An Angry Spring Haiku

There's snow on the ground.

It's April the THIRTIETH!

Jules is disgruntled.

I have been disgruntled too many times this week, what with a Castle re-run, a Lost re-run, and now some spring snow.

My life is SOOOO hard. All of those suffering children in Africa have no idea what it's like to be me. It's just too much! *Jules bursts into tears and throws a temper tantrum.*

Whatever. I'm getting cheese fries. (Anyone catch the hidden movie quote in this entry? Anyone? Taren?)

You need a new ad campaign.

The other day I was watching something on Hulu, and a commercial came on that immediately got my attention, because it was asking all kinds of "What if?" questions.

"What if you went to grad school?" (Ooh! Grad school? I want to go to grad school!)

"What if you went to Prague?" (Ooh! Prague! I want to go to Prague!)

"What if you changed your mind and went to Montana instead?" (A few shots of horses running free through beautiful green fields. Now I want to go to Montana.)

"What if you met someone?" (A shot of a hunky cowboy-type person. Now I really want to go to Montana.)

"What if he gave you HPV? What if it turned into cervical cancer?"

Julianna's brain lets out a mental SCREECHING sound.

Wait a minute. Where did that come from? One minute we're running with the horses, and the next minute you try to turn it into some dramatic cervical cancer awareness ad.

I hate when commercials try to fool me. They drag me in with their pretty pictures, and the next minute they're trying to make me all weepy-eyed. It's not going to work on me! If I were the rebellious type, I would go out right now and get cervical cancer, just to spite whoever made this commercial. "Yeah, your commercial did nothing to prevent ME from getting cancer. I saw your commercial and now I'm on my deathbed. Take THAT!"

Yeah, that would show 'em.

If you really want to get people to avoid HPV like the plague, all you need to do is show a picture of Tree Man and say something like:

"HPV can lead to this:"

ARGH! I'll never touch anyone ever again!

Now THAT would be an effective commercial.

Since I'm on the subject of ineffective ad campaigns, does anyone remember this anti-Meth ad that was on several years ago? Oddly enough, that catchy tune makes Meth seem sort of appealing. (My brothers and I still sing the song to this day. "Ooh Meth. Ooh Meth!"



Yes, it was a legit commercial. Anti-drug fail.

Field Trip!

The other day I was looking through some of my old journals, and I found a few entries that involved my dear roomie, Taren. My favorite one said this:

Wednesday March 15, 2000

"...Lately I've been hanging out with my friend Taren. She can be really funny, but when we get together we act really retarded. Maybe that's why I like to hang out with her. I like to be able to act goofy and just have fun."

You know, I might as well have written that yesterday, because it's just as true today as it was ten years ago.

We DO act really retarded when we get together.

And, on that note, we're going to take a field trip to my roommate's blog, where you can read what happens when we put our minds together. Hop on over to Free Flan, everyone, and make sure you stick together! Don't get lost. (Of course, if you do get lost, Free Flan is a good place to be. I'll warn you, however, that you might come out with new-found respect for Miley Cyrus and the Jonas Brothers.)

(A piece of art from some of Julianna and Taren's earliest collaborative work. The original is on display in Julianna's journal, and will no doubt sell for millions of dollars.)

And While I'm At It....

Continuing on with my letters to drivers:

Dear People Who Drive Cadillac Escalades,

Whenever I see you, all I can think is, "That person has far more money than he has class." Seriously. You spent $62,000 to $85,000 on a glorified Suburban?

Whatever floats your boat, man.

Dear People Who Drive Brightly-Colored Volkswagen Beetles,

When I see you, all I can think is, "Whoever is driving that must have been a really cool and rich 17-year old girl...about 7 years ago."

My apologies if you're some 45-year-old dude. But, really, why are you driving that?

Now, granted, I drive a '96 Hyundai Elantra, but that's because I have no money. Maybe that's why my soul hurts a little when people with money buy blechy cars. (Yes, blechy is now a word.)

That's some false advertising on your car, buddy.

Dear Slow Drivers Who Insist on Driving in the Fast Lane,

Why? Go be slow in the other lanes. Do you do this because you have this warped sense of responsibility that makes you feel that you must force everyone else to drive the speed limit? Well, bully for you for being a law-abiding citizen and everything, but get out of my way. If I want to push my little 4-cylinder car to its 85 mph maximum capacity, that's my own business. I don't appreciate your little attempt at vigilante justice.

"I will stay in this lane driving 65 mph, no matter what! Take that, you evil speeders!"

Ugh. I want to install a giant fist on the front of my car so I can punch you with it.

Oh. I also want to make sure I deliver a special message to the guy who was driving 60 mph in the fast lane yesterday, holding up a whole line of angry people (myself included). Sir, you have earned yourself a free punch in the face. You can claim your prize any time. And make sure you bring your car with you. Yes, the one you were driving yesterday. Yes, that would be the blue Mustang that had the word "Racing" written on the back.

You need a new car.

Best regards,

Jules

Save the Trees! Save the Trees!

On Saturday I woke up to the soothing sound of trees being murdered outside my window. Yes, my landlord decided to chop down every tree in the backyard (except for the one tree I actually WANTED him to cut down--the one that constantly pokes its big branches into my face as I try to walk through the gate).

Obviously, this man hasn't seen Avatar, or he would know that when you cut down trees, it causes great pain to blue people.

Obviously, this man hasn't seen Pocahontas, or he would know that every rock and tree and creature has a life, has a spirit, has a name.

Obviously, this man hasn't seen Ferngully, or he would know that cutting down trees leads to Tim Curry escaping and singing a cheesy song about pollution. And, really, who wants that?

I told my dear roommate that we should have gotten up really early and chained ourselves to the trees in a bold attempt at rescuing nature, but that might have caused some awkward tension between us and the landlord. Plus, that would have required getting up early.

Really, though. Isn't it a bit sacrilegious to chop down all of your trees right before Arbor Day?

BLOG!

I promised I would write about the Muse concert, and then I didn't. Once again, I have betrayed all 30 of my loyal followers.

I'm sure you have all been anxiously awaiting a new post from me. I'm just sure of it. I can see it now--all 30 of you hanging around your computer screen with blood-shot eyes, neglecting all of your responsibilities and yelling, "Blog, Jules. BLOG!!"

Well, friends, I'm back. Sorry it took so long for me to hear your cries. You see, my ears have been ringing all week, thanks to my Monday activities: going shooting with my dad and going to the concert. (For the record, I would definitely recommend ear plugs for both activities.)

All I have to say about the concert, really, is that it was amazing. I figure to give you a play-by-play would be incredibly boring--sort of like looking at pictures of someone else's cruise. "And this is where I was having the time of my life, while you were stuck at your dead-end job." Who wants that?

So, in short, if you have the chance to go to a Muse concert--take it. You won't regret it.