sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
So, last night Racheline linked to the most amazingly ridiculous fashion trend ever: pinstripe suits where the pinstripes are actually comprised of words, small enough to not be immediately noticed.

I. Covet.

Everything to do with this idea, I like. I like suits, I like words, I like secrets, and I adore the concept of being read. So basically, this is the intersection of everything I want in the world, and if I only had a spare 13,000 dollars (note: Did not add a zero) I would be pouring over ideas until I could think of something perfect for my suit to say.

At any rate, she asked people to offer what they want their suit to say, and clearly more importantly, to offer what the suits of various fictional characters would say. Someone else offered Zaphod --"GALACTIC PRESIDENT, BABY!"

And so I promptly committed fic.

TITLE: "Trying for Title Eight"
WORDS: 356


No one in the galaxy could pull of a purple suit with blindingly sublime green pinstripes. Fortunately, most people didn’t try. Unfortunately, Arthur was currently sharing a spaceship with one of the fools who would –he had been reading the guide when Zaphod made a triumphant entrance, posing to emphasize the canary-yellow cravat that finished the outfit.

“What on Earth are you wearing?” Arthur asked, wishing rather fervently that Zaphod hadn’t lost or broken every pair of Joo-Janta Peril Sensitive Sunglasses on the ship.

“Oh, Earth-man, cool, yeah! You wouldn’t believe how mind-bogglingly expensive these threads were, but look at the colours, man! Hoopy yeah?”

Arthur stared bleakly. “Yeah?” he offered tentatively, wincing as Zaphod launched over the couch to sit next to him.

“Well just check out the best part!” Zaphod chuckled, thrust an arm under Arthur’s nose, and smiled broadly. He seemed oblivious to the fact that the colours were not so much ‘clashing’ as ‘having declared war to last for generations’. Arthur felt his eyes start to water as he stared in horror at the little green letters crawling along the purple wool.

“Zaphod, your suit has words on it.” he managed to explain, wondering if he could get a headache by staring too long, or maybe if this was another one of those moments where he already had a headache, and just hadn’t noticed yet.

“GALACTIC PRESIDENT, BABY!” Zaphod exclaimed, waving his arms in a grandoise fashion. He thrust the other arm under Arthur’s nose, and continued “And the pants say “BEST BANG SINCE THE BIG ONE” -did you hear about that, Centri’s such a nice girl. I’m still trying to decide on the vest, I can’t choose between “COOL ENOUGH TO KEEP A SIDE OF MEAT FRESH FOR A WEEK” and “SO HIP I HAVE TROUBLE SEEING OVER MY OWN PELVIS”. What do you think, Earth-man?”

Arthur stood, suddenly very badly craving tea, or really, any excuse to extricate himself from the conversation. “How about “seven-time winner, worst-dressed sentient being in the universe”". As he stalked from the room towards the kitchens, he could hear Zaphod call out behind him:

“That’s no good –I’m going for win number eight!”

I'm torn. On the one hand, I want to keep figuring out what the perfect ideal ridiculous suit would say1. On the other...

Man does this make for awesome fanfic drabble. I've got a bit of Roxy Wasserman percolating, and someone was pointing out how perfectly Lucius this is.

What would your suit say? What would the suits of the characters you love say?


1: "PINSTRIPE" is a pretty excellent suggestion if you're going for only one word, and of course "MOOP!" is the first thing I think of for things like this. I would basically eat a baby to have a suit with the full text of "Torn Apart and Devoured by Lions" which is such a great story from Machine of Death. Someone in the comments of Rach's post suggested the digits of pi, as many as would fit, which makes my eyes go wide and my brain go "want!"

There's a lot of good stuff out there. Fun little mental exercise!
sorcyress: Just a picture of my eye (Me-Eye)
I can't stop staring at this picture.

It's Racheline. She linked to it on her blog, saying this is me as a man1 and this is me as a woman. The one I am fixated on is her as a woman. It's a photograph I've never seen --I am semi-obsessive about saving pictures of people I find friends, interesting, attractive, far-away and foreign3-- and was not in all honesty the one I was expecting. The one I was expecting is her as a dancer, red dress sharp against the walls of the subway station, strong and vivid and quite utterly in control of herself.

This is a photo of something different. This is, as she says, a photo of her as a woman. And I'm fixated, on the eyes, on the hands, on the curve of her lips and tilt of the neck.

Racheline has achieved something I simply can't seem to grasp.
She is able to be beautiful. Traditionally femininely beautiful, and quite utterly a woman.

Obviously there is only so much a photo can portray, and I don't have her on IM to ask terribly prying questions about gender and mindset and comfort in ones skin. The sideways glance could just as easily be a way to hide feeling lost, unsure, but I don't think so. She defined the photo as her as a woman. And thus it is.

During NoSuchConvention, I found myself struck with one of those decisive moments in which I suddenly know who and what I am. I wrote about one not too long ago, on my most recent Erik day. That day I knew solidly that I was not my normal absence of gender, I was decidedly male.

At the con, I knew suddenly that I was not my normal absence of gender, I was decidedly female. I was female, and I wanted to be delicate, and flirty, and pretty. I wanted ruffles and lace, a proper skirt, to try on a corset and see if I too could have breasts spilling out of my top. I wanted(want) to be traditionally femininely beautiful and quite utterly a woman.

The initial problem was that I was ill equipped to achieve that at the con. I did try --let down the hair and turn my coat back into a dress-- but at best, I could hit "barefoot hippie goddess" which is not at all the same thing as pretty woman, no matter how you view gender identity. In all honesty though, I could've had access to my entire closet and not known what to wear.

The problem, the real problem, is that I do not have the talent or the security to take clothes and hair and make-up and turn myself into a woman, into a real woman who is beautiful and can smile and mean it, who understands what it's like to be feminine, and how to turn your head and move your hands. I never learned. I have watched with fascination as my sister taught myself, as Jannyblue made posts about how to appear normal, but even following their advice, I am not sure I could achieve anything more impressive than faking it, and becoming very very quiet.

I know too many real women, women who know who and what they are, and who hold themselves with ease and understand what to do and why to do it. I have seen enough examples to know I'm not right.

The moment that feels most right from prom was getting dressed, dropping the leatherman into my purse. Just in case. Maybe you can be a woman with a leatherman, but not I. It was defiance, a tomboy's toy, a geek's little weirdness. It was pulling myself away from the femininity, from the pretty dress and well-braided hair. It was giving me something solid, usual, to latch onto.

The moment that felt most right from the Highland ball, another time wearing another pretty dress, was when [ profile] adfamiliares latched on to how lost I looked-felt-was and gave me subtle instruction. Now we go choose a table, now we put our purses down, now we go mingle, and talk with friends until you can forget that you are dressed wrong. It was a gift, from someone I admire, and it helped enough that I remember it distinct, ten months later.

I'm sure I can look like a woman, like a beautiful and feminine thing. But it comes at the cost of my voice, as I become no longer myself. Trying femininity takes effort enough that I must close myself off, hide behind eyes that are a little too wide, a little too scared. Curl to the edges of the crowd, because I can't sustain the illusion otherwise, and well, what's the point of being pretty if I ruin it by speaking?

Maybe someday I'll figure it out. I'm getting better at the boy part of things, about realizing today I am masculine and I will behave like thus. There must be similar switches to pull, things to learn (and I laugh as I wonder if maybe I shouldn't start lurking on the edges of the internet devoted to helping good little boys become lovely little girls, in whole or in part.)

I can't help but expect flames from this post. How dare I suggest all women must be feminine, be pretty (I don't think I did), that all women must be confident and self-aware and strong. And of course, I am such a lovely girl, and so beautiful and why would I think myself ugly (I don't and I'm not). Or perhaps how dare I want such a thing, why would I not embrace my body-as-is, revel in unshaven legs and unarranged hair, aspire to be a hippie goddess more than disney princess (I have always been a princess, my very name was chosen in part to let me have that identity. Children should have princess names, said Neva to my mother, and so we did, Katarina and Nikolai, and Alysandra.)

Because I am young, and still learning myself. It has not been so long since I could admit satisfaction with the shape of the meat-sack I inhabit, and I still exhibit the tendency to be unsure of that satisfaction sometimes. The mind is such a grand and glorious and more complicated organ, why would it not take me longer to come to terms? I love myself, as is, but there is an ideal that I may never reach, and it hurts to remember that, just like it hurts when I remember I will never put a rocketship on the moon.

And besides all that, the difference between attractive and charismatic is very sharp sometimes. Do not lie that I am more of the former. Prettier than average, of course, but I was trained by the best from a very young age to warp people to my will. I have more power than Buttercup ever did, but still, sometimes I can't help but wish to be the most beautiful woman in the world.

And I suppose, the only closing thought I can share is how unfair it is that Racheline has two perfect red dresses, and I haven't even got one.


1: this post, and here is the man2 picture

2: It's interesting how I intersect with gender and words. In that photo, he is self identifying as a man, so I will call him a man. But I wanted so bad when writing this to soften the word, to say "boy" instead. Sometime I should look at the world, and analyze the why I call you boys and girls, why I so often abandon the words man and woman.

3: I guard and treasure every photograph I've ever found of my clone. Of Thorog. Of Rackle and Harena, of DrummerDude and Jarne. Of all the people who for so long were just avatars and text, who I connected to so much easier-stronger-better than my "real life" friends.

The internet has changed since then, and I've aged enough that I've changed too. I wouldn't necessarily go back to when pictures were a treat and a phone call unimaginable delight. But I am nostalgic for then.
sorcyress: Just a picture of my eye (Me-Eye)
So, it's not a line that will make sense to very many of you, as there is not so much overlap between my friends list and hers, but I was charmed last night when I found myself saying "I may have to write up the last hour of my life simply because it had so much ridiculous in it that I feel like Racheline".

(And of course, there is enough of an age gap between us that her ridiculous can echo memories in a manner that I simply do not yet have the experience to do, but the idea of how sometimes all the world aligns to be so strange and yet somehow entirely correct is a concept that I find very dear.)

And so that's how the bunny scampering away from me on the sidewalk last night (towards where I was going, foolish thing, meaning I kept scaring it further away) came to shift my mood ever so subtle that last click it needed --there is a specter of suburbia in my little patch of city home, and that's okay, and I can be happy at life again. It was just so strange and wrong and beautiful to have a rabbit here --this is not Columbia, bunny, what are you doing in the city?-- that it put a smile on my face as I dragged myself up the stairs and into the safety of a room that feels like home.

The stories of what else happened before are much the personal sort, like the fact that sometimes I do need to cry where no one else can find me, because sometimes I provide my own comfort and strength. I am a girl who cries often, and being well-practised at such a sport makes it easier to 'fix' myself, though I wouldn't always say my fractured mind is broken. And there are things that cannot be changed and are nobody's fault, and just because there is not a clear evil to blame, does not mean that it does not hurt with an intensity that makes it hard to think and impossible to talk.

(And there are things which are, so clearly, somebody's fault, but the matter of intent makes it difficult to blame them. Perhaps I give too much power over myself to the people who don't need it, but I've always been that way, as I try to be better and better and perfect. It has never been as crucial to me to please myself as it has been to please all the rest of the world.)

So my night was strange, but it followed familiar patterns, and I was given the chance to walk alone in the dark, and listen to music pushed very loud. Dar is right, you know --as long as she's got noise, she's fine-- and despite being so aurally inept, I find that I can drown myself in volume, as a way to save me from myself. And while the patterns and thoughts may be familiar, the world is far too vast for that, and so I find bunnies four hundred miles from where I saw them last and laugh.

My life is sometimes ridiculous in how it plays out. I'm very grateful for that indeed.

sorcyress: A character from a comic about the maintenance workers of the universe, holding a thumbs up and saying "MOOP!" (Zonker-MOOP!)
ETA 19Aug: I'm gonna make this a toppost for the month, so that I can find it real quick. I'm also going to update it occasionally, with the most recent list of things I plan or need to do.

So, guys. I'm going to Dragon*Con. For the first time ever, zohmygod!

I hear it's really really big and scary there, and that there's several billion things to do that I would like to do. So I'm not definitely sure what on earth I'm going to be doing (besides hiding in a corner).


  • I know I'm doing the live action Dr. Horrible show --I'll be one of the random extras running about, woooo! This takes out Thursday (rehersal) and Friday nights (show, and you should totes come!), though of course I'll be around after it ends.

  • I am almost certainly attending-or-walking-in the parade, because I think my mother will kill me if I don't. Soyeah. Details to come. NTS, talk to Paula about borrowing a dress for being Queen Elizabeth possibly.

  • My late nights/early mornings/not so early mornings are very plausibly going to involve being dragged to various and sundry parties by Sparr. I have no idea.

  • I insist, insist, fucking INSIST on hanging out with [ profile] zaphod_groupie for at least ten minutes, somewhere along the way. She's only been my older sister since 2005 or something, I really ought to actually meet her.

  • And on a related note, her Gabity-Gabe is I believe gonna be at D*C, and I should give him hugs, which I'm sure I've promised to him at least once.

  • So, I mentioned that I was gonna be at D*C in [ profile] rm's journal, and she responded by being excited and telling me that we should hang out. This is basically filling me with a) glee and b) headdeskery over how fangirly I'm being over someone who is, you know. A normal person who I totes want to be when I grow up. So I'm hoping to do some hanging out there.

  • Similarly, I might break my "never going to con panels unless I get dragged by a boy1" rule and show up to some of her panels 'cause they sound cool. Oh! And the director of HorribleTurn is doing a panel, I believe. So that would be rad.

  • Costumewise, I'm gonna break out the Daria-goodness for a while, probably tart it up as a Booty Chest girl2, possibly bring a "French Cuisine Kills Bunnies"3 sign, run around with mom as a cowboy or Australian girl4, and potentially dress up as one or two more secret things

  • Blood Drive opens at two on Thursday, which should be after I arrive. I've wanted a Heinlein pin for-ev-er, and before the con actually starts *may* give me time to be well rested and fed beforehand, give blood, and recover some afterwards.

  • Oh yeah, dragon*con has Simply Obscene amounts of dancing, doesn't it? Yeah, do that.

Annnnd that's it for "planned" stuff. What HELLS IMPORTANT thing am I missing? And who else is gonna be around and want to hang for food or something?

Also, you know what I will be able to do at DragonCon that I haven't been able to do at ANY CON PRIOR?

My 21-year-old butt will be able to go to ALL the parties. Boo-to-the-fuck-yah!


1: This is inadvertent but true --in five years of cons, I've only ever been to two panels --one on Regency men's fashion, which, okay, wasn't *really* being dragged by a boy though Magus was there looking pretty, and one *coff*.
2: See also, this, and seriously, go watch the third episode of Middleman if you haven't.
3: ...first episode of Middleman. Easy costume, otherwise.
4: See also, Dr. Horrible and HorribleTurn respectively.

ETA: Crap and a half, I left my stripper heels in MA, didn't I? Oh well, I will have a slightly subpar Booty Chest outfit then.
sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
Okay, I'm at that point where I have sixty tabs open across seven browser windows, and that really means that I need to make a link post and get on with my life. So here, have some sundries!

*Boston folk, in last Saturday's flooding, Taza Chocolatier got hit hard. They are trying to convince people to buy their stock so they have money for repairs. Buy some chocolate for a worthy cause!!

*Also Boston Folk, today at seven PM there is going to be a recess in Davis Square. Bring your jump ropes and four square balls, and believe me, I would be there in a heartbeat if I was a few hundred miles north and east of here.

*Improv Everywhere's newest stunt: Recreating the beginning of "Star Wars: A New Hope" on the Subways!

*I'll be honest here: I really quite want this foldable bicycle. It's a neat design, and I emphatically want to have a bike to tool around with up in Boston, to the point where I'm gonna need to find a way to get mine up there *some*how. So yeah.

*"But then there are some shows that go completely beyond the pale of enjoyability, until they become nothing more than overwritten collections of tropes impossible to watch without groaning." (A hilarious review of that terribly unrealistic show on the History Channel --"World War II" (I mean, could you *get* more melodramatic?). Read the comments. Sporfle warning.)

*I will unfortunately not be able to post this Girls With Slingshots guest strip by Erika Moen in my future classrooms, but I want to so badly!

*Locked posts, so no links, but I'd like to extend appreciation to [ profile] chickenhat for "LESS COWBELL!" and to [ profile] ncarraway for giving an earworm trigger warning when he mentioned GaGa's Bad Romance.

*[ profile] ms_hecubus continues to keep a fairly funny blog (seriously, I should make the list of people who's journals are fun to read even if you don't know them1), this time ranting about how "Every time I use a plastic bag, the terrorists win". (And hopefully she will not mind me linking her, as I was impolite and didn't ask permission this time)

*Oh, and her followup letter to Sears.

*Speaking of Racheline (You do read the footnotes when they come up, and not at the end, right?), she went to a conference recently, and made this post about secrets and exile that talks about coming out about various things. And then I babble about this a lot more, because I find it important )

*Oh look, another [ profile] ms_hecubus post, this time Sensibly pointing out that boobies are both sexual and practical items, and to try and define them as one hundred percent one or the other is useless

*[ profile] yagathai came up with a fantastic new portmanteau: Voluntarting. Please go use in a sentence.

*Look! It is A map of the creative process!!

*So, I follow the [ profile] davis_square community because I like knowing what's going on in my world --signal to noise is high enough to keep me coming back. Most of the posts seem to get between zero and fifty comments or so. So when I see one that gets _253_, I pay some small attention.

It is, of course, a post on how to have good bicycle/car relations.

I love my hippie city and miss it dearly.

*Mel Gibson Rant Quotes Presented by Kittens. I don't even know how to react to this. Trigger warning: severely abusive misogynistic language.

*Animation showing all the nuclear bombs that have gone off from 1945 to 1998, including test sites and the like. Long, but neat.

*Want respect for bicycles as transport? Use them that way!

*[ profile] ratatosk talks about a recent court decision saying that the FCC's current indecency policy is unconstitutionally vague. Go censorship fighting!

And that seems to be everything. Now I can go clear the two hundred or so items out of my RSS reader. WOO!


1: Also on that list is:

[ profile] rm, who writes about dancing and fandom and gender and the whole racism-misogony-homophobia-god-society-sucks-thing and doesn't really take shit, and writes just *fantastic* stories about a life that seems very much to be a part of a different world and time sometimes.

[ profile] kittikattie, who writes about video games and American Girl dolls and ponies and art and the whole society sucks thing and takes even less shit than Rach and has a constantly amusing slice of life journal thing going on with lots of pictures of interesting stuff and is the one who coined the phrase "black day"2 which I use sometimes.

And ShadowCaptain would be if he hadn't left elljay for the evil that is Facebook, and Ms_Hecubus like I said, and there are almost certainly other people who have interesting and entertaining journals, in case you need more to read, which I doubt. Dan4th and Heptadecagram, when they post. Others. Whatever, maybe I'll make this into a post of sorts sometime.

2: Black Day: A day in which you put on your gothy best, because sometimes it is nice to be all black-clad and take-no-shit. She always has one on the fourteenth of February, as well as two or three others across the year, mine show up sporadically, but seem to be reoccurring on the fourth of July.

3: In watching Clueless the other day, I remarked that "only to a sixteen year old would "and you're a virgin who can't drive" be seen as such a slur".


sorcyress: Drawing of me as a pirate, standing in front of the Boston Citgo sign (Default)
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