Bastardized Friday Photo #27
in which I realize the origins of my 10-year-old boy humor
Okay, so growing up my Dad LOVED Dean Martin. He claimed there was some sort of family connection with Dino...he was a Godfather or cousin or ... whatever. I can't really remember. Whether their was truth to this claim, I have no idea. But my Dad believed it to be so and told whoever would listen that Dino was part of our family.
My Dad never missed an episode of Matt Helm or Dean's weekly variety show. I have to admit, I dig Dino, too. Always have. Who could resist his cooler than cool charm...smoldering cigarette in one hand, ice cubes in his glass of amber colored liquor musically tinkling in the other while he crooned a tune in his silky-smooth, velvety voice. And he didn't take himself seriously.
So I'm over at my friends' house today and lo and behold, they have 10 episodes of the Dean Martin Show. We popped one in to view. Supposedly pretty much everything was off the cuff. No rehearsal. Dean would just show up, be fed a couple lines to use during his bits with the guests (Jimmy Stewart, Dom DeLuise, Orson Wells, George Gobel) and then he'd just wing it.
As Seinfeld's Banya would say, "That's Gold, Jerry. Gold!!"
It was hilarious! You can tell the unscripted bits, because they cracked each other up. Few things are as infectious as performers sincerely laughing at one anothers unexpected come backs. Plus, the double entendres were flying left and right.
And that's when it hit me. This is where I got my bawdy, off-color, 10-year-old boy sense of humor. From Dino and his pals. I was weaned on this banter. It has served me well. I don't know how much those around me appreciate it... But if they're truly my buds, they get it, too. Right?