Diving right in, the song originally planned for today has been bumped by this sack of saccharine suck, suggested by the ever-vigilant Madam List Maker. As much as I love Dean Martin – and I do, don’t get me wrong – it’s tough to really fall hard for the Marshmallow.
It’s a marshmallow world in the winter
When the snow comes to cover the ground
It’s the time for play, it’s a whipped cream day
First, Dean-o sounds like he’s been hitting the nog pretty hard before they started recording. I mean, yeah, he kinda always sounded like that, usually because he’d been hitting the nog pretty hard, but he seems, um, happier than usual on this one.
Second, marshmallow clouds “being friendly” in the arms of the evergreen trees? I have a mental image of really, really sticky coniferious sex here. I don’t much like marshmallows in the first place, so the whole idea makes me shake my head a bit. I suppose that if you’re sitting inside, nice and warm because you’ve got a fire going and you’ve had enough eggnog and whiskey, hold the eggnog, to bring down bull elephants, and you glance out the window and there’s just enough light to see the drifted mounds of snow out there, and you’re in the mood for something sweet and chewy to offset that eighth glass of bourbon, you might consider all that crap you’re going to have to shovel in the morning to look a little like a double-helping of marshmallow fluff. Go ahead, have another.
You know what sucks more than shoveling snow? Shoveling snow with a hangover. I’m just sayin.
But don’t let that stop you. Bing Crosby shoveled these marshmallows in 1950, Vic Damone in 1951, Johnny Mathis in 1963, Brenda Lee in 1964. Just because Dean-o waited until 1966 doesn’t mean we can’t all do it. After all, the world is your snowball - see how it grows! That’s how it goes, whenever it snows.
And it’s getting deep in here.