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| That's a real fine quality-looking sweater, huh? |
I don't even really need to write about what makes him a babe. First of all it'd be kinda weird to start swooning over his tan, smile, or thick head of hair considering he's been dead for 17 years. But, I'm not completely superficial, you know. Most of what makes a babe a babe is their talent and personality.
I fell in love with Dean Martin in 2004 when I discovered the Rat Pack and played their songs all spring and summer long. These guys were straight up alcoholic goofballs. Kudos to them for getting paid to be sloshy, while chain smoking, and singing. I mean, if that isn't the dream, I don't know what is. And what's more attractive than a talented guy who knows how to let loose and have a good time? What's more attractive than anybody enjoying themselves?
I'm a romantic old soul. Romantic crooning from your grandmother's hayday is all sorts of right up my alley. I mean where is the ROMANCE in music today? Sure there's the Romantic style of art of which I'm clearly a student and participant, but what about the Romance of love-making, or sweet seduction, or deep, heart-felt, heady, intoxicating infatuation? Where are the singers with strong voices and slow gentle delivery? I mean these lyrics:
"How I love to hear the choir in the chapel, in the moonlight as they sing 'oh, promise me, forever be mine.'"
"I'd cry like a baby if you told me good-bye. I'd feel like a snowball on the 4th of July. If you ever said you were leaving for good, I'd weep like a weeping willow, honest I would."
"If you'a gonna be a square you'a ainta gonna go nowhere."
"Don't wonder if you want to come back, just come running home to me and let me feel that thrill. Cause I'm the one who told you I would love you till forever, and I will."
I know the oldies glamorize the past and make things seem different than they were, but I think everyone's memories are always a little rose-tinted, sprinkled with the pixie-dust of the past perfect subjunctive. We want to be able to remember what was, and what's gone in the most beautiful and ideal light possible, whether or not it was always that way. Sometimes, when I listen to old music it's easier to imagine a sweet, and lovely life filled with good, clean fun and lots of easy-going folly, etc.
Dean Martin's voice is like a male siren's call to a fantastic corner of time, where I can slip in and forget the shadiness that permeates the present world, from global politics to personal acquaintances.
Imaginary boners for Dean.
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