William Scherk, upon nudging (and stepping on a bunion), has provided me with a extremely useful template for cliquing backstage. I cannot recommend it highly enough. I like it so much I want to use it myself, but then I am one of the site owners so I can't. My cliquing days are apparently over. I'se da man now. (That means the target, not the dart thrower.)
Please forgive the personal note. I was struck by how the ________________________________________ issue has been unfolding.
It came to me that one solution to the creeping heebie-jeebies I felt in reading _______________________ was to put him/her on ignore for awhile.
I am now re-reading your posts. Initially, on a skim, I thought you were yet another O-inflected Mexican wrestler. Wrongo.
You are more _____________________________________________________________________________.
Sometimes discussion with our hosts is like dancing with Jello or herding superbarges. Or, as with most humans, but to a greater or lesser degree, they can be subject to fits, and imagine deadly threats (e.g., take even tepid skepticism/criticism as if it was—as it were—a poisonous spider running up yer neck).
Yet ________________________________________ seems to be fine with them.
In time, like the Queen Mary, the old, bloated hulks will shift their massive bulks to port, but it will take the prodding of a thousand tugboats. I do appreciate that your tug fleet harbours very robust engines.