The 12th Annual San Francisco Edwardian Ball and World's Faire will take place Jan 20 & 21st at the The Regency Ballroom on Van Ness. The Los Angeles Edwardian Ball will occur two weeks later on Sat, February 4th, 2012.
"There were bits of mirror on his jacket, glinting, and I wondered if he was there for an interview, like Egyptia, and warming up outside. The he stopped singing, and turned around and I thought: Suppose he is ugly? And he went on turning, and I saw his profile and he wasn't ugly. And then, pointing something out to the crowd about him, he turned fully toward me, not seeing me. He was handsome, and his eyes were like two russet stars. Yes, they were exactly like stars. And his skin seemed only pale, as if there were actor's makeup on it, and then I saw it was silver-face, throat, the V of chest inside the open- necked shirt, the hands that came from the dripping lace at his cuffs. Silver that flushed into almost natural shadings and colors against the bones, the lips, the nails. But silver. Silver.
It was very silly. I started to cry. It was awful. I didn't know what to do. My mother would have been pleased, as it meant my basic emotions-whatever they were-were being allowed full and free reign. But she'd also have expected me to control myself. And I couldn't."
Every now and then you discover a book that remains forever etched into your heart and soul. A book that you read over and over so many times over the years that you lose count of how many times you curled up with it. The Silver Metal Lover is such a book. I no longer remember where I first picked it up or when. It was a very long time ago. I probably rolled my eyes at the title, finding it to be quite cheesy at first. Although avidly into science fiction and & fantasy at the time, I didn't care for cheesy (now camp is a whole different story!) or animals that talked.
Now I can't imagine my life without this book in it. This might seem a bit strong but it's true. A friend also fell in love with it and we nicknamed her Jain, spelled J-A-I-N not J-A-N-E, after our heroine. For years afterward I referred to her as Jain (or Count Olenska, we were fond of The Age of Innocence too but I digress.) This love story was real and true and it touched us both deeply.
In my mind I imaged a world kind of similar to the one in Blade Runner. At least the way Los Angeles is portrayed, but not as dark. Of course no one in this movie even came close to what I pictured in my mind for Jain and Silver. For sure, The Silver Metal Lover should have been made into a movie by now.
This is another tale with an ending that can bring me to tears, especially this classic scene. I can freely admit that I cried the first time I saw it. Years ago I was lucky enough to view a directors cut of Blade Runner with Rutger Hauer in attendance. He was kind enough to hang out afterward and take answer from the audience.
If you feel like getting lost in a book that will literally pick you up and carry you off, that will make you feel as if you are actually part of this alternate existence and a witness to an honest tragic (yes, tragic) and shining love, seek it out.
At the top of the terrace is a fountain. The fountain pours over an arch of glass, and you can stand under the glass with the fountain pouring, and not get wet. Across from the fountain is the scuffy peeling facade of the once spendid Theatra. A ticking clockwork lion was pacing about by the door. I hadn't seen anything quite like it, and wondered if this was the Sophisticated Format. Then something caught my eye.
It was the sun gleaming rich and rare on auburn.
I looked, and bathed my eyes in the color. I know red shouldn't be soothing to the eyes, but it was.
Then I saw what the red was. It was the long hair of a young man who was standing with his back to me, talking to a group of five or six people.
Then he began to sing. The voice was so unexpected. I went hot again, with embarrassment again, because someone was singing at the top of his lungs in a crowded busy place. At the same moment, I was delighted. It was a beautiful voice, like a mistrel's, but futuristic, as if time were playing in a circle inside the notes. If only I could sing, I vaguely thought as I heard him. How wonderful to have such sounds pour effortlessly from your throat.
A rose by any other name Would get the blame For being what it is- The color of a kiss The shadow of a flame A rose may earn another name. So call it love; So call it love I will And love is like the sea Which changes constantly, And yet Is still the same.