I decided to take my own medicine today and subscribe to my blog.

You see, it came to my attention earlier this week that every time I made a change, no matter how minor, to one of my existing blog entries, my blog subscribers would receive an e-mail notification. I discovered this after I had cleaned up the formatting on about 25 entries, resulting in my subscribers receiving an equivalent number of e-mails about material that was not by any objective measure “new” or “noteworthy.” (If anyone got excited because I made the fonts consistent and cleaned up extra paragraph breaks, please don’t tell me as it will cause me to look at you differently and not in a good way.)

I scoured my blog’s administrative control panel and couldn’t find any way to prevent this from happening. In fact, I couldn’t find any way to manage these subscriptions or even find out who my subscribers are. I happen to know one of them is my good friend, Bill Mulligan, and the other is my beautiful girlfriend, Jeannie. The third is a mystery to me.

I realized I had no idea how exactly my subscriptions worked, and this was unacceptable. I refuse to be a party to clogging up people’s in-boxes. So I signed up for my own blog. I was relieved to learn that every e-mail notification comes with an actual, working “unsubscribe” link.

I seriously considered switching to WordPress or something similar but those can be one hell of a lot of work to set up. So GoDaddy is off the hook… for now. If I were them, however, I’d get on the stick about offering a more feature-rich blog. Any more headaches and I’m tryin’ WordPress.

And to subscriber number 3: I would’ve personally apologized to you for all those unnecessary e-mails, but I don’t know who you are. And frankly, you have every right to remain anonymous if you wish. I just wanted you to know that I’m sorry, and that I’m holding myself accountable for making sure that subscribing to my blog doesn’t result in problems for my subscribers.

Last night I was talking on the phone to an old friend, busting his chops about his favorite football team, laughing about old times, and catching up on the present.

During this conversation, I learned that my friend had been diagnosed with Crohn’s Disease about ten years ago.

According to the Crohn’s & Colitis Foundation of America, Crohn’s disease is characterized by “persistent diarrhea, crampy abdominal pain, fever, and, at times, rectal bleeding.” My friend has an additional complication: intestinal “strictures” that will on occasion cause such blockage that nothing can move through his intestines. This is not only painful but in some cases life-threatening if it is not treated promptly.

There are days when his disease prevents him from going to work. When he is out in public he has to think about where the nearest bathrooms are because the symptoms can strike at any time. He ends up in the hospital emergency room about twice a year as a result of this disease.

After we concluded our phone conversation, I began to think about those times I resented my friend for possessing qualities I felt I lacked. For one thing, during our single days he was always the best-looking guy in the bunch. It always seemed as though the girls who caught my eye were always taken with him. He’s also infuriatingly intelligent. He rarely cracked open a book during undergraduate school and yet he came away with respectable grades. He eventually went on to earn advanced degrees and is now very respected and successful in his chosen field. He is certainly more materially successful than I.

Last night was one of those cold-water-in-the-face moments. I was reminded that my friend, for all of his maddeningly good qualities (for which he should be lauded, not resented), is ultimately as human and as vulnerable as I am.

I feel badly for him, but he made it clear he does not want pity from others and does not pity himself. He has learned to live with this disease and pointed out that there are worse conditions from which to suffer. He has many blessings in his life: a beautiful wife, two lovely children, a nice home, and a wonderful career. He is a strong man in all respects: physically, mentally, and emotionally. I will not feel sorry for my friend because he does not feel sorry for himself.

I will also endeavor to remember that even the most gifted, successful people among us are ultimately as human as I am.