Ren Faires and BOOK WIN!

Holy smokes, I found a functioning camera!

Why yes, there is wind in my face. Maybe if I scowl hard enough I can be in a music video!

Ah, turning away from the wind! Why hadn't I thought of that sooner?


You DO realize it's freezing out here in these thin-ass pants, right?


Why yes, there IS a bow on my jacket, how kind of you to notice! Time to go inside now, yes?

So today, I went to the Renaissance Festival.

It's out in Hammond, which is a bit more than a hop, skip, and jump from here (but not far enough to not easily drive yourself -- it's just too damned far for a bike). I really wasn't impressed.

First off, why do people dress from the early Medieval period at Renn Faires? I mean, yeah sure, everyone wants to dress up as a wench, or a pirate (you would not believe the amount of pirates at the Renn Faire, or maybe you would..), but seriously? This is supposed to be the Renaissance. I want giant skirts, and corsets that are stiff as concrete walls (and none of this under-bust crap; yeah, sure, underbust corsets are pretty awesome, but it's the Renaissance, damnit), along with those huge itchy collars that look like something exploded from your collar-bones. I want netting made of gold and quilted fabrics of puffy satin and, most of all, I want a court masque!

Did I get these things? Nope. Now, I'm not saying I was dressed up like this, but if you're paid to work at a Renn Faire, you should! I am just a paying customer, after all.

Oh, and today, GUESS WHAT I GOT?!


THAT'S RIGHT, BITCHES!

I finally got it! I found a 40% off coupon for the bookstore, and I totally zoomed over and nabbed this baby! Ohboyohboyohboy! I am so ridiculously excited (as if you couldn't tell by all of the exclamation marks). Quantum physics and feminist theory? Now that's my idea of a good way to spend a cold, November night!

Suits, rosaries, and decadence!

The show was She Wants Revenge, I believe. I think the song was Pretend the World Has Ended. It was a good show.

So, I found this rather spectacular and awesome link with instructions on making a rosary out of real rose petals. I adore rosaries, despite not being Catholic (what can I say, I've got a thing for icons and iconoclasm). There's something incredibly lush and decadent about rosaries. I'm particularly fond of wearing multiple rosaries on my wrist.

Oh, and prowling around the Craftster forums, I found this beautiful, beautiful piece of work by alli.illektro that I fully intend on reproducing. It's very Velvet Goldmine meets Marie Antoinette.


I think I'll hang watch pieces from mine instead of shiny rhinestone chandelier type pieces. And use brass and copper wire instead of gold. Because god damnit, I'm still waiting for steam-powered spaceships.

A Loveletter, a Manifesto, a Hymn for November

I am often accused of the crime of having my head in the clouds, of being swept away by a world of senseless idealism and infantile dreams. I'm often told that I "just don't get the real world." But I do get it. I understand completely that we live in a world that demands we sacrifice our precious time for safety, for shelter, for the luxuries of food and clothing. I am fully aware that we live in a world that tries to convince us that we are only capable of small feats, that we are bound by unspoken laws that dictate how we should feel, when we should dance, the volume of our laughter.

I am not blind to the pain in our small and beautiful corner of the universe. I am not stupid enough to believe that the whole world is just a merry-go-round of roses and giggles. We have genocide, we have famine, we have disease, we have bigotry and hatred.

But I am not so weak, so dejected, to believe that the world is merely a series of cogs and wheels bound up in pain and grey. I am not so foolish as to believe that monotony, prejudice, and fear is all this world has to offer.

I see the world, with its scars and blisters and cracking paint, and absolutely refuse to let go of my love and wonder for that very world. I understand the argument for apathy, for nihilism, for hopelessness, but I cannot, and will not, side with that argument.

How can you deny beauty when you've felt an ocean against your skin, or seen the birth of the universe reflected in the glowing algea under a fishing pier on a cloudy night in July? How is it possible to harden your heart to the world when you've danced senselessly with someone you love in a cold living room in February, figuring a bottle of cheap wine and a good album is a mighty fine way to keep yourself warm when your heat's been shut off? How can one not be humbled by the magnitude of color and shadow connecting in perfect harmony on the canvas of a lover's skin, or that unsent letter you forgot you wrote tucked snug in a book you thought you lost?

To reject that beauty, in lieu of living a life of bitterness and disgust, is the only true blasphemy. To be a part of this world, and refuse to acknowledge its heartbreaking grace, even if only in small moments (especially in small moments), is the only sin I care to give a name.

It's all in the details, baby!

I was given a link by my lovely friend Sharon today, sent from Jezebel.com, featuring false eyelashes. Not just ANY false eyelashes, extravagant, gorgeous, and some downright odd, false eyelashes.

I absolutely, positively, need these for going on the stage.

Okay, so it's hard to imagine this look working for a drag-king, but take it out of context a little bit. Imagine all the (fucking ridiculous, and most likely photoshopped) diamond makeup gone, the soft pink lips replaced with heaps of gold glitter, delicate cat-eye makeup usurped by jarring shades of green and gold, all topped with crazy cropped hair and the most outrageous (faux) fur coat you've ever seen.

Now tell me that isn't Ziggy or Gary Glitter material.

Okay, let's face it, I need these eyelashes for more than just the stage. I need them for my day-to-day life. Yes, I am the kind of person who will don feather eyelashes, skin-tight vinyl pants, and a pound of glitter to the grocery store. Maybe not just to the grocery store, but I don't bat an eyelash (feather-enhanced or otherwise) at doing seemingly mundane things while dressed to the nines.

The way I see it, the world is a stage. Not saying that the world is JUST a stage, or that the things we do aren't real, and don't have very real consequences. More like the age old, "life is not a dress rehearsal" type thing.

I mean, if I own delicious cocktail dresses and flashy suits, why not wear them for all they're worth?

Bookstore glee!

So, today I'm not feeling so hot. My body is currently in "attack womb" phase. My comrade had a lovely suggestion for the attack womb blues:

The bookstore!

Now, I can't just roll off to the bookstore in my bedclothes (which were, I admit, an oversized button-down shirt and under-roos). Here's what I did to become semi-presentable:

And THIS is what I have to say to really inconvenient sun + Sasha geometry!

I really, really love that jacket. Photos don't do it justice. Here's a close-up of the spectacular pattern:

Isn't it fabulous? The shirt underneath it has little graphics of cassette tapes, which I also find glorious. Fuck your iPod, long live mixtapes!

So, on to the bookstore. I spent an inordinate amount of time in the Philosophy section (which just got two new Deleuze books in stock that I oh-so-desperately want!), wandered through the Lit section (way too much stuff to even list), and hunkered down in the Women's Studies section (I am very proud of them, they took the Lesbian fiction out of the Women's Studies section, and gave it its very OWN section! Yay! Maybe they heard me ranting about how stupid it was to keep the Lesbian erotica in the Women's Studies section, while the non-Lesbian erotica was in the "anthology" section. I mean, really, stereotype much?)

But the real gem of the bookstore experience today?

The science section, of course.

Look what I found!

It was in the Physics section (yes, an entire section devoted JUST to Physics! Oh, how my heart leaps!). It's an interdisciplinary book on Quantum Physics and Feminist Theory! How much more awesome could you possibly jam into a book?! It also received a raving review from Donna Haraway, the glorious and infamous mother of the Cyborg Manifesto, which just makes me want to explode with academic glee. Oh, how my brain and loins burn with such lusty desire to read this book right now.

Unfortunately, it's 30 bucks, and I am flat broke. I am, however, going to order it very, very soon.

Dish lust, and other tales.

What do you do when it's just about to start raining?

Be very glad you decided to wear tights, that's what!

And, the darling photographer's favorite shot:

I realized yesterday, while getting dressed, that I'd never, ever, ever worn that skirt. Had it for over five months. I love the pattern, like putting Houndstooth through a Xerox machine. Oh, I know why I hadn't worn it. Because this is fucking New Orleans, and the last thing in the universe I want to wear in the summer is tights. And, as you can see, that skirt is impossible without tights (one of the unfortunate side-effects of being 6'2" -- hemlines will often dangerously approach harlot).

Now, I will wear a full three-piece suit in the summer, no problem (yes, I know I'm insane). I even wear vinyl, if the need is dire (drag, for instance). But thick tights are a 100% autumn and winter thing for me.

Yesterday was a fun-filled day of spice browsing, electronics store prowling, trinket browsing, and cooking. I drooled muchly over the dishes at World Market (brass plated engraved cocktail shaker? why, of course I need one. Or five.), wine, and other assorted kitchen gear (why, yes, I DO need that huge clay brick to put in my oven. yes, I absolutely require all of those cute little serving bowls and square shaped plates and fancy chopsticks and gorgeous martini glasses. Why hadn't I realized this before?).

I have an insatiable love for kichenware. I do, I admit it. I adore plates and bowls in different colors and sizes, little appliances like zesters and presses, and those neat tea-glasses that contain a central glass strainer peice and are quite stylish in their transparent minimalism.

Do I actually own any real kitchenware? Nope. I realize that, for the most part, I don't actually need any of this stuff. Some of it would be nice (fuck zesting a fucking lemon by hand), but unnecessary.

Okay, to fashion: World Market was a serious disappointment in the way of any kind of jewelry. I've never been much of a jewelry wearer, but I'm trying to learn the ancient art of accessorizing (beyond the extravagant eye makeup and opera gloves I wear more often than I probably should). I don't think it's working for me. I don't know if the polished look is ever going to be my gig.

Oh, and since every single place I go, everyone is already playing Christmas music...

GIMMEGIMMEGIMMEGIMMEGIMMEGIMMEGIMMEGIMMEGIMMEGIMME

Gareth is my hero. Gareth, please design all of Aleks's costumes. Pretty please?

Alien meets android meets androgyny, what's not to love?

Hey, I make stuff!

So, for a lovely friend's birthday, I made her jewelry. I don't have a photograph of her wearing said loveliness, but I DO have a photograph I took of it right after it was made. It involves a semi-nude chest.

Be afraid. Be very, very afraid!





I'm not sure why I decided it'd be a good idea to take photos of this without a shirt on, but as they are the only photos in existence, there you go. But really, what better backdrop for a multilayered necklace than a semi-bare chest? Let's just pretend I'm wearing a very slinky, VERY low-cut little black dress, k?

Well, hi!

Hi there. That's Aleksandr, or me. My name is Sasha, most of the time. And most of the time, my hair is past my waist.

I wasn't exactly sure where to begin when I started this blog. To be honest, I'm still not. So many things to write about, how do I decide? Do I want to talk about books (I always want to talk about books)? Shall I prattle on about my seemingly endless (and constantly growing) collection of blazers (Hello, my name is Sasha, and I'm addicted to menswear)?

All in time, all in time.

But today, I show you this. I really, really love this shirt by Steampunk Couture, and would actually wear it (you'll probably see me post a whole lot of things I adore, but rarely wear. I stick to mostly suits and their derivatives, though I've got half a closet full of dresses, because you never know when the mood to carry a cigarette extender will strike). It's very feminine for something I'd wear, but I don't care -- I want it.



Oh steampunk, how I love thee.

(I wouldn't mind the girl beneath the shirt, either.)