Stop taunting me, Google.

A weird thing happens when you leave journalism.
When the last notebook is chucked into the trash and the ambient hum of your computer monitor dies, you think that must be the final sign.
But, no.
Google is.
Productive reporters can quickly amass thousands of hits on Google. You write a story that is picked up by a wire service, another newspaper scoops it up. That means Google hits.
But when you turn in your last byline, it's like Google knows.
The week after I quit reporting, my Google count dropped from four digits to three.
Does it make me vain that I know that? Nah. It just means that I had lots and lots of time waiting for sources to call me back. Not time enough to go anywhere, perhaps, but time enough to punch the old name into Google and watch the numbers roll.
But now, the numbers are rolling downward.
The sad feeling that has created makes me want to tender my resignation from cyberspace. (The irony of writing that on a blog has not escaped me.)
But that doesn't mean I'm not going to rob a bank in some spectacularly creative way (pink tights, Cher mask?) to up those beloved Google hits.