Although MM, MD has been peripherally in my consciousness the past several years, I never went any further than flipping through a copy of the first volume one winter afternoon while I was working at Dalkey. The emphatic and discouraging thud it made when I put it back on the shelf in the stock room dissuaded me entirely from any reckless attempts at taming the thing.
The only thing I know for certain is that while going through the archives in the office there, I was astounded by her completely haphazard style of correspondence. Her notes to Steven Moore (whose brief reminiscence of MY is worth reading: it's the topmost post in the Message Board Archive--no direct link) were illegibly scrawled on torn and stained sheets of paper and the photographs in her folders spoke of a certain touching vanity.
Beyond that small bit of firsthand knowledge, I've only grown more intrigued the past few days, as much by MY as by MM, MD.
My only other experience with a book club was an ill-fated attempt a friend and I started, under the auspices of Green Apple Books (my employer), of reading Anti-Oedipus. To the first meeting a man who, as far as I could tell, looked uncomfortably like Vincent Schiavelli showed up wearing a gas mask. So, the online forum really suits me.