So I was at the Google this morning fact-checking the lyrics of the Springsteen song so I could title this post…and that’s when I saw the above image, which is commemorating the 119th anniversary of the first documented ice cream sundae. I’d celebrate this momentous occasion—I have the chocolate syrup, Reddi-Wip and chopped nuts—but I don’t have any vanilla ice cream in the house. (I knew I should have got some at Publix this week—it was on sale, too—but I’ve been trying to cut back on the sweets lately.) That doesn’t mean I can’t live vicariously through your experiences—why not take the kids or your special other to the DQ later this afternoon? (It’s a perfect “Sunday” for it…nyuk nyuk nyuk…) For a nostalgic remembrance about one of the best ice cream sundaes I ever ate, you can click here.
But there’s another anniversary being observed today in the world of cinema—thirty years ago on this date, Louis Malle’s Atlantic City (1980) was released to U.S. theaters (it had originally premiered in France and Germany a year earlier) and because it’s long been one of my favorite movies of the decade I lobbied Eddie Copeland extensively for the opportunity to do an essay on the movie for his blog. (Okay, I might be exaggerating slightly about the “lobbied extensively” part.) My admiration for this film is such that after finishing the piece I glanced at some of the reviews at the IMDb and learned to my dismay that there are more than a few people who’ve never been particularly taken with the film (one wag complained that because City has BIG stars like Burt Lancaster and Susan Sarandon it should be a BIG movie…I don’t know what the hell that means, and I’d bet dollars to donuts that they were disappointed because things didn’t blow up real good). This doesn’t make them bad people (just horribly, horribly wrong) but the proof is in the pudding—if you haven’t seen this classic, get thee to a Netflix queue posthaste.