We Be Clubbin'

This track comes to you courtesy of the soundtrack of The Players Club, a sadly underappreciated film from the directorial oeuvre of Ice Cube. If you're not that familiar with the work of Mr. Cube, be reassured that it is definitely Our Kind Of Razzmatazz.

However, we're here today to discuss a different kind of clubbin': Book Clubbin'. Now, I know what you're thinking: What. The. Fuck. Dude, this blog is supposed to be about all kinds of manly shit and... book clubs? We're talking about BOOK CLUBS?

Now just calm down and let me explain. Yes, it's true that the reputation of the modern-day incarnation of the Book Club bears some unfortunate connotations, including finger sandwiches, lace tablecloths, and Oprah Winfrey. Most men would probably opt to skip that noise in favor of something REALLY fun, like a prostate exam. At least that will help you find out if you have cancer. On the other hand, scientists have suspected for years that Oprah Winfrey actually causes prostate cancer. The choice is yours. To be fair, some of that reputation is deserved. Let's be honest: there's a reason that Oprah has a Book Club as opposed to, say, Jay-Z. For the most part the Book Club has become a female phenomenon, possibly involving bored housewives getting tanked on mimosas and discussing who has the hottest pool boy. At least that's what we at MKOR are envisioning.

"Yo, I could NOT PUT DOWN 'The Lovely Bones', dawg."

Needless to say, this is a pretty sorry state of affairs. However, things weren't always this way. Getting together with your boys to discuss intellectual pursuits used to be an exclusively manly affair, dating back in recorded history to some MKOR heroes of the past, including guys like Aristotle. Hell, women weren't even really allowed to take part in elite higher education until the last half-century or so. The tables have turned somewhat since then, sport. More women than men read books today. Higher education is steadily becoming more of a female enterprise than a male one. Meanwhile, men seem to have set their intellectual sights a little lower. Ever watch Spike TV? Then you know what I mean.

Well, the time has come to turn the tide, brothers. Better start now because women are getting smarter, we're getting dumber, and the time of feminine dominance is at hand. Like Planet of The Apes, but less hairy. Think I'm joking? You won't be laughing when you're living in an XY Internment Camp and the highlight of the day is when they come to harvest your genetic material to produce male drones to perform vital tasks like opening the cap of the strawberry preserves. Eventually the femi-scientists will figure out how to synthesize Y chromosomes and there goes your job security too. So we're taking it back - and we're starting with the Book Club.

The first rule of Book Club is...

Now let's get one thing out of the way up front: you're not doing this to meet women. Yes,until this movement achieves Fight Club-style momentum, it's likely that 80%+ of your book club participants will be women. Yes, some will be attractive. Yes, many will be impressed by your ability to discuss J.M. Coetzee's allegorical work in the context of Southern African history and that time that you went bungee-jumping at Victoria Falls. Nonetheless, you can't go into this with the idea that you're going to be picking up chicks. In fact, when you do go to your book club meeting, take a look at the hottest chick in the room. She's something, isn't she? I bet she has a funky ribbon in her hair and she's wearing sexy-librarian glasses. Okay, now look away dude, you're creeping her out. Anyway, here's the uncomfortable truth: you will not be having sexual relations with that woman. Sorry Poindexter, that's just the way the finger sandwich crumbles. MKOR scientists have determined that the reason is related to one of the great paradoxes of life: doing things for the express purpose of meeting women or to impress women usually does not become a coitally-successful endeavor. Admittedly, there's a lot of confounding involved here, but the reason is probably related to the fact that you're already in a situation where you actually HAVE to do things for the purpose of meeting women instead of it just happening in the course of your normal activities. Something went wrong somewhere along they way and your time would be better spent figuring out what that is. Of course, if this strategy DOES work for you and you are the kind of guy who can do this and bag the sexy-librarian-glasses chick, then please write to the MKOR corporate office immediately, because YOU are the one who should be running this blog and we'll gladly turn the reins over. Until then, let's just consider this MKOR Rule #1 of Meeting Women: don't do things to meet or impress women, do them because you want to do them (the things, not the women).

We'll make an exception if Tina Fey is in the Book Club

But we digress. Let's just agree that the reason that you want to do this is because you actually want to read more good books and discuss them with smart people so you fully appreciate them. You're going to need two things: (1) a group of people, and (2) a book. As far as people go, you're either going to start your own club or join somebody else's club that's already going. In any case, choose wisely so as to avoid winding up in the middle of that pool-boy discussion. As far as books, splitting the gender divide is usually a good strategy. Try to find the middle ground between Oprah's Book Club and Chuck Palahniuk. So here's my story: the book club I scored an invite to does in fact range from 90-100% female, but it's a smart group and they do smart things like circulating discussion points before the meetings. The book selection is also pretty good. This month's selection was "The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao" by Junot Diaz, which is a Pulitzer Prize-winning novel, and they don't just give those away to any random chick-lit fluff piece. I assume this is because there are men on the committee, unless the men are there for the purposes of meeting chicks, in which case, joke's on them: see MKOR Rule #1 above. Anyway, as far as the book goes, it comes highly recommended; you can read the glowing New York Times Book Review writeup here and buy it from Amazon here.

So, having secured a group and a book, only one thing left to do: dress thyself. Now, let's not go crazy. In all likelihood your club is going to have a pretty casual get-together. However, as an MKOR reader, you're obligated to stand out of the pack. Therefore, I present to you MKOR Rule #1 of Style: try and predict how the crowd will be dressed and turn up the dial by exactly one notch. Go with a preppy look to try and recapture some of that 50s vibe, a time when guys totally used to have book clubs all the time [disclaimer: we don't actually have any proof to back up that assertion]. Try some ankle chinos with the timeless Clarks desert boots and no socks. Since you're all-neutral below the waist, pop in some pattern/color with a short-sleeve patterned shirt. If you're generally into this sort of thing, pay a visit to our friends at Ivy Style - nobody does it better.

Chris Evans is rocking a similar look, and who do you trust more than Captain America?

Now then... you're all set, right? Go out there and kick some literary ass! Psst, don't forget to read the book before you go. Or you better have some damn good pool-boy stories to pass the time.


IN OUR NEXT EDITION: "Wait, you mean I have to bring food to this thing too???"

Dust Off Those Gossamer Wings and Fly

Good morning and welcome to MKOR! Like everyone else on this planet, I decided that it was really, really important that I be able to share my innermost thoughts, feelings, and attitude on life. Thus I decided to start a blog. It was either this or spend a lot of time kvetching to barkeeps. Not that I don't do enough of that already.

Fortunately, I have a convenient shorthand for describing most of these things and that is: the words, life, and style of Frank Sinatra. Now, mind you, this isn't going to be a Sinatra fan-blog. There are plenty of those around if you're in the market. Mostly this will be about being a man in the 21st Century, with subject matter including but not limited to style, food, drink, and dames. Just kidding about the dames part. Mostly. Nonetheless, at the wizened age of 35 and after one epically failed marriage (Frank had three busted hitches, although I think that if you land Ava Gardner, it counts as an unqualified success no matter how it turns out), I've come to realize that I've got a lot to learn from The Chairman of the Board, and so, I present to you: My Kind of Razzmatazz.

Our inaugural post falls under the heading of Personal Correspondence. Sadly, writing a letter has become a dying art and this has led to much woe and despair, mostly on the part of Postal Service employees who apparently have nothing to do these days but deliver Netflix movies and magazine subscriptions. I suspect, but cannot prove, that this has caused a lot of problems for society.

The background for this letter is as follows: some time around 1990, 80's pop star George Michael, fresh off massive successes as part of Brit-pop duo Wham! and his own smash solo album Faith, was beginning to feel a bit unsatisfied in life. According to interviews at the time, he was unhappy with his status as a ripped/tight/acid-washed jean-wearing sex icon to millions of teenage girls worldwide, and as such fought back hard against attempts by his record label to promote him thusly. In September 1990, he gave an interview to the L.A. Times magazine, entitled "The Reluctant Pop Star", in which he basically made it clear that he was (a) unhappy, (b) mad as hell, and/or (c) not going to take it anymore and would be staying away from these types of things, thank you very much.

As usual, Frank shows us how it's done. Sinatra took the opportunity to give George a little pep-talk, exempli gratia:

Full text:

FRANK SINATRA

September 9, 1990

Dear Friends,

When I saw your Calendar cover today about George Michael, "the reluctant pop star," my first reaction was he should thank the good Lord every morning when he wakes up to have all that he has. And that'll make two of us thanking God every morning for all that we have.

I don't understand a guy who lives "in hopes of reducing the strain of his celebrity status." Here's a kid who "wanted to be a pop star since I was about 7 years old." And now that he's a smash performer and songwriter at 27 he wants to quit doing what tons of gifted youngsters all over the world would shoot grandma for - just one crack at what he's complaining about.

Come on George, Loosen up. Swing, man, Dust off those gossamer wings and fly yourself to the moon of your choice and be grateful to carry the baggage we've all had to carry since those lean nights of sleeping on buses and helping the driver unload the instruments

And no more of that talk about "the tragedy of fame." The tragedy of fame is when no one shows up and you're singing to the cleaning lady in some empty joint that hasn't seen a paying customer since Saint Swithin's day. And you're nowhere near that; you're top dog on the top rung of a tall ladder called Stardom, which in Latin means thanks-to-the-fans who were there when it was lonely.

Talent must not be wasted. Those who have it - and you obviously do or today's Calendar cover article would have been about Rudy Vallee - those who have talent must hug it, embrace it, nurture it and share it lest it be taken away from you as fast as it was loaned to you.

Trust me. I've been there.

(Signed, 'Frank Sinatra')

© 1990 Frank Sinatra

As you can clearly see, this letter is the purest example of awesomeness that has yet been described by modern science. Among the highlights/themes: be thankful for what you have. Others would be grateful to get a fraction of it. Keep things in perspective. Stop whining. Swing, man.

Also: when you are Frank Sinatra, you are allowed to have the balls to copyright your own personal letters.

So let that be a lesson to you. As for Georgios Kyriacos Panayiotou, his Reluctant Pop Star status resulted in a sophomore solo effort, Listen Without Prejudice, Vol. 1. The album was successful to be sure, but didn't approach anything resembling the stratospheric super-stardom of his previous work. Apparently millions of teenage girls weren't ready to accept him being a serious non-ripped/tight/acid-washed-jean-wearing sex icon. Years later we'd find out the possible reason that George felt unhappy about his status, after he came out publicly following an embarassing episode in a Beverly Hills public bathroom. Fortunately, attitudes have evolved, it's now possible to be an openly gay pop star with mass appeal (nota bene: MKOR unequivocally does not endorse the wearing of "guyliner" regardless of sexual orientation), and eventually all was forgiven, although his career continued to trend downward thereafter.

As for the music, George only released one video of note from that album and refused to appear in it (another video from the album, "Praying for Time", showed only the song lyrics projected against a dark background). In fact, he used the opportunity to immolate his trademark biker jacket, signifying his phoenix-like rebirth as a Serious Artist. What the video DID feature, however, brings us to our second piece of pure-awesome-razzmatazz: a reminder of a time when Supermodels Walked The Earth and mere mortals trembled in their shadow and begged for their puny lives to be spared.

For those keeping score: that's Naomi Campbell, Linda Evangelista, Christy Turlington, Tatjana Patitz, and Cindy Crawford, all demonstrating their vocal chops by doing some very convincing lip-synching. Cindy is also demonstrating her acting chops by doing a very impressive portrayal of a naked supermodel in a tub. See? I told you there would be dames. You're welcome.

(Nota bene, props for the source material for today's post go to Letters of Note, a truly incredible blog that features, well, letters of note pertaining to various luminaries and historical events. Be sure to check it out. Here's their original post of the letter.)