70,000

A strange number, that 70,000.  That's the number of all-time "hits" on this blog (and I don't even know what a "hit" is).  I suppose it has something to do with the Mayan calendar, but didn't that come to an end in December? 

When I told my wife about my 70,000 hits, she said, "Well, it's not 70-million.  If that were the case someone would be calling from Hollywood asking you to make a movie."

Touche!

I appreciate my wife . . . any time I begin to feel smug or secure, she smacks me back down to reality and reminds me that I'm eating ham sandwiches instead of caviar.  She also reminds me that I drive a twelve-year-old car with balding tires and that I am sending most of my paycheck to a southern Indiana university so my son can eat caviar and drive a car that actually starts on winter mornings.  She keeps me humble by insisting that she gets better romance from watching Ricardo Montalban movies (and he's been dead for years).

Well . . . but those 70,000 hits turn me on.  If I could smoke them, I'd be getting high right now.

I'm not sure what I should do with this information.  Should I call my agent and ask her to parlay this 70,000 into 100,000 (dollars).  How long would she laugh?  How many editors can I trick into thinking that I'm actually proficient with the English language?  Should I mention how many times I've been "hit"?

At this rate, if I can keep this blog alive, one day I'll reach THE MILLION mark.  I'll be one week removed from death--an old man with a bald pate who keeps screaming, "Bring me a keyboard!"  The way I see it, I can stay alive just like the Bee Gees until I reach the goal.  I'll have a falsetto voice.  And then I can die in peace.