Here’s To Exposing My Readers

Welcome everyone. Welcome to the very first day of the “In My Cluttered Attic” bloggers convention! A celebration of those madcap bloggers who crowd into my attic on a regular basis making them the envy of insane asylum inmates everywhere.

(Imagine the applause coming from those padded cells)

I’d like to welcome all of you to the fabulous Caesars Palace here in Las Vegas, Nevada! But I can’t.

BET you didn’t see that one coming?

Yet, thanks to the world of virtual reality (and your imaginations), I can still give you the illusion of being here in Vegas. Just without the fabulous resort hotels, pools, casinos, shows, entertainers, delicious food, and luxury suites that make Vegas…well…Vegas. Otherwise… your practically here!

Now this probably leaves you with a few questions. Like, why am I here? What will I tell my boss when he finds out? Does my family know I’m here? And most of all; is it true what they say, that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas?

Well not to worry as none of this is real—at least, not as far as you know. It’s all in your mind, I mean… my mind, or up in my cluttered attic where there appears to be no apparent exits. Not for five days, anyway. Making this… sort of a virtual reality bloggers convention getaway.

Now I realize that for many of you this is probably your first virtual reality trip, and you’re probably thinking to yourself…

“What in the world was I smoking that brought me to this, and how the hell do I get outta of here?”

Ignoring your concerns completely, I’d like to kick off this virtual reality convention by saying—as I look out onto your lovely faces, most of whom are reflecting a look of apoplexy at the moment—thanks to all of you, I actually have a reason to write and do a post today. So let me begin by just saying… thank you.

Now if I could direct your attention over to the gentleman in the second row about five seats in, we’ll get this imaginary convention underway.

You sir, yes you, the one with the bag over your head. That’s right. I singled you out to start this convention, because you’re the only one with a bag for a face.

bun karyudo.wordpress.com

bun karyudo.wordpress.com

We’re all about humor here, and…

Bun? Bun Karyudo, is that you? Ladies and gentleman, a nice round of applause if you will for the one, the only… Bun Karyudo!

If only Bun could hear you applauding right now, then we’d all be here for real. But since we aren’t, Bun has to be wondering what that ringing is in his ears.

Bun hails from over at, https://bunkaryudo.wordpress.com/2016/04/23/el-capitan-making-the-upgrade/ and regularly engages me in hilarious banter that always leaves you and myself in stitches. Which ridiculously explains my rising medical insurance.

And there—sitting virtually next to Bun—is Allen Colane of the, https://thecolaneconundrum.com/2016/04/28/tv-shows/ whose comical insights also frequently leave me rolling in the aisle. Allen, if you would please, help me back up and onto the stage since it’s your fault that I am occasionally on all fours.

Oh look! Taking up the entire first row with all her amazing cats, is my long devoted good blogging buddy, Kate Crimmins, who has been visiting my blog almost from the beginning.

Her blog, https://coffeekatblog.com/2016/04/07/blogging-the-agony-and-the-ecstasy/ is a potpourri of humorous takes on contemporary retired life, consisting of trips to Starbucks, backyard adventures, and how her cats and their distinct personalities impact her and her husband, and their daily life.

And I just have to give a big shout out to the three distinguished looking gentleman in sombreros back there, who are signing autographs. I call them, The Three Amigos.

All three gentleman have made regular pilgrimages to my cluttered attic, and offered kind commentary, right from my very first post on! Yes, I worry for their sanity, too. Still, I can’t thank them enough.

Thank you, thank you, thank you…

Mr. GP Cox at, https://pacificparatrooper.wordpress.com/2016/05/02/intermission-8-dr-seuss-the-troops-and-malaria/ who nobly reminds us of the sacrifices our men and women in uniform have made on our behalf.

Charles French, https://charlesfrenchonwordsreadingandwriting.wordpress.com/2016/03/12/favorite-horror-films-of-the-1960s-the-birds/ who is a voracious, reader, writer, and teacher and who consistently touches on a variety of interesting subject matter.

And my friend actor, comedian, director, and humble god-loving gentleman, Mitch Teemley, who can be found at, https://mitchteemley.com/2016/02/05/my-super-bowl-ad-2/

All three gentleman help make writing my posts very enjoyable… and non-profitable.

But they’re not alone responsible for my impoverished state. That’s why, starting tomorrow, I’m thinking of offering merchandise at the door for day two of the In My Cluttered Attic virtual reality convention.

Just think of it. Not only will I continue to recognize and salute more of you on Tuesday (for your regular visits to my blog), but I might even be able to fleece and take advantage of your wallets, credit cards, and life savings, too. That is, if I can get the card skimmers hooked up in time.

OH JOY!

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Tis The Season To Nitpick

There was once a time when we didn’t seem to worry so much about every little thing. We didn’t always sweat the small stuff. It was more like, “Sticks and stones will break our bones but names will never hurt us.” Like ducks, we’d just kind of let the water roll off our backs and then moved on. Who cared if we weren’t always politically correct?

But, that’s all changed now. Goodness, we can’t even let sleeping dogs lie.

Not that my neighbors dog ever was much for barking the truth anyway. I can’t even remember the last time he repeatedly barked in order to alert the neighborhood that a dangerous intruder was nearby. Of late, he only barks (incessantly) to inform us of stray cats, wayward dogs, and old Mr. Jenkins somewhat questionable attire. Some watchdog!

But, I digress.

Today, we will nitpick anything to pieces, even when it comes to nitpicking lice out of our children’s hair. Not that I’d ever want to draw undue attention to the fact, that our barber suggested I may have done irreparable harm to my sons hair the last time he had head lice. But, he forgave me…sort of.

But, as I was saying; have we really become overly sensitive to everything as a society?

Take retailer, Target, for example. Last week they became a real topic for conversation when they introduced a new holiday sweater. The sweaters say, “OCD, and then directly underneath “Obsessive Christmas Disorder.” Cute. Not the sweater… it’s downright ugly! But, I thought the idea clever.

twitter.com

twitter.com

Now I think most of us know what OCD really stands for, and obviously Target does, otherwise, they wouldn’t have counted on the general public immediately recognizing the play on Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I know I did, saw the clever play on words and enjoyed the humor in it.

But, then I suffer from the problem and try not to take myself too seriously. But, then what do I know?

However, some mental health advocates, and more than a few consumer groups, apparently took offense to the whole thing. They pointed out how sufferer’s of the disorder would not see the humor in the sweaters and would be deeply offended by them. Their concern for us sufferer’s of OCD is admirable.

But, I think some of us can see the humor in our tics, and recognize no malice was intended.

And if that were not enough, last week offered us a second helping of overly sensitive people being critical of, Starbucks, and this years holiday coffee cups. The cups are simply red and green and lacking the usual christian symbols of the season. Like snowmen, flying reindeer, and Santa’s little helpers.

Yes, I could possibly understand Madison Avenue types being deeply offended by this horrid turn of events. What with the big money to be made by encouraging a more festive holiday season, this might be misconstrued as sacrilegious. Heaven forbid!

However, with so many more serious issues occurring in the world this holiday season, don’t you feel that the son of god—patient, tolerant, and understanding soul that he is—might not cut Starbucks just a little bit more slack this time around?