There needs to be a men’s club for guys like me. I’m picturing a large, low, dark-paneled room … leather wingbacks, books, a sideboard stocked with exotic beverages. Chatting, chuckling, reading. Checkers and backgammon. Pipe tobacco. Light opera on the radio.
I don’t smoke or play board games, but the atmosphere appeals. The problem, of course, is that places like this tend to attract elements that I’d prefer to avoid. Achievers, for example. Or rather, achievers who’ve made it their life’s work to achieve. Their handshakes are a little too firm, their smiles consistently broader than necessary. They make eye contact and remember your name and cheerfully punish you with it long after you’ve forgotten theirs.
So I propose that somebody start a lower middle-class bohemian men’s club. No one earning over $60K would be admitted. Nor would anybody who’s ever been president or chairman of anything. Horse ownership, au pair employment or purchase of a new car to replace an undamaged car less than five years old would be grounds for immediate cancellation of membership. Members receiving more than one civic award per year would be fined. Special consideration would be given to persons convicted of a white collar crime, as well as persons who derive 50% or more of their income from creative endeavors. Blatant networking on club premises would be strictly prohibited. Business cards would be prohibited, too, but scratch paper and pencils would be provided free of charge.