Born Dino Crocetti, Dean Martin swept the club scene in Las Vegas like a wave of bad moonshine - fast, hard, and with an unmistakable scent of Musk and pine needles.
Every year, Steubenville, OH, Dean Martins birthplace, hosts its annual Dean Martin Festival. In this weekend-long celebration (all you could cough up for your favorite son, eh?), Deans work is celebrated in the city by eating italian sausage, listening to horrible cover bands, and drinking ones self into a stupor, the only phase when one can truly enjoy Old-World Italian Music. The city, usually covered with grafitti and "murals" becomes alive with tens of college students and Dean's former high-school crushes. The biggest part of Deans holiday is, of course, his talentless daughter. Since Dino isn't around to emcee the festival, Deanna (isnt that cute?) is paraded around the city like a deformed baby cow in some obscure Far-Eastern village. Not that theres anything wrong with that. Srsly. Ask the cow. He knows