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My Eighth Bloggiversary

Eight years ago today I started my blog. It actually started as a livejournal blog which I used to chronicle my third (and successful) attempt to get onto a polyphasic sleep schedule. I had no readers and had no intention of attracting any. I had just remembered how hilarious my attempts to get on the schedule were in the past, how hard it was to remember the memories created in varies states of sleep deprivation, and thought that recording the experience might be a good idea.

At that point in time, polyphasic sleep was a hot topic. The internet was dotted with anonymous reports of success and attributed reports of failure, but until Steve Pavlina did it, no public blogger had ever gotten on the schedule and written about it. Steve has a large audience, so all of a sudden lots of people were interested in polyphasic sleep, and many of them found my site.

Before I knew it, I had a hundred or so people reading my blog every day. I saw an opportunity, and without really thinking about the ramifications of attracting an audience, I started sharing some of my crazy stories. The Ghetto Indoor Pool story hit number one spot on Digg (I think it was one of the top 10 stories that year), and I got a ton of readers from that. Before I knew it, I had five hundred, and then a thousand daily readers.

Eventually I moved to my own domain, 'betterthanyourboyfriend.com', which I had bought because I had a half-cocked plain to put up "lost dog" style flyers all over the city trying to find girls I would want to date. Eventually I bought tynan.net and moved the blog there because a survey showed that no one wanted to link to a site called "Better than your Boyfriend". Finally a year ago, with the sleuthing help of Todd, I bought tynan.com, where this blog will probably live for the rest of its years.

Coughing Hell

On Where Pianos Roam

Yes, that would be me.  The one on the ellyptical machine in the gym coughing like mad.  People seemed to be a little disturbed by my allergy-induced coughing fits during my w0rkout yesterday, and I suspect that, with the current onslaught of the Swine Flu Virus heading north, people are a little paranoid about these things. I was SO tempted to "fall" off the ellyptical machine while mouthing the words "I can't breathe." and "I think I'm going to die!"--the fantastic vision of me flailing my arms about and with just a little bit of spit oozing out of a corner of my mouth.  The reaction this would have elicited would have been priceless.  I wonder what brave soul would have helped me instead of running away due to a swine-induced panic. I guess I'll never know. If I had blurted out "Oh, I just have syphilis, it's fine!", would this have made a difference?  (For the record, I officially do not have syphilis, but wouldn't it be interesting if I did?) All of this flu hullaballoo has got me thinking about the limits of other people's compassion.  To what degree could a person forgo their own personal health and safety to help someone who is a danger to themselves and everyone else.  Does the threat of compromising one's physical safety truly  justify shunning and excluding others?  How do we determine what is the greater good?  If it is more like a lesser evil, then well, it's still evil, isn't it? I don't really know the answer to these questions, and perhaps, it is best that I never be in a situation to find out. Nonetheless, I know I'll be back at the gym before this stubborn cough resolves itself, and I'll wonder who might become uneasy from the incessant hacking and heaving of my poor body.  If only music could start playing after a particularly awful fit.  The lights would dim and suddenly people would start dancing on the treadmill (in the vein of Okay Go, but with spirit fingers). I would start singing, of course.  (Duh, because I so would.)  I would cough in perfect rhythm after every verse (just for effect, really).    Naturally, I'd have my hot-red sweat pants on, and my hoodie would start to sparkle!!!  (Shouldn't hoodies always sparkle?) What, pray tell, would I be singing?  Maybe something like THIS .  .  . (A pretty piano would be playing in fast broadway staccato) THAT'S RIIIIGGGHTT!!!!!!! I'M COUGHING. AND YOOOOOU'RE ALL GONNA DIE!!!!!!!! (cough cough, cough cough) YOU'LL SHRIEK IN TERROR AND SHAKE YOUR FISTS!!!! WE  AAAASSSSSKKK whyfortheloveofgodandbeaarthurandstrawberryshortcakesandblueberrypie DON'T IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII HAVE SYPHILIS!!! (cough cough, cough cough) THAT'S RIIIIGGGHTT!!!!!!! I'M COUGHING. AND YOOOOOU'RE ALL GONNA DIE!!!!!!!! (cough cough, cough cough) JUST GET OFF  YOUR TREADMILLS AND YOUR BICYCLES TOO I WONDERRRRRRRR whypeopleweartightspandexatthegymthenipplespopoutewwgrossewwgross I HAVE A DOSE OF MY GERMS FOR YOUUUUUU!!! (insert evil cackling in the vein of MUUAAAH AAH AAH AAH) (cough cough, cough cough) THAT'S RIIIIGGGHTT!!!!!!! I'M COUGHING. AND YOOOOOU'RE ALL GONNA DIE!!!!!!!! (cough cough, cough cough) At this point in the song, I step on a stairmaster as a beam of light shines down on me.  (This is my stairway to heaven, so to speak.) The pretty piano plays softly while a cello swoops in (just for effect, really). I stop stairmastering just as I step into the light.  I turn around to face the audience (and the camera, of course).  I raise up my hands and sing .  .  .  . YOOUUU'RE ALLLLL GONNNNA DIIIEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!! (A full orchestra chimes in as all of the people in the gym fall down and collapse.) On second thought.  Eh, I'll probably just stay in my coughing hell. -g (cough cough, cough cough)

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