After another long day at work yesterday, I strolled my way up Michigan Avenue -- picking up last-minute gifts along the way -- toward Matthew's fabulous Gold Coast condo for a nice little holiday get-together. As usual, he'd decorated to the nines and the food was delicious.

And we watched my all-time favorite Christmas movie -- though the more I see it, the more hokey it becomes. It's filled with implausible plot holes, egregious continuity errors and some of Irving Berlin's weirdest songs. Dean Jagger (who plays the general), despite his impressive resume and many awards, gives one of the worst performances in the history of cheesy cinema. And Vera-Ellen, bless her heart, is all grotesque and misshapen -- imdb.com says all her high-necked costumes were designed by the incomparable Edith Head "to cover her neck, which was aged beyond her years due to her eating disorder, anorexia."

But Rosemary Clooney and Bing Crosby sound spectacular together, the candy-colored sets and costumes are always a delight to see, the dancing boys are all hot, and Mary Wickes still makes me laugh Christmas after Christmas.