolers tend to do. He got too close to the curb and her head struck a telephone pole and was removed. D-capped like Nick Berg. Something straight out of the Jim Carrroll Band's People Who Died. A snuff filmmaker couldn't have crafted a more horrific script.
Everyone was greatly saddened by this news, as she was a genuinely nice person. Had she lived, plastic surgery might have solved the unfortunate butterface issue. Then she could have become a model or an actress or something. But I was struck by the utter finality of.... death. She was the first in a long string of my acquaintences to meet with an untimely demise.
Death is forever. Alas.
You might have head about this case that arose last month. Seemed pretty clear cut. A 19 year old Norwegian Disney employee is strolling down the street at 4Am, high as a kite. 4 French Disney employees grab her and drag her back to their apartment and take turns raping her.
Except for one thing: it wasn't true. This chick just met 4 random Frenchies who happened to be her coworkers, went to their apartment and banged them all, just like Liz Phair promised to do.
There is a study done about Norwegian sexuality. One in five women have had more than one sex partner in the same night. So I guess there's a precedent.
What could possibly motivate these ladies to level such charges? When you've decided to bang 4 Frenchies at 4AM, and you wake up the next morn with a bout of remorse and a raging hangover, shake it off and gulp down a handful of morning after pills and some Vicodin chased with screwdrivers. That is what I would do.
In an odd twist newspapers are publishing the women's names, branding them as sluts for all the world to see, and witholding the men's. There are even rumblings that they were somehow "victims" of the whole sordid affair.
Rape is such an emotionally charged issue. Few people would admit it, but for some it can be a turn-on. They might even say that the pool table rape of Jodie Foster's character in The Accused ranks right up there with the famous threesome scene in Wild Things.
I guess I only have two original thoughts to share. One, it is well established that rape is a crime of violence, not sex. But is it always? Aren't there some rapists who are super-horny but strike out with every woman they meet and they're either too scared or poor to solicit a prositute? And I think date-rapists should be punished more severely than the traditional ones lurking behind the Dumpster. At least the latter requires some effort to forcibly subdue a struggling victim. I'd think, like stabbing someone to death, it is much harder than it looks on film. And if you try to force oral on her, drastic John Bobbitish consequences can ensue.
While I researching this, I ran across another case involving several men and a sixteen year old vixen. The site had a link to the video (and audio!) tape that exonerated them. Since I am so squeamish about cookies I didn't click it. Now I can't find it. But it is out there if anyone cares to humt it down.
by mg at 09:13 AM on March 07, 2006
A new survey reveals that Americans know more about the Simpsons than they do about the First Amendment. (link)
Only 1 in 1000 of those surveyed were able to name all five freedoms guaranteed by the First Amendment, while 1 in 5 could name all five members of the Simpsons family. Only 1 in 4 could name more than two of the five freedoms, yet more than 1 in 2 could name at least two members of the Simpsons family.
Before I read this, Iíd be real bummed to admit that I could only name 4 of the 5 First Amendment Freedoms. But after reading the article and knowing that only 69% were able to even get Freedom of Speech, the Homer Simpson of freedoms, Iím feeling much better about myself. But then I read that 87% know more Ralph Wiggumís quotes than I do, so it bummed me out again.
The results of this survey sounds bad, and I mean real bad, on first read, and Iím sure this will make the headlines on evening newscasts around the world, but letís take a minute and put this all in a little perspective.
For one thing, the study was conducted by the McCormick Tribune Foundation on behalf of the McCormick Tribune Freedom Museum. This is a museum dedicated to the First Amendment that, oh!, just happens to be opening its doors in about two months. Trusting this survey is like trusting Saddam Hussein that he doesnít have any weapons of mass destruction. Sure, it may turn out that he doesnít, but Iím not about to take his word on it. (* ed note - The last two sentences were actually written in 2002).
Another thing to consider is that I donít need to be able to list all the laws of physics or explain why e=mc
Only 1% of those surveyed could come up with the Freedom to Petition for Redress of Grievances. Iíll admit that was the one that slipped my mind. While 999 out of 1000 people not being able to come up with the answer to anything is probably telling us something, what is it telling us here? Nothing, because if you asked those same people what theyíd do if they got a paper-cut being handed the mail by their U.S. postman, and youíd immediately be served with 100 lawsuits ending with ďvs the United States of America.Ē
Some might say that this survey goes to show how much our Constitutional freedoms are taken for granted. Iíd say that, if anything, it goes to show you how much the world has changed in 200 years. At one point someone needed to write down and make it a law that everyone had the right to practice whatever religion they wanted without the government hassling them about it. Today that and so many other freedoms are so ingrained into our society that most people need never think about not having that freedom.
One in five surveyed thought that the right to own pets was guaranteed by the First Amendment. Wow, Iíve tried to defend American intelligence up to now, but this is just silly. Everyone knows the right to own pets was not guaranteed in the Constitution until 1863 when President Lincoln issued the Emanci-pet-ion Proclamation.
Yes, it would be great if everyone in this country could name not just the five freedoms of the First Amendment, but each of the 27 Amendments to the Constitution. But rote memorization isnít thing important thing; it is that we live our lives according to the spirit of the Constitution. I think it was Thomas Jefferson who said ďA noble spirit embiggens the smallest man.Ē Ainít that the truth, brother; as much today as it was back in 1776.
This is in followup to prior post. The fact that all my friends are deceased isn't the only reason I'm such a lonesome hermit loser. The other reason is that due to the eventful nature of my youth, including a seven night string of boozy one night stands and a mescaline party that left a bar awash in the puke of hundreds, I kind of feel like it's all been done. To do anything more would be like watching a Seinfeld rerun, fun but but ultimately a boring waste of time and space.
My loneliness problem is exacerbated by my pestering my wife into taking a job so that we might continue living indoors. She did, but the hours conflict with mine so we hardly ever see each other. And when we do, one or the other is so tired that it sucks.
I have felt like a hermit for so long it's second nature. Whenever someone suggests going somewhere, my minds starts churning out reasons not to. Go to a concert? I'd probably have some drinks and get arrested on the way home. And in my state that means major jail time. Better to stay home and watch the horseracing channel.
I am reminded of Marlon Brando in The Wild Ones. He's a member of a biker game infesting a rural town. A townie girl asks him about going places and he deadpans, "Going someplace is for squares. We never go anyplace. We just go." Genius.
A few years ago I got sucked into this oxymoron. I sent the check but my stuff never arrived. Periodically I try to find the site to collect my $18.99 back, but it seems to have disappeared. I did go to a domain-buying site and noted that someone has bought the name. So maybe it is coming back. Long live Club Recluse.
One of my earliest memories (revived by NCO's recent comment) is of mudball fights. We'd make them like meatballs, dry them in the sun and then face off and heave these rock-like objects at each other at point blank range. I got hit hard many times. Another is spinning around a pole until I was so dizzy I fell down and split my head wide open. I was six.
At age 15 I got jumped in a driveway and pummeled by some older boys for about 15 minutes. They left me unconscious in the gutter. Around about the same time I got robbed twice at knifepoint. Scuffles ensued and more blows to the head. A year later I was in a horrific car accident in which a stolen Cadillac leveled a carport. My best friend and I were hitchhikers in the back. He died in my lap. Another head injury, requiring 72 stitches next to my eye.
A few years later I was play-fighting with a friend who outweighed me by 100 pounds. I got the best of him so he took a ring of keys and smashed it into my face. Since I was on a 3 day binge, I didn't seek medical care. By the time I did it was too late. I have a scar from that too. Needless to say I developed a grand mal seizure disorder and nearly died several times. Docs were at a loss as to why.
I burned my house down when we left some candles burning. My parents threw me out. Not really, but they gave me a credit card and told me to go live in the basement of my sister's house. Me and my friends and some hotel whores lived there until age 18, with a fridge well-stocked with Heineken and that was it. We didn't attend high school the last two years but they agreed to let us all graduate if we'd just go away and stop terrorizing people. None of us ever held jobs but we had money to burn. And we burned another house down in a firebombing incident in retaliation for the driveway pummeling.
We were involved in all manner of abuse, mayhem and debauchery. You name it and it occured more than once. I've seen a man held over a hotel balcony by his ankles with his wallet and keys flying down 12 stories. I've been grilled about murders. I've seen the inside of jails. I've almost died more times than I can count. All of my friends are dead. I remain. Perhaps the old existential saw "what doesn't kill me only makes me stronger" really is true in some isolated cases.
At age 46 I can look back on all this youthful nonsense with some perspective. And all I can do is laugh. I have a beautiful and supportive wife of 17 years. She's one of those who's aged really well and actually gotten prettier over the years. All my kids have been pretty successful. The youngest overcame a learning disability to be an honors student, good soccer player and a viola virtuoso. I myself still play soccer and have gotten pretty good. I've held the same job for 24 years and I'm the highest paid claims adjustor in history. We half-own the house we'll die in and we own our cars. I've got retirement covered, life insurance, the whole 9 yards. I even know how to wheel and deal in the stock market.
How the hell does something like that happen?
And if you're young and full of whimsy like I was, take heart. You could still succeed. There's a lot of years in a life. Maybe. Maybe not.
60 minutes blew it for the second week in a row. In back to back shows they had segments on stem cell research. You'd almost think they had an agenda, pointing out that stem cell research does not move forward because of conservatives like George Bush. However, in each episode they failed at opportunities to drive home key points that the American public needs to be aware of.
The first is that they didn't make a distinction between blastocysts and embryos. They didn't use the word blastocyst at all. They kept saying that embryos need to be destroyed in order to get stem cells, but in actuality, blastocysts are used for obtaining stem cells. One reason the distinction matters is because people can attach meaning to the term embryo, because it cannotes structure and form, progress in development that people can identify with. A blasocyst on the other hand is only a ball of a fewer than 150 cells with no discernable structure to an untrained eye. Some would argue that life begins at conception so it doesn't matter if it's a zygote, a blastocyst, or an embryo, all stages are sacred. But those people should also have to explain why it is then, that 2/3 of conceptions flow through the womb never to implant or develop into anything. Nature seems to insist that two thirds of humanity is disposable.
The second thing they missed is the most important. George Bush says, "We can't destroy life to create life." Yet that's exactly what we do. As a society we allow in vitro fertilization. We allow the creation and destruction of blastocysts to treat the medical condition of infertility. When eggs and sperm are mixed in a petri dish, they form zygotes which are screened for normal morphology. Those which look normal are kept and either frozen or implanted. The rejects could be used for stem cells, but are discarded. The ones that are frozen, if not implanted, will also be destroyed - rather than being used for stem cell research. 60 minutes mentioned this, but they let people skate with slippery answers.
No one was forced to answer the question: why is a garbage can a more sacred fate for a blatocyst than helping someone with a fatal disease or a spinal chord injury? If the concern is for the soul of the blatocyst, why is it better to toss it into the garbage, than to allow it to help humanity and allow human life? There's no doubt that the 150 cell blastocyst, that we voluntarily created to treat a medical condition, will be destroyed. Why not allow it to make a contribution to human knowledge on the way out?
I firmly beleive that the reason is because George Bush is intellectually lazy. I don't think he asks himself such questions. He has a track record of not challenging his assumptions and demonizing those who do, and as a result humanity is held back. People will suffer because we could be solving problems, but instead his ignorance ties the hands of the brightest scientists.
That the uninformed convictions of one man can hold back an entire nation creates a palpable feeling of frustration, and a sense that something must be done. When katrina wiped out New Orleans, a nation of people responded by reaching into their pockets and raising 3 billion dollars for hurricane relief. How about raising money for Bush relief?
I don't want to be held back by George Bush. So if the federal government won't embrace the future to help humanity by funding stem cell research, we should do it ourselves. After all, we ARE our government. Just as I can check a box on my tax return to give money to various causes, so too can I reach into my pocket to fund my own stem cell research.
If there were an organization devoted strictly to the progressive cause of funding stem cell research, I would gladly join the "progressive American" club and donate money for Bush relief. Progressive Americans could step forward with pride that they are paving the way to a better future. Perhaps it would be the start of an entire movement. We could even have a nice acronym such as S.C.U.M, for Stem Cell Underwriters Movement. If the response were anywhere close to what was raised for Katrina, it would virtually replace what the government would spend anyway.
The conservative leaders have let you down. Join the SCUM, and take back your future.
by mg at 09:49 PM on March 01, 2006
I am head over heals in love with a pair of 15-year-old girls from the Netherlands.
Pomme and Kelly, the ingťnues in question, have created a series of videos of themselves lip-syncing to popular music. I know that doesnít sound like much, but the videos are absolutely enthralling. It is just such dorky and good natured fun. And the girls, who I might add are just 15 years-old, look like they are enjoying themselves so much that it is hard not to enjoy yourself either.
Oh, sure there might be a thing or two many of you might rather see videos of 15 year-olds doing with their lips rather than fake singing to Shania Twain (and thatíd, of course, be playing trumpet, right? Because thatís the only thing Iíd rather see them do with their lips), but my love for P&K stems from the totally wholesome place of remembering myself at the age, and all the time I spent lip-syncing into a broom handle while watching myself in the mirror.
Man, there is something about being that age where lip-syncing to bad music couldnít be more fun. Iíd get home from school and spend at least four hours every night singing along to music I couldnít even bring myself to listen to today (And to give you a good picture of my daily routine, Iíd then spend an hour burning things, two hours watching tv, and then half an hour on homework, before falling asleep so late that Iíd wake up late for school. Everyday.)
If I were Pomme and Kellyís age today, Iíd totally be making videos of myself to put on the inter-net. Of course, no one would want to watch me because Iím not a hot 15 year old Dutch girl.
Iíd first caught wind of Pomme and Kelly about a week ago, but was heading out of town for the weekend and didnít get a chance to write anything about them before I left. I was going to say these two were about to become inter-net stars. And, in the six days since I first saw one of their videos, they have indeed become inter-net starts. According to their site, theyíre going to be interviewed for an article in the L.A Times.
And they, along with the video of the presidents of the Yao Ming fan club singing the Backstreet Boys featured on VH1ís Web Junk 20 even spawned the idea for Google Idol, which is like America/Pop Idol, only using clips of people lip-syncing instead of singing.
Personally, Iíd rather watch people fake singing than really singing. Google Idol kind of makes me mad though, because I think if another day had passed, Iíd have come up with the idea myself and been able to turn it into the money-maker it is likely to become.
I guess my only shot at inter-net fame now would be to submit a video to Google Idol. Now, where'd I put my webcam?