cornered by a bore

Yes, Let's play the annual game: Claudia's Big Decision! I am caught (very appropriately) on the horns of a dilemma: Should I re-up for another year's membership at the Explorers Club?
I know I have bored on about this before. And in fact, I was so perfectly boring in 2005 that I feel I cannot do better than quote that entry, back in the day when I thought blogging would make me rich and famous and thus devoted more effort to it than I do today, when I know that only my friends and family read the thing.
To quote myself:

My grandmother was a member of the DAR, my mother was in the League of Women Voters and the NAACP. And even today, one of my nearest and dearest looks to be a future president of the Hollistan Garden Club, while another, for her sins, is on the board of a historic trust. I am not a joiner.
I do, however, belong to a very exclusive Club. Housed in a townhouse on the East Side of Manhattan, my Club has a library of rare books, members of rare distinction (Sir Edmund Hillary) and a stuffed polar bear rampant on the second floor landing. Though a pale imitation of the Royal Geographic Club (I've never been), the Explorers Club is the closest thing to a stuffy British scene I know of on this side of the pond.
I suppose I joined out of vanity—because it was there, and I could. I had to be nominated by two members and write reams of self-justifications and attach lists of publications etc. I rationalized that I would find stories and meet people at the club and be able to go on fabulous expeditions.
Thing is, I never go to my Club. In the ten years since I joined, I have been to two annual dinners and one reception—all in that first halcyon year. None of the lectures, slide shows, convivial evenings or banquets for which I continually receive invitations can impel me to slog through the underbrush of Central Park to explore the East Side.
And every December, when it's time to re-up, I have to realize this. Especially now that my expense account no longer covers the $400 annual membership fee nor the additional fees charged for each and every event. I have rationalized that I get a great deal to rent the venue for a party in case, say, my daughter gets married. But my daughter is getting married and she has not selected that venue. Or maybe, I tell myself, I will turn into an old fart who likes to walk to the Club every day and pretend to have business there so as to snooze in front of the fireplace with a newspaper spread over my face. I find I'm not quite ready to be a buffer yet.
But the Club was so hard to get into!
And so I sit, the envelope in front of me, trying to decide: Do I pay up for another year of nonattendance or not?

Yes, my friends, that is the dilemma. And so, yesterday, I invited Carly, one of my newest friends, to join me for a holiday party at the Club in the following e-mail:
The Explorer's Club is a gentleman's club that is VERY hard to get into. (No, not THAT kind of gentleman's club.)
I belong to it.
I pay $400 a year to belong to it.
I have been there three times in the 15 years I have belonged to it.
I have just received the bill for next year's membership.
Let's determine whether or not I should re-up. I have made reservations, 6-9:00.

So we went. There was milk punch. A Santa who did not need a wig or fake beard gave us presents. We ate with a forensic archeologist named Charlie who is still working on 9/11 remains. Carly got cornered by a bore with a fake English accent who wanted to take her to the bottom of the sea in a diving bell with Champagne. There were fires in massive manorial fireplaces.

My sister says I should keep my membership so I can hold my 60th birthday party there, when I will be as boring and bufferish as the rest of them. The amusing things people said the last time I asked this question can be read on Why I Can't Stop
Please vote. I can't promise when I will post again until I get enough responses.Yes, this is blackmail.

And while you're at it, you can vote on Azu Nuz Is Neil Young An Asshole Or What?