When Between the Lines (BtL) launched in July, 2009, I had big dreams. I imagined it would become as wildly popular as Avatar or Glee, or at least as widely snickered at as Jesse James, a.k.a. The Vanilla Gorilla. (I wonder, can Vanilla sign I’m sorry like Koko?) Alas, BtL hasn’t gained any celebrity at all. In fact, BtL has one (count it!) one e-mail subscriber. And that hardly counts because she has an unflattering crush on me—sorry, hotChick4books. BtL averages about 2,300 hits per month, which seems like a tidy sum. But when you factor out the lame-ass search terms like “why?” or “outhouse,” that tidy sum gets decimated, fast. But my biggest complaint by far is the excessive amount of time it takes to find people—good, funny, insightful readers—who like yarnin’ about books. It’s wreaking havoc on my reading, you see, and that’s simply unacceptable. I’m six months behind on Proust! I’ve delayed Dickens! And who knows when I’ll get to Agnar Mykle and Graham Greene. So. After a lot of soul-searching, BtL is checking into sex rehab, where it can take a good, long look at itself. Sex rehab, not isolated confinement. Which means that visitors are welcome. So if you or someone you know want to help BtL on its path to recovery, drop me a line. I’ll send questions, which I’ve patiently stored like a squirrel, and you can take a crack at them. Lastly, I’m blogging at Interpolations where I periodically share my thoughts on books and stuff.