define dopplerganger effect

Dopplerganger Effect n.

it's when you see some one from afar that you think you know/is cute, but then you get closer and closer and the person looks less and less like who you thought they were/cute and then you finally realize that they are indeed without at doubt not the person you thought they were/cute, at which point you just KEEP WALKING and hope that they didn't notice you staring.

either/or

whilst visiting the ladies room ('is this the women's room? i just saw a man go in there!' hmph. i heard that. yeah, i've been getting that a bit more these days with my new haircut. but i figure it is either go into the women's restroom and have an awkward moment with strange ladies, or go into the men's room and get called a fag.  either/or, either/or . . . hmmmm, i'll take my chances with the ladies, thank you.) at work today, i couldn't help but observe that my fellow lady on a mission was a fan of the toilet seat covers. fair enough. i too, have made use of those industrially intimate inventions on numerous occasions. but that was a while ago. and this is now. and this is here, the convention center. they clean the bathrooms like 3 times a day here, for crying out loud, this place is hospital with out the sick people sterile. it's a piece of thin grade z paper, not a hermetically sealed barrier of the unseen. the odds of acquiring something nasty from what amounts to a shared plastic ergonomic horseshoe are low. real low. in my opinion, it is a complete waste of paper. and for what? a little bit of mental ease? 

in mexico, you have to put your tp in the waste basket and not the can. for plumbing purposes. it does make you (me) realize just how much you (i) end up using over the course of a week. interesting: seeing personal paper usage quantified, the culture shock of doing it at all, the surprise of having to fight muscle memory to comply. (also, slight tangent: to all toilets in north america, i have beef with you, what with your 5 gallons a flush devil may care attitude. in my opinion, sharing flushes should be publicly mandated. or at least strongly suggested.)

so it is a choice, either phantom derriere maladies or one less see thru thin piece of perforated protection clogging it up in the local waste management facilities.   decisions, decisions. . . 

i think i hear my boss calling me. . .

half caucasian guitar hero, you got me beat.

So i was down in PDX visiting my family this past week. after a rousing viewing of Americal Idol Season whatever, my 13yr old cousin challenged me to a game of Guitar Hero II. sure why not? we retreated to the playroom upstairs.  the last time i played GH was like 6 years ago at the nickel arcade. i am a touch rusty. so i ran thru the moderately useful tutorial first. (for those unfamiliar, a song plays, little colored dots representing the notes slide down toward you and you have to hit the button on the 'guitar' as the dot crosses a certain pt.) we battled it out, her on level medium, me on easy.  i got the hang of it just barely and my abilities pretty much just platuaed soon after. a few songs/face-offs of me losing to her later, she comes out with 'so there was this kid on ELLEN,' - oh, good i thought, 'breaking the news' to her won't be that bad, she watches ELLEN, she's hip to the homes. never mind the fact that i look like a 13yr old boy and how the words 'ilxxxx' and 'dating' never occur in the same sentence so coming out to her would probably be more of a formality at this point. but regardless, this is a good start, go on then -  'who was like really good at Guitar Hero, like he could do the highest level without missing anything.' 'oh wow,' i sed. 'yeah, it's so not fair, ASIANS ARE SO GOOD AT EVERYTHING.' oh, wow  i thought. didn't see that one coming. so this is the point in the story where i should have said, 'well, actually, that is what we call a stereotype. and here is why it is not the best thing ever...' but in reality, i said nothing. a whole lot of nothing. i kinda spaced out trying to think of a response and missed like 5 dots in a row, thus ensuring yet another defeat.

in my head i imagine our relationship to be a buddy buddy, older relative/younger relative relationship in which i answer her questions and dispense advice about life, people and the world at large, spoken or otherwise, in a non-judgemental, easy to understand, informative, entertaining way. and to her i am someone who is easy to talk to and trustworthy, admirable, cool. but really, right now, i'm her quiet, awkward, older tomboy of a cousin who has tattoos and lives 200 miles away in Seattle. 

in hindsight, i can easily see that she was making a sweeping generalization about his perceived innate abilities and the color of his skin. and a simple, leading question like, 'well, why do you see that as unfair?' would have opened the doors for a rich discourse on racism and how it's not ok to make fun of gamer nerds. had she been some a-hole dude, or even a peer at a party, i (would like to think that i) would have no problem calling them out on what they said. but having the source of those words be a cute blonde blue eyed blood relative is a little disarming. i couldn't even bring myself to say, 'well, i can name like 5 asians i know right now that are not good at a lot of things.' which is, to be quite honest, the first retort that sprung to mind.

as we continued to play, i kept trying to figure out how to pull the convo back to the subject of ASIAN CHILD PRODIGIES. which is hard enough as is without having a stream of colored dots coming at me in a slightly predictable manner. all i could think of was to ask her if she's read the Joy Luck Club. but when you know the answer is already, 'No'...

so we just played. talked about video games. in the quiet spots of our conversation, i resolved to myself to in fact be that older cool relative who gives sage advice and challenges your ideas of what those billions of people whose descendants look nothing like you are actually like. next time, i will be prepared, have responses lined up, maybe even see it coming. but as of right now, in this very moment, i suck at this game. 

SHRIVELED not SHRUNKEN! who ever heard of a shrunken eyeball? i mean really.

SHRIVELED EYEBALL VIDEO FEST

is happening Feb 27th, Feb 28th and March 1st.

Friday 2/27

Fandrich Piano Studio

1513 14th Ave  (14th and Pike/Pine - Cap Hill)

DOORS 8PM

Saturday 2/28

Sukha Yoga Studio

224 1/2B Minor Ave (across the alley from the church parking lot)

Cascade Housing Collective

DOORS 6pm

Sunday 3/1

Bella Vitale Studio and Gallery

5917 Airport Way S (Georgetown)(above Jules Maes Saloon)

DOORS 6PM

i have a film showing all three nights and a not so secret slideshow performance on the last day in georgetown. maybs i see you there.

would somebody plz check the barometer, i think it has dropped

more recently, seattle has been blessed with beautiful, crisp, clear days. and by crisp i mean cold. by clear i mean wicked cold. i know it's early feb in the pacific northwest. . .but still. someone hand me my hat, my so cal roots are showing. . .

less recently, i was in houston, where the days were beautiful, crisp, clear. and by crisp i mean humid. and by clear i mean warm. like 70's warm. it was awesome.  tho actually not really cuz most of my time there was spent inside. working. where the interior weather ceaselessly pendulated from too warm to too cold. stopping at happy medium just long enough to get my hopes up only to dash them thru and thru. my coworker would, on a semi daily basis, proclaim the weather report from on high. the temperature fell into one of two categories and was accurately, truthfully reported as such: 'it's cold as balls in here,' or 'it's hot as balls in here.'

now, i am no expert in glandular temperature ranges, specifically those native to the testicular region, but my deductive reasoning skills lead me to believe that this is a little bit of an exaggeration. i am not one to call into doubt facts which i have no first hand knowledge of (i am woman, hear me.) that come from a certifiable source (ok, she is also woman, but her working knowledge of men, particularly those in kilts, far outweighs mine.)(ok, really, that's not that hard a feat.), but this one had me arching my eyebrow in a skeptical, 'oh really?' kinda way.

maybe when my hands thaw i can try to get my half melted computer up and running again and do a little wiki research on the interweb. until then, batman, i'll just hang out with the cats.

EVERYTHING I LEARNED ABOUT SEX I LEARNED FROM MY EX'S BLOG

ok, not really, i just thought the title was clever. 

all my ex's live for texts. messages. 

. . .almost clever. but not quite. . . 

battle cat

i enjoy a good evening routine. drinking coffee substitute tea after dinner. reading by the fire before bedtime. administering ointment to numerous cutaneous wounds on my upper body. 

i live with 2 cats. according to the way things are gonna go from here on out, thought up by their owner/my flatmate, they, BABYSEAL and PETER PETER JENNINGS, are to go outside at night. usually, she that thought it up does it herself. the cats are moderately compliant. she that thought it up is out of town; the responsibility falls heavily upon me. somebody cue up the battle hymn please. 

BABYSEAL is about the size and shape of a watermelon. an 18lb watermelon. with a cat head stuck to the end. while her outward appearance may lead one to think that any inherent catlike qualities she was born with have long ago been squandered/forgotten/eaten, let me be the first to tell you that hiding under that dense layer of insulation, there lies a fierce beast. whose claws (ilvs: hey geode, why don't you cut BABYSEAL's nails? geode: why don't you cut BABYSEAL's nails?) protrude far beyond fleshy flesh and can pretty much cut thru all layers of human epidermis with little to no effort. when provoked, the results are stunning. in the worst way possible.

the photo does my feline inflicted injuries no justice. there is no visual substitute for the impressive torque of a cat body trying to escape, the sting of a cat's claws slicing human skin, the resulting mixed feeling of anger/guilt/utter defeat.

BABYSEAL: 1, ilvs: -5

she that thought it up does not return for another week.

like an ill fated victorian Misses living next door to the Count, i dread the coming of night.