Yesterday I spent much of the day at the American Consulate waiting for Hot Latin Boy to renew his tourist visa.

As such, I spent four hours people watching and wondering what sort of decision-making process would start out “What should I wear to my very important potentially life-changing government interview” and arrive at “shredded thigh jeans, shooties ordered from the back of Modern Streetwalker and a hickey the size of Gorbachev’s port wine stain.”

Baffling.

Anyway, it’s been a while, but since it’s time to resurrect the featurette and see What Miss Plumcake is…

Reading: “The Sunday Philosophy Club” by Alexander McCall Smith. Not quite as good as his more famous and thoroughly charming No. 1 Ladies Detective Agency, but a pleasant, entertaining light read for people who don’t leave their brains behind when they go to the beach.

Watching: Mary and Max. An uncomfortable yet tender black comedy from the country who does it best: Australia. The story of a neglected Australian school girl and her middle-aged Asperger’s penpal from New York is somewhere between Nick Park (Wallace and Gromit) and Tim Burton, with the signature dark quirkiness of the best of Oz cinema . It’s not without flaws, but it’s worth a watch just for the blackboard at the Over-Eaters Anonymous meeting.

Hearing: La Bamba: Sones Jarochos from Veracruz. Like most Americans, I was only familiar with son jarocho via Ritchie Valens’ electric iteration of the oeuvre’s 800 pound gorilla, La Bamba; but last night Hot Latin Boy and I were treated to a more traditional setting of the Afro-Cuban influenced music of Mexico’s largest Atlantic port. Two scruffy young men in tight-brimmed fedoras called out verses while playing jaranas, small eight-stringed guitar-like instruments native to Veracruz, while a willowy woman –all shoulder blades and arrogance– stomped out a sort of flamenco percussion with her feet. I downloaded this album last night as a sort of primer course, and I’ve been listening to it nonstop.

Smelling: Poivre by Caron. Scandalously expensive, notoriously hard to get and heart-wrenchingly sublime, Caron’s 1954 ode to pepper and carnation is a masterpiece of composition, a savage dance contained within absolute restraint; it’s Stravinsky in a bottle. It’s the 1913 Sacre Printemps riot at the Théâtre des Champs-Élysées. It’s magnificent and I’d trade my Birkin for an ounce of the original juice. Interestingly, I’m not the only one making symphonic comparisons. Read more about Poivre and its little sister Coup de Fouet, at Perfume Shrine.

Loving: Kay Unger Shimmer Bolero on Super Sale (sizes limited). Where the heck was this when I was going to six weddings a month and couldn’t find a damn dress with sleeves?

Hating: Candycornsayswhat? I can almost see a good dress in there somewhere, were it not afflicted with the dreaded shapelessness that Saks Fifth Avenue (among others) seems determined fat people want.

Wanting: Gourmet Sea Salt Sampler There’s nothing quite like a good dose of cholera to set one’s usually adventurous dining habits straight back to “just some buttered toast please” for another six weeks. I take my toast –and there’s been so much toast– buttered, with just the lightest imaginable sprinkling of salt. I’m a sucker for exotics, and although the local cheapo stuff is actually a surprisingly subtle, flaky sea salt, I’ve been having almost untoward fantasies about this sampler.

Buying: Almond Meal. A few weeks ago while fantasizing about my future life in Spain, I whipped up a simple orange and almond olive oil cake inspired by one I sampled at a dinner party thrown by a charming Iberian lawyer and his two equally charming (and equally Iberian too, I suppose) sons.  At least it would’ve been simple if I hadn’t had to grind the almonds by hand in my molcajete. The cake is right up my alley –a simple unfrosted round, bright with citrus, olive oil and ground nuts– so I invested in a large bag of raw almond meal. Now I add it to everything I bake. I love the texture, the nutty taste and hey, replacing a bit of wheat flour with almond meal increases the nutritional value and flavor profile at the same time. What’s not to love?

Watching: Joan Rivers: A Piece of Work I was never a Joan Rivers fan. I didn’t dislike her per se, but the red carpet fixture never exactly struck me as anything but a Catskills comic better suited to the center square than center stage. This biopic chronicling a year in the life of the groundbreaking (seriously, she was making abortion jokes on TV when it was still in black and white) comedian changed all that. I’m still not a fan of her comedy but I admire her as much as I admire anyone in the entertainment industry today because Joan Rivers hustles. She always hustles. She works constantly, is completely dedicated to her craft and providing for herself and her many dependents, including the children of her employees, who go to private school on her dime. She tells of Johnny Carson, who gave her her start, blacklisting her from NBC when she dared get her own show, how her husband committed suicide and left her a single mother with a ton of debt and over and over (and over) again you see the usually-unspoken bias against female comedians come into light throughout her career. I can’t recommend this doc enough for anyone interested in feminism and the entertainment industry, and it should be required viewing for those of us who attempt to ovulate and make people laugh at the same time.

Hearing: Lyle Lovett – Road to Ensenada
A classic from the Long Tall Texan himself, I pulled this, quite naturally, for this weekend’s drive down the road to Ensenada. This immaculately crafted combination of big band blues (well, it’s not big, it’s large) and Texas-twinged singer/songwriter fare is one of my top 50 albums of all time. Oh, and when Lyle sings the road to Ensenada is plenty wide and fast, he’s using artistic license. It’s a beautiful winding deathmaze as twisted as Charlie Sheen’s psyche and twice as dangerous.

Smelling: Demeter Fragrance Library – Bulgarian Rose
Y’know, I’ve been feeling a little old school lately. Simple, pared down. My highly exclusive masterwork fragrances seem a bit out of place at the open air market where I buy my produce and get abused by the little Oaxacan lady who works there. A sunny stroll along the beach attempting to count the unattended naked children running feral on the shore does not require an almost architectural opus of scent composition and for this reason I’ve been feeling Demeter’s Bulgarian Rose. You don’t get much more old school than Bulgarian Rose, but with typical Demeter style, this isn’t an old lady perfume; it’s merely a precise if breathy reproduction of the scent of a hearty pink Bulgarian rose. Nothing more, nothing less. It’s also one of the rare rose scents that doesn’t turn into pickles on me and it’s cheap enough to use up in two months spraying it on everything from bed linens to tablecloths for a classically pretty but not at all cloying finishing touch.

Loving: Cake Beauty Products
Were you to ask one of my perfumista pals to describe what your devoted Plummy does NOT want in a fragrance they’d probably say something like “Nothing foody or fruity or twee.” and okay, that’s true, which is why Cake Beauty products, particularly their Lemon Cupcake moisturizer are such guilty pleasures. I got this liter bottle of Lemon Cupcake lotion on sale somewhere and it smells straight up like Froot Loops. Now, there’s probably something wrong with a grown woman wanting to smell like Froot Loops, and I certainly don’t want to Loop it up in public, but for the after-shower, pre-bedtime moisturizing, this product is ideal. The scent isn’t long-lived and it doesn’t have any parabens or nasty stuff. Plus it’s inexpensive as all get out so I can afford to slather it on, enjoy my Froot Loopiness and wake up in the morning with hydrated skin sans the breakfast cereal scent.

Hating: Tardiness
I believe my two friends I took to Ireland with me last year will attest how I feel about tardiness. They nearly made me miss our plane from Heathrow and as soon as we landed in Shannon I marched myself directly to the reservation desk and tried to book myself a ticket to Spain because I sure as hell wasn’t going to spend a week with those no-time-keeping fools. In the intervening year I’ve managed to calm down a little, but Mexico, where it’s the cultural norm to be two hours late to a party, is working overtime on my delicate last nerve. Totally hypothetical situation: let’s say one person threw a party that started at four, and spent a lot of time and money making sure everything went off without a hitch, which is pretty darn difficult when your power inexplicably goes out for almost 24 hours the day before. Two and a half hours roll by, the barbecued brisket is turning into shoe leather and the first guest has yet to arrive. Four hours later several invited guests (plus even more uninvited ones) show up and don’t leave until midnight. That hostess should be allowed to spend the next day in bed eating grapefruit and drinking bourbon until she doesn’t to kill anyone anymore, right? Right.

Wanting: ReVive Serum Presse
Got this little potion in a Barney’s goodie bag last year and have just started to use it and wow, it’s great. Spendy but great. Maybe the magic gift with purchase fairy will wend a full-size sample my way when next I load up on my favorite Barney’s-only scents.

Buying: Weighmax Electronic Kitchen Scale
Man, I was surprised at my reluctance to buy a food scale. Most recipes here are done by weight not volume so it’s a necessary evil, but it roused a whole mess of latent fat girl feelings in me. I don’t know if my eating disordered grandmother or my pudge-prone mother ever used one of these things, but it FEELS like deprivation. Like I should be measuring out my 200 grams of lean protein and breathlessly waiting to see whether I’m allowed six or seven almonds as my healthy mid-afternoon snack. Living so near the sea and working with unfamiliar familiar ingredients (refined sugar isn’t white here, and flour has a slightly different texture) using a food scale is crucial, but I’ll admit I bought it online because I didn’t want to be the fat girl with the food scale standing in line at the supermercado. Weird, huh.

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:

What Miss Plumcake is…

Reading: No One Writes to the Colonel – Gabriel García Márquez My person-friend and I decided to read this novella at the same time. Unfortunately, I had some lines crossed in my head so was confusing him with Garcia Lorca and was highly displeased when this wasn’t Neruda-esque. This isn’t a cheery little novella, but it’s beautifully written and translated and will stay with you for quite a while.

Watching: Y Tu Mamá También I’m pretty sure I was at the North American premier of this back in 2001 and hadn’t seen it since, but I picked it up because I was feeling a bit down about being The Older Woman. Gosh this is a great flick. Sexy, poignant, heartbreaking and exquisitely shot. It reminds me a bit of the movie I wanted Bertolucci’s The Dreamers to be.

Hearing: Sketches of Spain – Miles Davis Even if I wasn’t spending most of my time trying to will myself to be from somewhere more exotic than Swansea, this is my all-time favorite summer album. Chill, sophisticated, sort of lazily hot…if you’ve never heard it you’ve got to check it out.

Smelling: Rossy de Palma Eau de Protection – Etat Libre d`Orange. Named after the Spanish star, this is a big black-red rose with a huge dose of high-end patchouli. A nightmare on me, but worth trying if you like that sort of thing.

Loving: Oak Baroque Heels – Alexander McQueen It is a good damn thing I have never been able to cantilever my Flintstone feet into a single McQueen shoe because these leafy beauties would set me back a lot of lettuce.

Hating: Lanvin’s $500 Chucks Seriously? Seriously you’re going to make a pair of fabric Converse knock offs and sell them for $500? I’m trying not to even DWELL on the fact that it’s possible my cuddly little Alber Elbaz signed off on this. I’d expect this from Marc Jacobs, but Lanvin? For shame!

Wanting: Real Techniques by Sam Chapman Brush Set Okay, these things are harder to get than cigarettes in jail and I want ‘em. If you have a way to get me that eyeliner brush you just let me know and I’ll reward you bountifully.

Buying: Avenue’s Belted Mini-Ottoman Dress I haven’t actually made up my mind on this one. It looks great in the photo –though the necklace obscures the neckline– but the fabric is kind of…weird. I haven’t decided if it’s bad weird or just different weird. Time will tell.

What Miss Plumcake is…

Reading: The Sun Also Rises – Ernest Hemingway. Sometimes it’s dangerous to re-read the books you loved in high school, but every year as spring edges its way to summer, Hemingway’s modernist masterpiece calls to me and I read it –at least sections of it– while sunning myself in the cabana, bottle of vinho verde by my side.

Watching: To Be Fat Like Me – A Very Special Lifetime Movie about a thin, pretty, popular girl going undercover in a fat suit to create a documentary on what it’s like to be a fat teenager. A masterpiece of cinematic excellence? Not even a little. Accurate? Maybe, to a point. Still, it’s smarter than it looks and worth watching if you’ve got nothing else to do.

Hearing:Siamese Dream – Smashing Pumpkins. One high school favorite deserves another. Could anyone feel my poignant, poignant pain, like the pasty-faced fuzzed-out rock of Billy Corgan et al circa 1993, when a young Miss Plumcake was so deeply, deeply misunderstood (and yet somehow not getting paid for it?) Sure it’s a little dated now, but I defy you to turn it on when you’re alone and not bliss out to sixty-two minutes of the best shoegazing the mid 90s had to offer. Available for five-dollar download at amazon.

Smelling: L’Eau d’Hiver – Editions Fredéric Malle Editions de Parfums. I guess it’s throwback week at Stately Château Gâteau because I’ve returned to one of my all-time favorite fragrances. L’Eau d’Hiver –Winter Water– is, in a word, pristine. It is the sugar crust crunch of a boot through the first snow of winter, when it’s only you and the birds in an empty field. Some people say it smells of powdered almonds, but not to me. It’s angelica and hawthorn on an highly theoretical white iris base (think a single white iris in a white minimalist living room) with just a breath of jasmine to keep it from being robotic. It’s available in the states exclusively at Barney’s, though you can find samples on eBay (I wouldn’t trust ‘em) and The Perfumed Court.

Loving: Marthe Espa 2 Espadrille – Lacoste. Man, I love a good espadrille. I pretty much plan on spending my entire summer in them this year. Plus, if you’re going to do preppy, you can’t get much better than Lacoste.

Hating: Cucumbers. WTF, cucumbers? Why do you have to be in stuff I like? Man, I would be all OVER some gazpacho right now, but every place I go has cucumbers in them. And don’t tell me it’s an essential part of the dish, I don’t care. If we can put a man on the moon we can get me some damn cuke-less gazpacho. Plus, cobras smell like cucumbers and I am PRETTY DARN SURE cucumbers are working in ALL SORTS of cahoots with cobras in an ongoing effort to kill me since they didn’t get the chance when I was three. So you’re on notice cucumbers. Check yourself before you wreck yourself.

Wanting: Enamel Jewelry. TONS of it. Particularly these black-eyed Susan leverbacks from Kate Spade (also available in pierced) There’s just something about summer that makes me want to put away my faceted pieces and heavy metal in exchange for cool, sleek, not-too-serious enamel.

Buying: Vinho Verde – by the case.  I’m not much of a oenophile, because wine tends to have a nasty habit of not being made of Scotch or gin. However, when the temperatures rise and a girl wants a tall cool drink of something light and refreshing, it’s hard to go wrong with this slightly effervescent “green wine” from Portugal, especially at about $7 a pop. Does Vinho Verde replace Jose Mourinho as my favorite Portuguese export? Absolutely not, but until The Special One realizes how happy we will be together and makes himself available for my summer enjoyment, the wine will have to do.

What about you? What’s dusting your bunnies this week?

I can also get around Welsh pronunciation fairly well. For this reason I was put in charge of any and all communication IN Wales because asking a gay man from the American South to inquire what bus goes from Aberyswyth to Machynlleth and whether we have to transfer at Llanymawddwy or Dolgellau — although highly entertaining– is considered “cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment” and thus puts you in violation of the 1975 Geneva Convention. Oops.

Back to the boyos.

Wales, at least the parts we were in, is rural. I mean really rural, and for Kirk and I –two fun-loving career girls from the big city– it meant one thing: Hot Boys On Tractors.

I don’t know WHAT they were farming and I don’t care. By the time Kirk and I got on our ferry to Dublin, we both had concussions from the repeated thwonking our heads took on the bus windows every time we passed some inevitably pouty, well-muscled farm boy, his dirt-streaked skin glistening in the sun while his shirt clung to his rippl…well, you get the picture.

Sadly, we did NOT get pictures of the hot sweatsy menssesses (yes, our vacation was pretty much a seven day version of a Men on Film sketch. don’t act like you’re surprised) so you’ll have to settle for the famous ones.

There aren’t just a ton of really famous Welshmen but don’t think a little thing like that will stop me from bringing you some A+ hotness from the land of my people.

But first, we have to get one thing out of the way:

Yes. It’s Tom Jones. And his prison-issue banana hammock.

Because any mention of Wales must include a reference to either Tom Jones or sheep. Sometimes both. I’m not happy about it either, but there you go. Still, in all fairness to Mister Jones, he’s got one of the most versatile voices of the past several decades and the CD he released with Jools Holland (creatively titled Tom Jones & Jools Holland) is one of those rare “all-killer no-filler” albums that’s actually an incredibly solid record masquerading as a guilty pleasure. That still doesn’t mean I’m happy about the budgie smuggler.

Moving from the ridiculous to the sublime, I give you Richard Burton.

If you only know him as the man who married Elizabeth Taylor twice, everything you need to know about him can be found in this 1980 interview with Dick Cavett. More than handsome, more than talented, more than troubled, he was entrancing. Watching Burton, even near the end of his life talking about something as mundane as coal mining, I’ve always felt the way I suspect a bird must feel looking into the eyes of the cobra who has just raised his hood; mesmerized, half attracted and half afraid, but incapable of looking away.

Coincidentally –or perhaps not– he is involved with several of my favorite literary and cinematic works. He played the Rev. T. Lawrence Shannon in my favorite film “The Night of the Iguana“, the first voice in my beloved “Under Milk Wood” (by perhaps the most famous Welshman of them all, Dylan Thomas) and although he did not originate the role of Dr. Martin Dysart in Peter Shaffer’s play “Equus”, I remember walking home to my hotel in London having just seen Daniel Radcliffe and Richard Griffiths in the West End revival thinking “that was practically written for Richard Burton” only to find out –like most of you probably knew– he played Dysart in the 1977 film version. If you haven’t been exposed to any or or all of them, I demand you avail yourself of them now. They’ll wait.

Moving on to something SLIGHTLY less obvious but no less a legend I give you this:

This is Ryan Giggs’ left foot.

Should I, by some unforeseen celestial error, actually make it into heaven, I am fairly sure I’ll see this in the God’s Greatest Hits section of eternity right next to Michelangelo’s hands and Joan Crawford’s eyebrows.

For those of you who don’t know, Giggs is a Proper Football legend and pure class. He’s been playing for Manchester United since 1990, which is pretty amazing considering 1990 was the year two of his MU teammates, Brazilian twins (sigh, have lovelier words ever been uttered?) Rafael and Fábio da Silva WERE BORN. At this point, I could totally go all footballer geek girl on you, or tell you about the deep and meaningful conversation I had with our cab driver in Dublin about the inherent superiority of Giggs over Robbie Keane while he (the cabbie) stared intently down my top. Instead I’ll just show you a picture of him with his shirt off, with a bit o’ Becks as a bonus.

One good footballer deserves another, which brings us to our last offering, Little Gareth Bale.

On the one hand, yes. Yes he does look like a) a monkey b) the mean kid from Toy Story.

However, at 21, age has slowly begun to decrease his chances of a be-loinclothed Charlton Heston damning him to hell.

On the other hand, I love him. I can’t help it, I have a soft spot for Bale.

Not only does he have the potential to be one of the all-time greats (thanks in no small part to his ridiculous speed, by which I mean thighs), he’s a classy player and remarkably well-behaved off the pitch so in my head he is going to be the next Ryan Giggs, thus Saving English Football from the likes of Rooney and Keane. Plus his hat trick at the San Siro (turned into a beautiful animation here, seriously, it’s worth watching) made me love him even more. I understand none of you care about that, so again, it’s strip-down time at White Hart Lane:

Now why on earth did my people ever leave Wales?

Reading: Tales of the Alhambra by Washington Irving. If Ichabod Crane is all you know of Washington Irving, you’re missing out. Somewhere between the Arabian Nights and a travelogue, this is a fantastic and entirely-too-neglected classic. Plus you can read a chapter or so a night, so it’s handy to have by the bed.

Watching: Juliet of the Spirits. Fellini at his trippiest, it’s not merely a surreal masterpiece from my very favorite director –some would say the female version of 8 1/2– it was and continues to be a hugely influential movie for designers not just for Gianni di Venanzo’s luscious cinematography but for Piero Gherardi’s over-the-top costume confections. Beautiful, strange and surprisingly empowering. It was Galliano before Galliano was. Brilliant.

Hearing: Etta James At Last. Do you not own this album? How do you not own this album? Plus it’s available as a $5 download from Amazon.

Smelling: Inis Or. This actually smells awful on me, but it’s a decent little inexpensive juice if you like fresh but not too sweet aquatic fragrances.

Loving: Proper Vegetables. The Irish, in my limited experience, are not a vegetable loving people. Except when it comes to peas. Then it’s like that Monty Python sketch when they try to order a strawberry tart without so much rat in it. Somewhere, somehow, someone is going to slip you some peas.

Hating: The Stupid Perfect Shoe. ARGH. Why am I not buying new shoes until I’ve worn all my current shoes just once? These are PERFECT AND THEY’RE ON CLEARANCE. ARRRRRRGGHHmhnfndfddghhh

Wanting: Sonia Rykiel Bag. I’m really not a bag girl but I like this one. I basically resent having to carry a bag at all and for the past week I’ve just been using an antebellum sterling silver calling card case. Sure I’ve got the Birkin, which is the size of my car (WHO? WHO needs that much space?!) This would do me juuuust fine.

Buying: Kiyonna Bellini Ballet Wrap. I’ve been loving variations on these for the past few month, wearing one side pinned up with a brooch as a sort of a wrap. Right now I’m liking a sort of more structured, Antwerp Six, look. Long and lean with attention to unusual proportionals.