Saturday, April 14, 2012

'Why Pinterest is not for me'

I recently became very curious about the websight 'Pinterest' after so many people on Facebook were talking about it. I was told it was a way to share pictures of the things you like (which I was apparently mistaking Facebook as a place for that all this time) so I figured I'd check it out. I was very excited about this after so many of my friends playfully warned me about how "addicting" it is, as I love a good addiction to look forward to when I wake up in the morning, so I went to check it out. After logging onto the sight, I realized I had no idea how to actually use it; it started to set in that technology was taking over and I was failing as a Millennial. With time and a little repetition, I finally figured out how to use it and how to access other people's 'Pin Boards'. After seeing the common themes displayed on many of my friend's boards, I knew instantly that I was not going to fit in on this website (yet another aspect of my life where I don't fit in). The common themes I would see were things like 'Dream house' (which I don't care about), 'Dream wedding' (also don't care about) and things like 'Fitness' (which in my opinion doesn't actually require photography).

I don't want to sound insensetive by saying I "don't care" about people's dream homes; if you dream big then that's great and you will probably thrive on this sight. I, however, was born without an imagination. I am what you call a realist. My dream home is whatever house I first place a mortgage on, most likely between $50,000-65,000, around 1,000 square feet or less, and in or around the Central New York area. If you are interested in seeing a photo of what something like that looks like, I might suggest a websight like Trulia or Zillow, but certainly not Pinterest. I find no pleasure in posting picture of mansions too expensive to ever contemplate owning. As for interior design, I consider that something to think about only after I see the exact shape and layout of my house. Along with being a realist I am also a perfectionist. When I have an idea of something that I like, I can only see it in my head and try my best to recreate it only through an actual involvement in the project itself. For me to sit on Google and browse for pictures with no idea in mind will never happen. And once that idea is in my mind, no picture will do a justice if it's not exactly how I pictured it in my mind. So the only 'Dream house' album I could ever post would be a picture of a house I have already purchased and made my own. And at this point I don't have a house in my possesion to that album idea is out.

As for the 'Dream Wedding' album, I would be lying if I said I didn't want to get married someday. But I also want a new flatscreen TV; if I don't get one soon, or ever, I still have a lot to live for. I'm not confident my peers share the same outlook as myself on this topic. Lately I've noticed (as emphasised by pinterest) that many of my friends are prematurely planning their wedding ceremonies, some of them not even in a relationship at the time. Now I fancy myself a planner, but for me planning is more of a compulsion than a passion -something I do without nessecerily wanting to. To me, planning my own wedding sounds like a hellish OCD nightmare to be done as quickly as possible and ignored as long as possible once I am done planning. Thinking about what color m&m's I am going to eat at my reception 10 years from now is just the kind of thing I don't need keeping me awake at night, I have enough to think about as it is. Call me old fashioned, but I guess it's more important to me 'who' I marry, than 'how' I marry. But if my friends aren't posting pictures of their future wedding dress or future Hors d'oeuvres (seriously?) and maticulously planning every little detail of their own weddings, they're gawking at someone else's. Gawking at the royal wedding, or gawking at a wedding that wasn't even a wedding to begin with (wedding photography). Sharing 'cute' photography of a staged couple (who probably met hours before their photoshoot for the little picture you found on Google) sneaking off to stand behind a tree together at their staged reception doing a staged laugh or staged slow dance while all the while ignorning all of their staged guests in the distance. Staring at strangers dressed in nice clothes on Google images does not get me amped to get married, looking at photos of my already married friends is much more inspirational to me when thinking about marriage.

Now about all the 'Fitness' photography that is so bizzarely popular lately -my only question is "Why?". Why does working out now consist of still photos of toned, fit, beautiful people running in the rain or tying their shoe at the bottom of a hill (Incase you haven't gathered by now, I don't relate well to photography...with not having an imagination and all). If you want to motivate me to go to the gym by way of a picture, get me a computer generated photograph of myself in 5 years, 100 lbs overweight. Then I will feel motivatated to go work out.

Now I know I said I was born without an imagination, but if you were also born without an imagination OR an once of creativity in your soul, this is definitely the sight for you. You will surely be WOWED at the novel concepts you learn on Pinterest like growing flowers out of an old mailbox, or drinking lemonade through a mason jar rather than a perfectly functioning drinking glass. All your friends and neighbors will be in awe of all the strange yet functional new concepts you ripped off of someone else's pin board (I don't like when people 're-pin' things I deemed unique enough for my own page).

This post was not meant to be, but most likely was, insulting to you. I just dont feel that this website has anything to offer an obsessive compulsive perfectionist like myself, even the thought of arranging the pictures let alone all the pictures 'of' pictures on the sight. It's just not my thing, and now you know.

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

It seems to me that while getting tattoo'd, many people do not take into account the probability of future weight gain. Think about it. The teeny tiny rose on your shoulder may one day look like a Miracle Grow induced weed, and that cute little ink cupcake could quickly turn into a seven layer torte. Instead of determining one 'small' image to mark on your terminally slim body, it may be a smarter solution to think of something that can only get better with time (and growth!) If you are thinking of a small one-size-fits-all tat, the following is a list of easy to cultivate alternatives I would recommend for you:

1. A tidal wave

2. A hot air balloon

3. A sponge

4. Lady Gaga (celebrities are great, they get bigger and bigger all the time)

5. A tornado

6. A magic bean stalk

7. Breasts

8. A killer whale

9. A nuclear explosion

10. Pizza dough

I'm not hating, I just appreciate the art of a skillfully inked body and want people to be happy with them the whole time they have them. These are all very stylish and appropriate options for every day life. Feel free to work on getting a sleeve of all ten. Just don't put my face anywhere in the mix, I don't want it to expand. :)

Tuesday, May 24, 2011

I'm no English major, but we've all had our turns at cracking open a dictionary at one time or another. Whether you've traveled into the bathroom with the stocky book under your arm, or spent countless hours as a child looking up swear words like myself (Hey, I turned out okay). But it seems that for whatever the reason, people are not taking advantage of this resourceful book nearly as much as they used to. Before I get started on a major tirade about improper word usage, I'll just start by saying that this is not going to be the 5,000,000th post about how people are using 'your for you're' or 'loose for lose'. I'm not going to waste my time complaining about something that we all do. There's no need to beat it into the ground, spelling errors haapne! People will always make mistakes, it's not the end of the world. What I am talking about is the complete lack of effort within people to speak properly. Which will nicely bring me into the first word that amuses me:

1. Ignorant [ig-ner-uhnt] -adjective. uninformed; unaware

How many times have you heard someone say "You're ignorant!" when someone trips up or says something stupid or does something dumb. People constantly use the word 'ignorant' as they should be using 'stupid', 'foolish', or 'careless' etc. Johny chose not to study for the test. He's not ignorant, he's just stupid. He may be ignorant to the information within the test, yes, but not an ignorant person for not studying. The girl at McDonald's who forgot to put pickles on your burger, she's careless. She is not ignorant. If she had not been told that pickles were required on the sandwich, she would be ignorant. I guess I find it funny that the people always accusing their friends of being so ignorant, are really the uninformed ones themselves. It's almost ironic in a way, which brings me to my next pet peeve.

2. Irony [ahy-ruh-nee] -noun.
incongruity between what is expected to be and what actually is, or a situation or result showing such incongruity

This word is constantly being used in the wrong context. Often times when people say "Gee, that was ironic" they mean "What a coincidence" but for whatever reason, they do not say that. Maybe they feel they're too smart to say that. But nine out of ten times people use the word 'irony' to describe, simply, unfortunate events. Some people do come close to detecting key elements that separate irony from tragedy. They other day my mom was urging my brother to take along his epipen with him to work so that if he gets stung by a bee he won't have an allergic reaction. My brother, Albert, works at a funeral home. He and my mother were having their mind-numbing dialogue about this when my mom spoke up and said "Wouldn't it be ironic if you got stung by a bee at a funeral and died?" To answer that question, no! That would be nothing short of an unfortunate tragedy. She was on the right track (no gold star for effort though, cause UN-ironically all the gold stars were given to the people who got the equation right. Catching on?) While coming close to irony, there was again a key element missing. Now if Albert, allergic to bees, got stung by a bee and died WHILE working the funeral of a beekeeper who himself had died of an unrelated cause, THAT would be ironic. The beekeeper here is the bridge that gaps tragedy to irony.

3. Literally [lit-er-uh-lee] -adverb.
actually; without exaggeration or inaccuracy

There's nothing I love more than exaggeration (obviously). But something that really irks me (Or at least mildly annoys me [there's that exaggeration again.]) is when people throw around the word 'literally'. "You're literally ridiculous!" -I'm sorry, I was aiming for figuratively ridiculous. Let me know when I've got it. "Oh my gosh this is literally the worst day of my life." "You're literally the stupidest person ever." Okay really, you have no way of knowing who the stupidest person ever even is (maybe it's you). Ever heard of the little boy that cried wolf? Well he must be related somehow to the girl that always cries "literally". People really need to learn to treat that word like a fine wine, a gourmet chocolate, or your aunt Mary; something you only take out once in a while when you need to, not just whenever you can't think of a more creative way to express yourself.

4. Sarcasm [sahr-kaz-uhm] - noun.
mocking, contemptuous, or ironic language intended to convey scorn or insult

while I consider myself a pro at the art of sarcasm, please know that it should not be used by everyone, and if not properly executed can result in countless social disasters. I urge you not to attempt using sarcasm if you are like the thousands of people who mistake sarcasm for a quick chance at a rude remark. There are two types of sarcasm: the question and the answer. "Danny, did you take my car last night?" "Yeah mom, I thought I'd get some chicks downtown with your soccer-mom minivan. Maybe they wouldn't notice the car seat and stacks of coupons." Bravo Danny! He has successfully produced the sarcastic 'answer'. (And nicely dodged a punishment from his mother, by admitting something outrageous to her using sarcasm.) The sarcastic answer is not difficult to create. Using the proper vocal inflections, it can be an easy A. All you really have to do is say the opposite of the right answer, with a certain obvious tone. The problem that comes into play with the sarcastic question, is that it can only be successful if there's an opportunity for an answer. The sarcastic question will always be 100% more effective when paired with an open ended question. If this is not done:

-"Is this your first day?"

-"Did you not feel like turning the dryer on?"

-"You paid for that haircut?"

"What is your problem!?" You might respond. And in return get the "I'm just being sarcastic." No, you're being offensive. Try again! This is how people constantly fail to distinguish the difference between being sarcastic, or being just plain insulting.

These things and more make me laugh and cry. I hate to hear people using common, third grade, words out of context like that on a daily basis, but I can't help think of how ironic it is that these people are literally the most ignorant people ever. (Sarcasm, of course.)

Oh and just a little shout out to all the fifteen-year-olds who somehow celebrate their anniversary every single month:
Anniversary [An-uh-vuh-suh-ree] -noun. the yearly recurrence of the date of a past event. Anni -annual, yearly? Not ever week, sorry. But more power to you for finding a decent boyfriend in the fourth dimensional space time continuum that you live in.

Sunday, May 15, 2011

I work at Macy's selling the shoes,

Sometimes the customers give me the blues.

They point, they grab, they send me, I find

But then they just can't seem to make up their mind.

"Do you have this in 8? Or maybe a 9?"

"I'd be happy to check if you'll just step in line."

They stand in the line with a scowl on their face,

While I rush for their size as if it's a race.

I'll search for one lady, lest she should shout

And I have her size, so I quickly bring it out.

But when I walk out the door, she hands me 3 more

So I quickly go back and try not to pout.

I've found that most women don't know what they want.

They'll grab 18 different shoes just so nonchalant.

They'll come in for sandals, but now they want boots..

These are the people I just want to shoot!

They play and take pictures, and think that it's funny

But these are the people who never spend money.

My favorite part of the job is returns,

But before you do this, there is so much to learn:

They wear their shoes out, 6 times in a row

But heaven forbid we ever say 'No'.

They bring their shoes back cause they don't have the money,

Or maybe they think losing commission is funny.

Whatever the reason, it really just sucks

When you're just going to work, to make a few bucks.

Another thing I love is when they leave a big mess,

But people like that are just slobs I guess.

"Someone will pick up after me" they assume,

Then maybe I should go trash their living room.

But the people who shop here, I don't always hate

Some of them are nice, and friendly -it's great!

I make sure to tell them that they are the best,

And make 10 times the difference than the people who are pests.

But I guess that if that were really so true...

This poem would have been more about them too.

Monday, October 19, 2009

"My Saturday with Roger"
(Disclaimer: I'll just forewarn you all that the punctuation used in the following story (or lack of punctuation, rather.) May astound or alarm some of you. Yes, I did graduate high school. It's a friggen 2,500 word story. So sue me if I missed a few commas. That is all. Enjoy!)

It all started out on a mid September Saturday afternoon, and Steph and I had tickets to a football game at the Carrier dome. We decided that it would be too expensive and stressful to try and park up on the hill, and so decided to take advantage of the public transportation services Aka: the Centro bus. And so our adventure begins. It was my brilliant idea to park at the mall, and ride the bus straight to SU, and not have to wait for transfers. We parked in front of JCPenney (the popular 'spot' in which you wait for your bus to arrive) and by the time we got there, the SU bus was just arriving. Nearly getting hit by this bus, we finally made it onto it when the driver told us "Just sit down, if you go to SU you don't need to pay your fare". I was astounded at this and didn't think it seemed right that just because we happened to be taking a trip to Syracuse University, we should get a free ride. Then my brain decided to kick in and I realized that man was under the impression that I was, in fact, a student at the University. I continued to tell him I did not attend that school, or any school and that I didn't feel right about just sitting there and taking advantage, so I told him I would pay as soon as the bus had stopped. By now we had been on the bus for about five minutes, and Stephanie and I somehow got onto the topic of farms (Something about how there aren't enough farms in Syracuse, and there are more farm animals back home.) I began to tell her about all of the farm animals that I saw at the state Fair the previous week. Just as she began ridiculing me for my love for cows, the bus driver (We'll call him 'Bob') decided that he wanted in on this intense debate of which farm animal is greater. Immediately he sided with me and told us he likes cows too. The only problem with this, however, is that he continued to talk on and on....and on about them; telling me about how many cows he sees on his various out-of-city bus routes. "That's interesting" and "oh, wow you don't see that everyday" were the standard responses I would give him out of common curtsey, then continue to talk to Steph. After he shut up for a while, my friend and I got into a different conversation. She had asked me to spend the night at her house that evening after the game. I told her I didn't think I would be able to make it, cause I had to get up fairly early for church the next morning, and just as I said this, bus boy was at it again - butting right into our conversation. "Church? I used to go to church" he said. "Well....uh..maybe you should try it out again. It feels pretty good to, you know." I replied as he murmured something under his breath to the effect of "Yea, so does staying out on Saturday night...". by this time we were approaching our bus stop (not a minute too soon) and when I went up to put my Dollar in the machine 'Bob' just put his hand up and said "Well..nice talking to you!". I said something like thanks, have a nice day, or whatever you say and got off the bus. After five or ten minutes of Steph telling me 'Bob' was gonna stalk me, and he wanted to 'get my numba' I had realized something. I had forgot to pay my fare! After all of that time, waiting until we had arrived to pay it, I left the bus without doing so. I, being Emily Clos, immediately started flipping out and making it a much bigger deal than it needed to be. I continued to say "But -but but he put his hand up...I thought that meant it was on the house". I then realized something else, I had told him I got to church and believe in God. So now the man thinks that I'm a criminal with a Bible! Stephanie was able to calm me down, and that with the combination of my A.D.D. caused me to forget about the whole incident in a matter of minutes.

When we entered the dome shaped building, immediately bright orange and blue colors began to bombard my corneas, and I was blinded by the mob of giant orange blobs. After a minute of two of gaining my composure I then was able to distinguish what the orange blobs were. They were, in fact, people! Hundreds of people, with their shirts, faces, stomachs, etc. painted with orange. It wasn't that I was surprised to see this display of what some might call "team spirit", however it took me back at first. It was not uncommon to see a few guys walking by, all decked out in orange and blue Syracuse gear, painted up, foam finger on hand, bandana on their head, and their girlfriends walking with them not wearing an inch of the two hideous colors. They would be wearing something like a black sweater, jeans (not too blue though) and maybe some UGG boots. For a moment I began to wonder why they would even bother showing up to a football game for a team for which they have no team spirit. They puzzled me, but only until I saw a group of kids walking by in various New York Yankee T shirts. Not only were they not in Syracuse paraphernalia like all the others, they were wearing the shirt of a completely different SPORT. How do you justify that? " has some blue in it" would maybe be the only excuse on earth available for them. After weaving in and out of the crowd we arrived at our seats. We were sitting there for a few minutes into the game when we noticed something running about all over the corner of the field. After a few moments I realized it was the team mascot. I'd seen the mascot dozens of times on TV while watching the game at home, but it occurred to me that I had never actually seen it in real life. There's something unsettling about a giant, orange shaped, blob dancing in front of you while you’re trying to eat nachos. A question arose in my mind while seeing this: "Why does our team have to have the lamest mascot known to mankind?" I mean there are plenty of silly mascots, there's a blue devil, a masked raider, an angry leprechaun etc. Yet our team decides to pick a "loveable orange". A piece of fruit! (Maybe it's some sort of a symbol.) Anyhow we were at the game settled in for about two hours and decided we would be smarter than everyone else in leaving before the fourth quarter was over. I just figured that they weren't going to win anyways at the rate that they were going, so we might as well 'beat the traffic'.

We ended up getting on the first bus we saw, a 'Camillus Commons' bus, figuring ' long as we get downtown, we can figure it out from there'. Well, we made it downtown shortly afterwards and started to wait for a bus that would talk us back to the mall. Stephanie (never having experienced waiting downtown for a bus, late at night) was growing very impatient. I continued to tell her that our bus would arrive shortly (my dad used to drive a bus and gave me the advice of ‘Whenever some crazy comes up to you and asks when there bus will come, just say to them: ‘it’s scheduled to come in six more minutes.’) I tried this little trick on Steph, and about ten or fifteen minutes later, this little trick turned right into an unsure, freezing cold nightmare. It wasn’t two seconds after Steph asking me “how much longer?” That a man with a dirty grey sweatshirt (I’m guessing something near a size XXXL) came up to us and offered to buy a cigarette from us for a dollar. (For those of you not savvy to street prices, this was double the suggested retail value of the standard single $0.50 cigarette.) I told the man I didn’t smoke and after he asked me a few more times, (as if I were hiding them in my back pocket) he crossed the street to ask another man for one. I was nearly unaware that the whole incident had even taken place, considering around three or four people in a given day waiting for the bus will generally go around performing the very same "cigarette interrogation". Stephanie, however, was a bit taken back by the man. I could tell she was becoming more and more nervous. The fact that Steph was nervous, then began to make ME nervous, and I quickly became more cautious of our surroundings. A few more minutes went by, and no bus. Other buses, going to other malls, had passed by and each time Steph would say “Why can’t we just get on that one?” assuming it would automatically take us to wherever we pleased. I tried to explain to her that the destination of the bus, would be written on the top (for example: 52 Court/Park st, or 388 Central Square…and so on). She began to understand and told me that she thought there should be a bus with the word ‘Ghetto’ on the destination bar, and it should just drive around the city all day long. I laughed, but right after this remark a man walked up near our stop we were sitting at. As he approached us I noticed he had a plastic bag over his hands. I told Steph that we should move to a different corner of the road. I told Steph the cold hard truth according to Emily Clos, that the man had a knife under his plastic bag. (not maybe, not possibly, but for certain). I only did this to show Steph that it was possibly dangerous and move her away quickly. She kept telling me that I was ‘judging people’ and was convinced that the man was simply warming his hands. How a plastic bag can warm yours hands, I may never know. Right as we made our way to the other side of the building, away from the knife-bag guy, a kid riding an old, beat up, girl’s bike approached us. He and the giant pick in his hair wanted to know if “Ya’ll got MySpace pages?” I told him “no” (only it was more like NO! and made a face like ‘mind your business, move along’) but Steph politely stood there and replied: “No, I don’t actually”. This was her first mistake because then the questioning began. “Where you go to school!?” “You got a cell phone?” “Where you live at?” “what bus are you waiting for?” “What’s your favorite color?” And so on and so forth. I began to slowly walk in the other direction, hoping she would follow and she did. After doing so the boy rode his rickety little bike away. Just as he was leaving, the knife-bag guy was coming closer to us. I began to panic as I saw a car driving up. ‘Good, they can call the police if we get stabbed, they’ll see it all! We’ll be on the news!’ The car however was not driving by to witness a murder, but to pick up the knife-bag guy. As he got into the car, the plastic bag began to come off of his hand, revealing what was underneath. It was not a knife, or a gun, but a chicken leg. Stephanie burst into a fit of slightly irritating and seemingly uncontrollable laughter and ridiculed that I was afraid of poultry. I began to tell her “You can’t be too careful! You’re too trusting! Chicken legs can have very jagged edges, I could have been impaled!” It was getting very late by this time and I was contemplation calling home for a ride. The cold wind whipping against my arms felt like tiny little needles, pinching me every time the wind would blow. A few moments later two men and a woman walked out of a bar from down the street. When they saw all of the orange and blue and Syracuse clothing I was wearing, they began to shout things like “WE DID IT!” and “WHAT A GAME!” Syracuse had apparently won the game. Not only did we not save any time or trouble by leaving early, but we missed the one game (probably out of the whole season) that they actually win! Needless to say, I felt like a moron! “I’m not waiting any longer, you need to call for a ride or I’m going to!” Steph said in a panic. It was 11:30 by now and we had been waiting for a bus for nearly an hour. I kept reasoning with her (and myself) that it was a weekend schedule, and the bus would come any minute. But I began to know it wasn’t true. I called my brother and he was in the middle of a gigantic project, of course, (something like building a computer, or fixing a space shuttle, I’m not sure -something outrageous) and he told me he would come “in a little while” (which we all know means 45 minutes.) But about 25 minutes later (still longer than necessary) he finally arrived to pick us up. We got to the mall, and each got into our cars, exhausted from the whole ordeal. And as we pulled away, what did we see? A bus!!! ‘Syracuse University/Carousel mall’! arriving at precisely the same time as our ride.

I would just like to say, that this is my luck in a nutshell. I try to do the right thing and pay a bus fare -and forget to! I try to be ‘smart’ and leave early -and I get home an hour and a half late’ I try to protect my friend from murderers -and she laughs in my face!
If you have gotten nothing else out of this story, please remember to pay you fare when you get ON the bus and don’t talk to strangers with bags on their hands.
That’s the tale of my unforgettable Saturday.
~The end~

Thursday, October 15, 2009

Author -Unkown

"A Sad, Sad Story

Dear Friends,

It is with the saddest heart that I have to pass on the following:

The Pillsbury Doughboy died Monday of a severe yeast infection and complications from repeated pokes to the belly. He was 71.

Doughboy was buried in a lightly greased coffin. Dozens of celebrities turned out, including Mrs. Butterworth, the California Raisins, Hungry Jack, Betty Crocker, the Hostess Twinkies and Captain Crunch.

The graveside was piled high with flours as long time friend Aunt Jemima delivered the eulogy, describing Doughboy as a man who "never knew how much he was kneaded". Doughboy rose quickly in show business but his later life was filled with many turnovers.

He was not considered a very smart cookie, wasting much of his dough on half-baked schemes. Despite being a little flaky at times, even as a crusty old man, he was considered a role model for millions. Toward the end it was thought he'd risen once again, but he was no tart.

Doughboy is survived by his second wife, Play Dough. They have two children and one in the oven.

The funeral was held at 3:50 for about 20 minutes."