Now, the Rat Pack is not exactly my scene. I don't like boys clubs, I don't like women being called dames and hookers, and I prefer my lovemaking not to be gin soaked.
I'm more a Brat Pack type, a club where even Molly Ringwald and Anthony Michael Hall were accepted, where the lovemaking is more like heavy petting, and “dame” is not in the vocabulary. Still, there's something about that adorable, handsome drunk known as Dean Martin.
Not only does he do so many standards serious justice, (just play Mambo Italiano and Red Roses For A Blue Lady to see what I mean), but he elevated slovenly drunken flirtatious banter to an art form.
And he's handsome in that old time kind of a way, where the mafia connections seem to leak from his pores and his extramarital affairs gleam in his deep brown eyes.