Ball of Fire

Much like the furniture sale at Art Van, my Presidents Day wishes are being held over until today... so Happy Presidents Day! I was sick this last week and not able to muster much energy for this admittedly ambitious (inane?) project. But then, dear readers (mom and dad), I happened to catch one of my very favorite movies on television: Ball of Fire, the 1941 Howard Hawks/Billy Wilder classic, starring Gary Cooper and Barbara Stanwyck. I have love, love, loved this movie since I was 16 years old. I first saw it while volunteering at a nursing home run by nuns--who incidentally tried more than once to lure me into their order with gifts of little gold-plated guardian angel pins. At this nursing home, many of the old lady wards suffered from dementia, but would gladly wile away hours watching American Movie Classics, with occasional commentary by Nick Clooney, father of George and a fox in his own right. This particular classic film is about eight professors writing an enclycopedia (!) who, upon reaching the "S" volume, discover that they must venture outside their ivory tower in order to complete an entry on "slang." The youngest professor (and the resident lexicographer/grammarian) meets and is instantly enchanted by Sugarpuss O'Shea, a nightclub singer and girlfriend to a local mob boss. Worlds collide and hijinks ensue. It's magical! And hilarious! Two thumbs up! The movie reminded me why I acquired this old set of World Book in the first place: namely, the charm of something so completely obsolete. Just imagining a team of gray-haired, rolly-polly professors, slaving away at something that is already a superannuated relic before it even hits the printing press somehow warms my heart. The movie also reminded me how much I love any story in which the protagonist is essentially a group of persons. Here the professors each offer vital expertise in different areas: Freudian psychoanalysis, botany, Greek mythology... In the end, the combination of this knowledge is what saves the group from imminent danger. Sort of like The Goonies or X-Men. Ai ai ai. Weak analogy. So weak.




Later, I'll be adding an entry for Franklin Pierce, numero catorce, a "doughface" and the only president from New Hampshire. Frankly (and with apologies to the Fillmore/Pierce/Buchanan fans), these antebellum presidents are starting to bore me, but I'll press on. Mr. Lincoln awaits just around the corner.