Me? I’m finishing up some last-minute baking and watching Christmas movies. There are a lot of great films based on a Christmas theme. You know, like It’s a Wonderful Life:

Treacly? Yes, yes it is. But then Capra’s genius lay not in his subtlety, but in his optimism.

And then there are the not-so-greats, like Santa Claus vs the Martians:

Unforgettably craptastic.

But some of my favorite Christmas films aren’t really recognized as being holiday-centric. And a couple of my other faves… well, the theme is undeniable but they don’t make for the most traditionally heartwarming viewing.

Want to know my top five fave Christmas movies? Read on after the cut… and remember that neither of the above films is on that list.

Bad Santa. It’s rude, it’s crude, it’s full of utterly despicable characters… and yet I adore it. Billy Bob Thornton is brilliant as the slow-witted conman whose annual big con is to play a department store Santa and rob the store on Christmas Eve. Tony Cox is the elf who plans it all and does his level best to keep Thornton sober enough to keep his job. The late, great Bernie Mac turns in a gloriously wicked performance as the crooked department store security man, the late lamented John Ritter is howlingly funny as the HR guy so full of white guilt he can’t even fire a drunken Santa and his abusive elf, and the very much still with us Lauren Graham is gut wrenchingly funny as the woman with a very kinky Santa fixation. This one is not for the kiddies and it won’t give you sugarplum dreams, but it’s the perfect antidote for too much seasonal saccharine.

A Christmas Carol. Specifically, the 1984 one with George C. Scott as Scrooge. As good as various other Scrooges have been over the years, Scott is the only one I feel makes him an entirely human character. This is also the one production I can think of where Tiny Tim really looks sick, rather than just using a crutch. This boy (Anthony Walters) looks like you could knock him down with a feather. Add in terrific supporting performances by: David Warner, Roger Rees, Angela Pleasance, Frank Finlay, Susannah York, and Edward Woodward (whose turn as the Ghost of Christmas Present is clearly the deranged bastard son of Michael Caine and Richard Harris) and suddenly Dicken’s tale of redemption becomes far more plausible and touching.

The Lion in Winter. See? I told you there would be something most people wouldn’t think of as a Christmas movie. And yet the whole story takes place over Christmas. Peter O’Toole and Katharine Hepburn lead an amazing cast in this tale of treachery, in-fighting, and family holidays. It also contains my mother’s favorite line from any film ever. The first person to guess what that might be wins a gold star and my unending admiration.

The Nightmare Before Christmas. It’s not just for Halloween anymore. From the Kurt Weill-inspired music to the exquisite claymation to the wonderful vocal performances, this is hard to beat.

So those are some of my favorite films for this time of year. What about you? What do you love? What do you wish would never be shown again? And what is my mother’s favorite line ever in any film?

You tell me.

After several years of nonsense (and when everyone else moved from lollipops to cocaine) I quit, and from that day to this, I’ve seen maybe a dozen first-run films in the theater.

However, fate and fortune, not to mention being jerked around by the office of the Mexican Consular General for half the day until I nearly cried in two languages, conspired against my anti-filmic ways and I found myself at an art house double-feature. The menu consisted of Pedro Almodovar’s new film “The Skin I Live In” and “The Way” starring Martin Sheen.

The Almodovar flick couldn’t have been more effed up if it came with its own anti-gravity vibrat…personal massager, but “The Way” was touching, gently funny and although I Do Not Cry In Public, something got in my eye several times and it absolutely ruined my makeup.

It’s the story of a buttoned up father who, upon learning his estranged son died the first day into a pilgrimage along the Camino de Santiago through France and Spain, decides to complete the pilgrimage for his son, scattering his ashes along the way.

He reluctantly takes on a handful of traveling companions, first and for our purposes most importantly, “Joost from Amsterdam.”

Yorick van Wageningen plays jovial Joost, the mountainous Dutchman –think a lumberjack in the off season– who is walking the 800km way to lose a few pounds to fit into the suit he needs to wear for his brother’s wedding. Throughout the film Joost provides good-hearted comic relief and despite his desire to drop weight, he gladly, gleefully partakes of local lamb and fresh goat’s cheese and every simple gastronomical pleasure the road offers him. He’s never portrayed as a glutton, just a bon vivant with an appetite for everything, including food.

The peregrinos (pilgrims) are well over half way through their months-long trek when it’s revealed Joost’s wife doesn’t want to sleep with him because he’s fat.

There is a scene where good-natured Joost looks at himself naked in the mirror as he sits down to a beautiful tray of room service, delivered on the one indulgent day of their journey. Watching him cry in frustration and shame…well, something got in my eye again. I think the mold is going around.

I won’t ruin the end of the film, I know how people on the internet are about spoilers, but I cannot recommend this film enough. Watch the trailer and then see it for yourself.

As autumn creeps in and the weather turns colder, there are few things I love as much as curling up with a good movie or two… or even three. And after a long day, I love having something to laugh at.

So here are some of my favorite comedies in no particular order, in case you’re looking for a source of a few good giggles anytime soon.

Whiskey Galore, also known in some places as Tight Little Island. There are those who say that to understand the Scots, one must watch the original version of Wicker Man. Pffft! say I! This is the stuff if you want to understand my ancestors. I’m only a second-generation American on my father’s side, you know. His grandparents crossed over to Canada from the Isle of North Uist. Good luck finding it on a map.

Anyway, Whiskey Galore is based on a novel by Compton MacKenzie, who based his story on a true incident during WWII. With all the rationing because of the war, the tiny island of Toddy finds itself in a terrible predicament for Scotsmen: there is no more whiskey! As the dire effects of this disaster make themselves felt more and more, a ship hauling a cargo of thousands of cases of whiskey goes down off the coast of the island. The officer in charge of the local militia (an Englishman, of course) decides that the precious cargo must be guarded from all looters. The Islanders, of course, have a very different take on the matter. And so the mirth begins.

The cast includes some great character actors of the time, including the pictured James Robertson Justice, Basil Radcliffe, Joan Greenwood (the only woman who could growl and squeak at the same time!), and a young Gordon Jackson some twenty-odd years before he made his mark playing the butler, Hudson, on Upstairs, Downstairs.

All About Eve. Ah, the delicious, delicious sarcasm and wiliness of this film! The brilliant camera work! The fabulous cast! From Bette Davis and Anne Baxter through Celeste Holm and Thelma Ritter (one of my personal favorite performers of all time), to the inimitable George Sanders, right down to Marilyn Monroe’s breakout performance, this is one not to miss. Decades before Single White Female, this is the original movie about being stalked. Enjoy the poisonously funny ride. Oh, but fasten your seatbelts. It’s going to be a bumpy night.

Animal House. It’s rude, crude, sexist, sophomoric and still one of the funniest films ever made, in my not so humble opinion. It also launched the careers of some of my favorite actors currently working, including Kevin Bacon. Without this film, we would have to come up with six degrees of some other actor. Without this film, Karen Allen would never have made it to Indiana Jones. Without this film, well, we would have had to do without the late, great John Belushi’s arguably greatest work.

I think that’s worth a little T&A humor… which I also happen to laugh heartily at.

Blow Dry. This little-known gem features a truly stellar cast. Alan Rickman, Natasha Richardson, Bill Nighy, Rachael Leigh Cook, Rachel Griffiths, Josh Hartnett, and a host of other wildly talented people. As for the story, well, it’s an international hair dressing competition being held in a two-bit village in England. Rickman and Richardson used to be hairdressing partners and used to be married… until Richardson ran off with their best model (Griffiths). Can the three work together again to win back their laurels?

Yeah, I know, it doesn’t sound like much on the surface, but stick with me. The script is smart, funny, and sometimes truly touching. And then there are the characters in the competition. Besequinned glitterati of the salon, they bring touches of the surreal to the simple story. And then there’s the mayor, played by the always fabulous Warren Clarke, who goes more and more and more Vegas with every appearance. And on top of all that, there’s Heidi Klum in her film debut in all her deranged glory.

This is a film that tends to wind up in the ‘please, for the love of pretzels take this dog off our hands’ bins in the rare places where you can find a copy. But really, it’s well worth giving a good home.

And hey, if anyone out there has a good comic gem to share, please tell us all about it! I would love to be turned on to a new source of yucks.

It has several ardent admirers, but even the intoxicated appreciation of the Toothless Vagrants Local 310 could not hide the sad truth: While I’ve got plenty of boom boom up front, I am noticeably lacking in the posterior pow.

When I was in Mexico not only was I surrounded by Latinas of all shapes and sizes, sporting big, bouncing backsides (many trying to catch the attention of my Hot Latin Boy and giving me the stinkeye when he was clearly not having it), one of the villas up the street had been converted into a plastic surgery recovery house where, according to my neighbor, 8 out of 10 of them were there for butt enhancements.

I reminded myself that as a rule, I do not have body issues and Something Must Be Done before I drove myself insane.

I couldn’t reasonably change how it looked and besides, there was nothing objectively wrong with it.

It’s not that nice perky bubble, but it’s strong, firm and still relatively young.  Sure there’s cellulite but, I’ve had cellulite since the fourth grade. That dimpled ship sailed before glasnost and it’s not coming back. I’ve got bigger fish to fry.

The only thing I could really do is change the way I felt.

In the movie version of this story there would be a montage of hilarious yet endearing moments of me consciously trying to bond with my backside, possibly with a Sonny and Cher soundtrack  but what really went down is this:

I saw Orfeu Negro.

Orfeu Negro (Black Orpheus) is a 1959 masterpiece from French director Marcel Camus that sets the Greek tragedy of Orpheus and Eurydice in a shanty town outside Rio de Janeiro during the dizzying days before Carnival. It’s a beautiful piece of cinema, but what stuck out –literally and figuratively– were the behinds.

They were aspirational.

The extras were women from the local favela and samba schools and they all walked around with this amazing regal walk, carrying their rumps like royal orbs, especially the older, fatter women and especially while they were dancing.

I needed to learn to samba.

One night, I prevailed upon one of the waiters at the only restaurant in my village to take me to a place in a nearby town that offered the Brazilian export and we went, I in my white dress and he in approximately six gallons of Aspen cologne.

The club was loud and there were chickens in the parking lot.

They did NOT serve gin and tonics.

Gentle reader, I do not think it will surprise you when I say I am not the finest samba dancer in the state of Baja California. Frankly, I wasn’t all that surprised myself. I WAS surprised I was so actively, aggressively bad.

I am a good dancer. The steps looked easy. Surely it couldn’t be that hard.

Ha.

Again, in the movie version I’d go from hapless gabacha to samba queen in the span of a few minutes, thanks to the instructive caresses of my sexy Latin waiter and we’d realize, despite our social and economic differences and his flagrant abuse of drug store fragrance, we were Meant To Be Together.
Meaningful exposition of self.
Jump cut to bedroom scene.
Slow fade to black.

What actually happened was this:

“YOUR BUTT IS IN JAIL!”

“WHAT?”

“YOUR BUTT. IT IS IN JAIL! LET IT GO!!”

“NO I ALREADY HAVE A DRINK!”

“PUSH YOUR BUTT OUT, LOOSE! LOOSE!!”

 ”WHAT??? TEXAS!! I DON’T THINK I’M DOING THIS RIGHT!!”

And then somehow –and honestly I have no idea how– it happened. I found my inner Brazilian butt.

No one was surprised as I when things started shaking ’round the back 40. Maybe I was tired or maybe it was cachaca margaritas, but I started channeling those broad-beamed broads from Orfeu Negro and it felt so good, so strange and wild and not even remotely Episcopalian that I couldn’t help but let those months of ugly self-talk steam out of me with my sweat.

(French theatrical trailer for Orfeu Negro. Seriously. Watch it.)

I was still the worst samba girl in the club, my waiter friend, while admittedly very sexy, still smelled like my first boy/girl dance circa 1992 and no amount of magical thinking is going to give me one of those fantastic Latin backsides, but that’s not the point.

The point is I made friends with my body, with a part of my body I wasn’t –even if was just a very short while– especially fond of.

I didn’t do it through external praise or by changing what it fundamentally (ha) was. I did it by finding a way to make “LOOK WHAT I CAN DO!” trump “Look what I don’t have!” and if I can do it, you can do it; and if you can do it, why don’t we all start right now?

Now I’m going to watch Orfeu Negro again…the big samba scene is coming up and frankly I still need a few pointers.

Next time I don’t want to scare the chickens.

PSSST: Do you follow @missplumcake on Twitter? If not, today might be a good day to start. I’m answering readers’ questions all day. Personal, professional, just keep it (moderately) clean! –ed.

Miu Miu Zebra Brogues

Anyway, it’s Tuesday which means it’s time to find out What Miss Plumcake is…

Reading: Letters from My Windmill – Alphonse Daudet. I know I’ve mentioned this charming 1866 collection of short stories before, but I’m doing it again. It’s that perfect combination of sweet and melancholy you’d expect in a French pastoral, with just a little sharpness under the bucolic bliss.

Watching: Titanic Titanic came out the winter of my freshman year in college and you couldn’t go anywhere or do anything without SOMEONE’S heart going on and on about this movie. Feeling a bit nostalgic this week for reasons I’ll mention in a second, I decided to watch this flick for the first time since it came out the theater Gorgeous hats, gorgeous costumes, gorgeous Kate Winslet, terrible, terrible script.

Hearing: Looking Out the Fishbowl by Eddie From Ohio. If my college years had a soundtrack, it would be Eddie from Ohio, a high energy folk outfit that’s half Ani DiFranco, half James Taylor and half some other things I can’t really think of now but maybe have something to do with Lyle Lovett. Looking Out The Fishbowl –incidentally the first piece of swag I ever got from my radio show– is all about newly discovered independence, pretty heady stuff for a girl who had just left home. It features a fantastic song called Fifth of July, about what happens after you’ve declared your independence. Good track and the inspiration for my whole late 90′s throwback week.

Smelling: Axe Body Spray. Okay, hear me out. Remember, it’s throwback week. Before Axe came to the US it was extremely popular with the Dutch. Most importantly one very important Dutch boy, Miss Plumcake’s first true love. Now let me tell you, the boy loved his product, and the scent set forth by his six million styling gels was only enhanced by the liberal application of Axe’s now-discontinued “Inca.”

I don’t know if it actually smelled good or I was just so roofied up on teenage love that I stockholmed myself into liking it, but when I pulled out my copy of Looking Out The Fishbowl I got a big whiff of his cologne and it sent me right back to the spring of 1998 when I was young, in love and probably very, very smelly.

Loving: That my first love turned into Uter from the Simpsons. While we’re ON the subject of that Dutch boy, I can tell you he dropkicked my heart against the treehouse wall something fierce. I was everything he wanted, except for too tall and too fat. HE on the other hand, looked like a taller, blonder version of Leo DiCaprio. I google stalked him a few months ago and discovered to my cloven-hooved glee that my teenage dreamboat has Not Aged Well and although I’m normally against schadenfreude of any kind, I’ll allow myself this one tiny scoop. Okay I’ll take two. They’re small.

Hating: Reality Television. All of it. Except for that show about the alligator hunters. That one can stay. Seriously guys, I just don’t get it. How do you not feel stupid watching reality television? The one exception I’ll make is Swamp People, which I streamed on Netflix when I was in DC. Does that count as reality tv, or is it just a serialized documentary? More importantly, does anyone think that Troy Landry’s son looks like Kevin Spacey, except for, you know, not gay?

Wanting: Pink Grapefruit Mentos. Nowhere. Nowhere to be found. Why must the world be so cruel?

Buying:Very by Pet Shop Boys. So the Dutch boy’s favorite band was Pet Shop Boys. He was like a one man version of “Gay or European?”

So that’s all I’ve got this week, what about you? What’s currently making YOUR heart go on?

Reading: How to Be Good by Nick Hornby I can’t tell you much about this novel so far, but I’ve liked all the other Hornby stuff I’ve read. I’ll let you know when I finish it.

Watching: Dumbo I’m not saying you have to like this movie, what with its racist birds and whatnot, I’m just saying if Baby Mine doesn’t make you cry every damn time you see it, you probably have no soul.

Hearing: 21 by Adele I’m completely bummed because Adele had to cancel her recording of Austin City Limits. Boo and hiss. She’s one of the few actual talents making it big today, and she’s a gorgeous plus-size gal who is working that doe-eye liquid liner for all it’s worth.

Smelling: Muscs Kublai Khan by Christopher Sheldrake for Serge Lutens This is a, uh, divisive fragrance. Perfumistas would call this a “challenging” scent. Apparently it has been described as smelling of “horses, genitalia and horses’ genitalia” but on me it’s a lovely, earthy skin scent that smells exactly like my grandfather after a late night in the study, the combined bouquet of ancient wool cardigans, mad professor hair, sweat and Zest soap. It’s definitely animalic, none of this kinder, gentler “white musk” nonsense, but I spritz it on (just behind the knees, a little goes a long way) whenever I miss him.

Loving: Nathan’s Hot Dogs When I was in DC all I wanted was Mexican food. Now a hot dog makes me go insane. The best dog I’ve ever had was at Austin Land and Cattle where the owner whipped up a Nathan’s hotdog topped with (if I recall correctly) lobster, a soft scrambled egg, cilantro and rooster sauce. I’m not that fancy at home, and know the One True Way to serve a hot dog is with kraut, whole grain spicy mustard and dill relish.

Hating: The fact I can’t get this Battenberg lace dress in my size. If you can find a similar one in plus sizes help a sister out!

Wanting: Pink Elephant Ring from Noir NYC Which came first, Dumbo or the pink elephants? Either way, I want this on my finger with a quickness. Elephants are one of my favorite animals and what more charming way to say you enjoy the odd tipple or twelve than with a big pink elephant cocktail ring?

Buying: MAC Brule eyeshadow. One of the few products I’m never without, I use this under all my eye shadows as a base, particularly when I’m doing looks requiring a lot of blending. I’m not sure how it works, but it makes the look last longer while also making it more easy to blend. Also, there are a lot of dupes out there but this is one where I will accept no substitute.

Well that’s all for me, what’s been shaking YOUR maracas this week?

(now with sales code AND a recipe!)

Reading – Romancero Gitano by Frederico Garcia Lorca. A beautiful collection of poems from Spain’s most famous modern poet. He described his 1928 work as “a carved altar piece of Andalusia with gypsies, horses, archangels, planets, its Jewish and Roman breezes, rivers, crimes, the everyday touch of the smuggler and the celestial note of the naked children of Córdoba. A book that hardly expresses visible Andalusia at all, but where the hidden Andalusia trembles.” Read it in Spanish if you can, but a reputedly excellent bilingual collection of Lorca’s work is available here. If you’re interested in this sort of thing, this is an interesting blog outlining the relationship between Salvador Dali –who is responsible for the portrait of Garcia Lorca above– and the poet.

Watching - Evil Under the Sun. How had I never seen this before? It is early 80′s (possibly unintentional) high camp in all its glory! Diana Rigg and Maggie Smith as bitchy aging chorus girls done good! Roddy McDowell at his screamingest queenie best! Jane Birkin! Hats! Turbans! Turbans UNDER hats with coordinating clip on earrings! Peter Ustinov as Hercule Poirot! Cole Porter soundtrack! I just about died.

Hearing – The Sweetest Thing by U2. My favorite love song and is even nearer and dearer to my heart since going to Ireland. Say what you will about Bono, the boy knows how to apologize. Watch the video here. From now on, I refuse to accept any apologies not accompanied by the cast of Riverdance, an elephant and mostly naked men stripping on a firetruck.

Smelling - Organix Tea Tree Mint Shampoo. Do you want to smell like a Thin Mint? Of course you do. I’m no ‘poo except for the summer, but this sulfate-free stuff smells great and leaves my hair nice and healthy.

Loving – Horchata. Horchata is a creamy refreshing summer drink served throughout the Spanish-speaking world. The Spanish version is made with tiger nuts, but since I wouldn’t know a tiger nut if I stepped on one (and trust me, I’m not about to do that), I make a version of the variety they serve most commonly in Mexico and South America, flavored with rice, almonds and cinnamon. I don’t have a precise recipe, but here’s the gist:

Miss Plumcake’s Horchata:

Bring 2 quarts of water to a boil in a large pot, with a few cinnamon sticks. Remove from heat and add a cup and a half or so of uncooked white rice (do not rinse), give it a good stir, cover it and let it sit at least 5 hours, ideally overnight. In the morning, give it a final stir and strain the rice water into a large pitcher, reserving one cup of liquid and dispose of rice (you could probably do something with the rice, but I don’t eat rice so I don’t know).

In a large microwavable measuring cup or small pot, combine one 14 oz can of sweetened condensed milk and reserved rice water, heating until it has the consistency of fresh milk, then add it to the pitcher of rice water. Add a few drops of natural almond extract if you’d like, then chill. Serve over lots of ice with a few toasted almond slivers if you have it. Sabroso!

Hating - Flaccid Unnecessary Ruffles. Seriously. What is with these things? It’s like every top I see is just dripping with random bits of fabric flotsam. It just looks sloppy and cheap and if I wanted to look sloppy and cheap believe me, I’d be doing it in a much more entertaining way than just wearing stupid ruffles.

Wanting - All Espadrilles All The Time. My affection for the espadrille is well-documented, and especially now that I’m Fake Spanish, they’re pretty much all I want to wear this summer. The Emmah from Calvin Klein scratches my neutral-color, leg-lengthening high wedge itch (to be worn with shorts) and I’ve been wearing my wild Lacroix ones all spring, but really any ‘drilles will do.

Buying – Belted Linen Dress by La Redoute. As I mentioned yesterday, I’m heading down Mexico way for a month for some hot Night of The Iguana action and I’m going to wear mostly white linen. Because when your house comes with a maid, you can wear white linen every day. This dress is easy and versatile, use the belt that comes with it, your favorite scarf, wear it as a dress or a tunic. Whatever. Available in white and navy, you can get it for cheap if you use code OSPCOUPON16 to take 40% off your most expensive item.

Me? I’m grand. The charm offensive I launched against the Mexican family who lives downstairs from my best friend (I’m staying with her while in Virginia) paid off a few days ago when they took pity on the poor displaced Texan and gave me a fajita fix. I’m now rationing out my slices of delicious delicious baby angel meat like cigarettes in jail.

Anyhoodle, it’s Tuesday which means it’s time to find out What Miss Plumcake is…

Reading: Hellraisers: The Inebriated Life and Times of Richard Burton, Peter O’Toole, Richard Harris & Oliver Reed Exactly as good as you think it’d be, from the good old days when people really committed to drunken debauchery.

Watching: Amores Perros (Love’s a Bitch) This is not a happy film, but it’s beautiful, powerful and important. It’s pretty graphic but not gratuitously.

Hearing: Voice from Alison Moyet specifically Dido’s Lament. I have the import version so that’s what I’m linking to, but I’m pretty sure the tracklist is the same on the non-import edition, available here. Haunting.

Smelling: In The Library by Christopher Brosius of CB I Hate Perfume. I’m wearing the water perfume version which I bought as a decant from The Perfumed Court. I haven’t worn scent since I’ve been in Virginia, but I discovered a little vial of this in my bag and gave it a spritz for the sake of novelty. It’s supposed to evoke the scent of –you guessed it– an old library. It’s slightly more theoretical than literal, but if you or your fella loves the scent of old books and bindings, this might be right up your alley.

Loving: This ridiculous/fabulous Betsy Johnson nightie. It’s so Beach Blanket Bingo I could die. I don’t usually do camp, but how can I resist something practically ripped straight from Dawn Davenport’s closet (as played by Divine in John Water’s Female Trouble). Now all I need are cha cha heels!

Hating: