Barack Obama and John McCain: Online Videos To Tickle The Funny Bone

Back in February on Super Tuesday I posted "Super Online Videos For Super Tuesday." Now that the primaries are over and the official presidential campaign is in full swing, I don't know about you, but I'm ready for a few laughs.  What better way to get them then by checking out the latest online videos that take a humorous look at the campaign and the candidates?

Movie Trailer Parodies: Big YouTube Fun

Need some humor in your life?  Have I got some YouTube videos for you!

Recently during one of my regular YouTube forays, I uncovered a stockpile of entertaining movie trailer parodies, or recuts as they're sometimes called.  I happen to hate "Mary Poppins."  What's that got to do with movie trailer parodies?  Read on. 

First up, a work of true genius and my favorite clip.  Based on the blockbuster 1997 movie, "Titanic." It's called, "Titanic: Two The Surface," and tells the story of Jack Dawson after the sinking.

My next favorite, "Dirty Dancing," turns that harmless little movie about a family's vacation in the Catskills into something much more sinister.

Tax Day On TV

Today is April 15th. Tax Day. For those of you who haven't sent in your 1040's you've got just 24 hours to make sure the Feds don't send the dogs out after you.

But have you ever noticed how there's never a plot on a TV show about Tax Day?  I can't remember one.  I mean really, it would make a great sitcom plot.  Is it because TV writers are afraid of the IRS? Come on writers, have a little courage.  Everyone has to suffer for their art.

After thinking about it a bit, I came up with some Tax Day plots for some of my recent favorite shows.

Just think about Tax Day on "Sex and The City".  I can see it now:  Carrie Bradshaw can't find any of her tax records.  She had them in a Manolo Blahnik shoe box but threw them out when she desperately needed the box for a pair of shoes.  Meanwhile Miranda gets a huge refund from her handsome CPA.  And that's before he even files the paperwork.

Or how about a "Seinfeld" where Kramer decides to start a tax revolt movement and tries to involve Jerry, Elaine and George. They of course refuse and mock him mercilessly, but Kramer hooks up with a shady CPA and hijinks ensue.

The "Gilmore Girls" would have been perfect for a Tax Day episode.  After all, the Gilmores were rolling in dough.  Suppose Grandpa Richard is called in for an audit?  Couldn't you imagine Grandma Emily's meltdown over Grandpa's plight?  Meanwhile the local Stars Hollow CPA dies right before Tax Day and Lorelai and the whole town are in an uproar.

Tax Day, a plot whose time has come.

Cross Posted From Video Runway.

TV, Kids, Sexism and Me

Recently I discovered I'm a closet sexist, and this is the story of how it happened.

As many of you may know, I'm a SINK:  Single Income, No Kids.  I am however lucky enough to have surrogate kids.  Their names are Cara and Milos.  He's seven and she's just about to turn five.  They're the kids of good friends of mine and I've know them since before they were born.

I love them within an inch of their lives and I'm ready to throw down with anyone who dares to think their kids are more adorable.

Since I'm in the media, I've taken on the responsibility to teach them about the media, but of course only on the most simplistic level.  I talk to them about television, movies and commercials, and how sometimes, what you see isn't what you think it is.

So while they still watch "Dora The Explorer" and "Sponge Bob" their parents have no problem with me introducing them to age appropriate TV classics like "The Flintstones."  Although the male/female stereotyping is way behind the times, it's well written and funny, and I make sure to point out how sometimes Moms like Wilma work instead of stay at home and sometimes Dads like Fred stay at home instead of work.  Most of the time, all they care about is hearing Dino barking in that funny, crazy way he has. 

A couple of years ago, when his parents said he was old enough, I introduced Milos to the movie "Star Wars."  I have the original trilogy and we watched it on DVD with his Mom who'd somehow never seen it.  When Cara was old enough, she too liked "Star Wars" and every so often would want to see it.

The Lipstick Mafia

The latest "Sex & The City" ripoff, "Lipstick Jungle" premiered last week on NBC.  It stars a glammed up Kim Raver, recently of "24" and "The Nine," the Mabelline version of Brooke Shields, and Lindsay Price, an actress I know nothing about.  NBC's website describes the show this way:

"Movie Exec Wendy Healy, Editor-in-Chief Nico Reilly, and Fashion Designer Victory Ford are modern New York career women supporting each other through triumphs and tears that are all part of making it in the Big Apple."

First we had ABC's "Cashmere Mafia" and now here comes another "hot women in the city making their way up the corporate ladder while wearing fancy shoes and cool nail polish" show. What I love about these shows isn't the glitzy clothes or hunky men, though hunky men are never a bad thing, it's their titles, "Lipstick Jungle," Cashmere Mafia," someone had fun coming up with those. Therefore in that spirit, I wanted to propose some other shows for the networks' fall schedule.

How about "Perfumed Gladiators?" A trio of hot women in the city run a couture perfume company until one of them breaks off on her own stealing the secret ingredient to their highest selling fragrance, "Come & Get It."

Or "The Mani-Pedi Gang." A trio of hot women in the city run an exclusive Mani-Pedi Spa until one of them breaks off on her own stealing the secret ingredient to their most popular treatment, the Cement Paste Pedicure.

Then there's always the potential of "Corporate Corsets." A trio of hot women in the city run a high fashion bra and corset boutique until one of them breaks off on her own stealing the secret designs for their most popular corset, the The Curvaceous Crusher.

I'm open to further suggestions, just make sure they're original.

Cross Posted At Video Runway

Farewell My Little Canon

Megan's Minute lost a significant contributor over the Christmas holiday.  In fact it was so disturbing, it's only now I've been able to bring myself to write about it.

Sniff, sniff.

This contributor captured the beauty of Longwood Gardens.  It roamed the back alleys of the 2007 US Open to document the qualifying rounds.  It was there on opening night when I saw Serena Williams play in person for the first time.  It took every picture of every Handbag Of The Month.  It helped make my beloved Daisy a star.

It contributed thousands of words, but never touched a keyboard.

It was my Canon SD630.

Oh God!  Sniffffff.

The picture you see here of the pretty woman in the lovely blue dress was the last one taken by my little Canon.  You see, it all happened while Kay and I were taking a Christmas house tour late last December.  It was a brisk winter night, the carolers were singing and tour guides were dressed in festive Dickensian costumes.

We had just entered this little house all decorated and glowing with Christmas cheer when we heard music.  It was a performance by the children of the house.  A girl of about eleven played the piano and the young man who must have been her brother accompanied her on the violin.  I had just taken the picture of the lady in blue and was juggling my Canon, my gloves and my handbag.  Suddenly the music stopped.  The children had completed their piece.  They were so adorable, I raised my hands to applaud their performance and the unthinkable happened.  Like in slow motion, I watched as my Canon slipped out of my grasp and crashed to the planks of the hard wood floor.

As Kay gasped, I cried out, "Noooooooooo!"

Adorable children forgotten, I immediately fell to the floor and cradled my little Canon in my upraised palms.  At first glance it looked undamaged, and then...I saw the lens.  The lens that was usually so straight and true was now tilted at a grotesque angle.  I tried desperately to save it.  I gently prodded and pushed and coaxed the lens back into the camera's battered body, hoping that would resuscitate it to its normal function.  But no, it was a camera in critical condition.

You see my Canon SD630 Digital Elph was my very first digital still camera.  I bought it last February primarily as a way to upload photos for Megan's Minute.  It had a 3 inch LCD screen, a 3.0x optical zoom, a top ISO of 800 and because it was only 6 megapixels, I got it at a bargain price of $239 on Amazon.  As soon as it was delivered and I saw its sleek little body, handled it's smooth, slim frame and shot those first few photos, I was in love.

That's why first thing the next morning I contacted my local camera repairman and asked how much a repair for the damage of my little Canon might cost.  I had already made a tough decision.  If the repair was less than $100, I would do everything humanly possible to save my camera.  However, if the repair was $101 or more, I would have to let it go.

After consulting at length with my camera repairman, he informed me that a repair of the kind of damage I was describing would cost upwards of $150-$200.  My heart sank.  It was too much.   As hard as it was, I made the decision to let go.

Sniff, sniff.

Looking forward to the future, I went on Amazon and searched for the most recent version of my little Canon SD630.  It was the Canon SD750, the 7 megapixel version.  At first I didn't want it.  Nothing could replace my SD630 so why not start fresh?  Choose something totally different.   A Nikon Coolpix or maybe an Olympus Stylus.  But after comparing spec to spec, I kept coming back to the SD750.  Forcing myself to be brave, I ordered the camera. 

I packed my little SD630 in its box and placed it on a shelf and out of my heart.  When the SD750 arrived I hardened my heart against it.  It would never be as good as my SD630.  But then after several days, something miraculous happened.  As I got to know my new camera, I came to appreciate its increased ISO (1600), it's improved menu function, and its responsive handling

All my photos for my Christmas windows post were taken with the SD750.  And I had to admit, they were beautiful.  As good, if not better than my SD630 could have taken.

Now a month later, I'm happy again.  I use my SD750---wrist strap always attached---with confidence, and yes, now I can say it...love.  But every so often, when I glance at the lady in the blue dress, I remember my first digital love.  Sniff.

Farewell, my little Canon.

Awesome Words Not To Live By

I'm baaaaaaaack!

It's a New Year, a new day and today "Megan's Minute" is all about words.

Yesterday I read this Reuters article via MSNBC.com about a "surge" of cliches that used to be "sweet" and "awesome" but which are now a "perfect storm" of bad "wordsmithing."

An excerpt:

"Choosing from among 2,000 submissions, the public relations department at Michigan's Lake Superior State University in Sault Ste. Marie targeted 19 affronts to the English language in its well-known jab at the worlds of media, sports, advertising and politics.

The contributors gave first prize to the phrase "a perfect storm," saying it was numbingly applied to virtually any notable coincidence"

The complete list includes "under the bus," "back in the day," "it is what it is," and "give back."

Though I agreed with most of the words on the university's list I have to admit a special fondness for the word "awesome" and the phrase "thrown under the bus."

But the university's list got me thinking and I came up with some phrases I'd like to add to the their list:

• Baby Bump:  "ET" and "Access Hollywood" are the worst perpetrators of this nauseatingly cutesy description of a celebrity's pregnant belly.  "Hi I'm Mary Hart and here's the first extreme closeup video of JLo's naked baby bump!"

• Don't Go There:  The source of this phrase as best I can tell is from the heyday of Jerry Springer, Maury Povich and Ricky Lake.  The full phrase is "don't even go there" and it was used primarily by black women who were about to throwdown with the best friend that was trying to steal their man.  Ah, the good old days.  But now everybody---especially soap opera writers---uses it and without the proper attitude, it's Wonder Bread personified.

• Something Went Terribly Wrong:  This phrase is used by lazy newswriters and reporters with ridiculously limited vocabularies.  It's always prefaced by some sweet, lovely scene like, "the James family had just won the lottery, Dad was home after successful heart transplant surgery and Mom was making Christmas cookies in the kitchen when...something went terribly wrong!"  That usually means the house burned down with everyone in it and the whole family died in screaming agony.

• Spectacular Fire:  And speaking of fire, this is yet another one perpetuated by lazy newswriters and reporters with ridiculously limited vocabularies.  "Right now Chopper HD 00007TV is live over this spectacular fire. And after the fire's out, we'll be bringing you video of the delightful head on car crash, the thrilling building collapse, and the brilliant city council meeting."

• Level Playing Field:  It's a presidential election year and if I got a dollar for every time a politician uses this phrase in 2008, by the end of the year I could buy that villa in Hawaii I've had my eye on, right next door to Oprah.  Politicos use this phrase to show how much they believe in equal opportunity. "There has to be "a level playing field," they cry out with righteous indignation.  Well if they really believed that, wouldn't they give up all those congressional chauffeur driven cars and get their asses on the subway?

So in 2008, grab a thesaurus guys and make the world a better place.

Top Ten Ways You Know Posh & Becks Have Landed

This poster available at iceposter.com

This poster available at iceposter.com

Whatever David Beckham plays his publicity people?  It's not nearly enough.  They're so good at their jobs, the publicity deluge surrounding Beckham and wife Victoria, a.k.a. former Posh Spice of the Spice Girls, is like a tsunami threatening to devour the country.

Every move they make, every breath they take is recorded.  Every word they say, every game they play is documented.  Their big move to LA was brought about when Becks signed to play football...eh, soccer, with the LA Galaxy Soccer Team.  Posh and Becks as they're affectionately called are like Bennifer revisited except with a more international slant.

So in their honor, I give you:

10 Ways You Can Tell That Posh And Becks Have Landed.

1.  The fact that I've given them the Supername, Pecks.

2.  The UK just passed a resolution that they're not allowed to come back.

3.  The snitch rate for waiters and valets in LA just went up by 300%.

4.  Governor Arnold Schwarzengger just declared "Spice Up Your Life" the official song of California.

5.  Every time someone in the United States uses the word "spice," the Pecks get a cut

6.  From now on, all girls who try out for soccer in LA have to sing "Wannabe" first.

7.  Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes threw a party to celebrate getting a breather from the paparazzi.

8.  The Church Of Scientology has put together a special recruiting package consisting of "Bend It Like Beckham" DVD's, t-shirts and tote bags.

9.   A new reality show, "Bend It With The Beckhams" is starting next week on the Spice TV network.

10. The LA Galaxy contract states that Becks has to drink three Venti cups of Starbuck's coffee, every time he says "football" instead of "soccer."

Britney Spears, Let's Just Stone Her

Poor, poor Britney.  She can't win, can she? 

She's not even a person anymore.  Just some poor, pathetic image on the cover of a newspaper.

Now she's out of rehab again and according to the media powers that be, she's cured..."getting her life together"...while we all wait with baited breath for her to inevitably slip up again.  So how can we get some entertainment out of her now?

Let's just stone her. 

We've been wanting a public execution in this country for a long time anyway.  Can you say, Fox News Channel?  We've just never admitted it.  Let's put her out of her misery and give ourselves some fresh, albeit, unique excitement.  We're a country that loves entertainment don't we?

Her crime?  She's boring.  She's not following the program.  She sings, she dances, she kisses Madonna on a live awards show, she's got gobs of money and in return she's supposed to give us her life.  She can't expect to be a person anymore.  She thinks she can go out, make mistakes like any other 25 year old, and no one will hound her down the street with Nikon lenses and GE flashbulbs.  What a ridiculous expectation.  She knows how it works.  Her life is ours now.  If we want the "Britney on the toilet" shot we're entitled to it.  If we want to send raving lunatic photogs after her every second of every day with walkie talkies and snitches on the hunt, like something from Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom, that's our right.  After all, if we didn't consume it, those photogs would be busy parking cars at the Beverly Hilton.  I guess she didn't read the fine print in the devil's contract.

I want the "Britney going to the bathroom shot" and short of that I'm bored.

Her instinct to self-destruct under all the scrutiny is unfortunate, but this was part of the deal, wasn't it?  She didn't put her kid in a car seat while she was driving.  She married a guy in Vegas for 48 hours. She lived with Kevin Federline for what, 2 years?  Isn't he looking like Mr. Sanity right now?  She went clubbing with no underwear.  She shaved her head.  She attacked a photog's car with an umbrella.  Just yesterday, she went to the emergency room for a toothache.  Who does she think she is?  This whole, "pop princess," "pop tart," media coverage, it's old.  It's stale.  Who cares anymore?

But a public stoning.  Now we're talking.

She's tired of her, we're tired of her.  So let's just stone her.

The Supername Of The Game

I want to go on record right now to say I hate those cutesy little nicknames the tabloids create to refer to hot celebrity couples.

You know the ones I mean. Ben Affleck and Jennifer Lopez, a.k.a. Bennifer.  That's where it all started. "People," "Us," "The Star," "Entertainment Tonight," "Access Hollywood," they all fueled the tabloid hysteria of their doomed relationship.  So much so that they needed a special name for them.

Something I call, a Supername.

Krypton gave us Superman, Janice Dickinson gave us Supermodels, and now, I give you Supernames.