Virtual Rule Number One: When in doubt, log out.
Unfortunately, my host computer saves the whole mess, and when I reboot, I face it all again. When at last I land among my fellow entrepreneurs, I find an endless flamefest over a blight of multilevel marketers on the Internet. Flaming is the public and ritualistic flogging of individuals through insult. People indulge in it with glee on the Internet -- where the anonymity and immediacy of E-mail erase such inhibitions as common decency. But, jeez, I don't want to spend the rest of the morning bashing some poor Amway distributor. I've got to stay focused.
I strike out to research the hottest markets, relying on a gopher to guide me through the Internet's rich fields of facts and figures. Gopherspace is where users window-shop in archives using menu-driven indexes. I browse for information. From the federal government, for instance. Riding one gopher, I discover that the Environmental Protection Agency regulations regarding groundfish in the Gulf of Alaska have changed. Noteworthy. Maybe I should look into the groundfish biz. Hours later I am still deep in gopherspace, reading oceans of cool stuff of no value to my nascent endeavor. With more than 20,000 gopher servers in the world, getting lost on a random walk is not a risk. It's a certainty. Why am I checking the weather in northern Thailand? I recognize there is little competitive advantage in knowing it's pouring in Bangkok. I'm on an info high. The torrent of data -- a tiny fraction, really, of the Internet's 10 terabytes (or 28,000 times the Oxford English Dictionary) -- has created whiteout conditions in my brain.
Virtual Rule Number Two: If you don't know exactly what you want and where to get it, no big deal. Is this cool or what?
* * *
Detours
Days have passed that I can't account for. When I am not trying to download binary files that replicate armpit noises, I check out alt.barney.die.die.die. The schedule has begun to slip.
Better buckle down, or I'll never find my fortune. I read about an opportunity to wholesale snake venom. (It has medicinal applications, you know.) And briefly consider getting into software. Software jocks appear to make a go of it on the Net. Regrettably, the code I know is for killing programs, not creating them. I explore publishing. After all, that's what I know. I happen upon a list of "'zines" -- obscure little electronic periodicals put out by obscure little publishers. They include titles such as Scream, Baby. Sounds lucrative. Given that what the flamed-out citizenry of cyberia seem to do most is scream, baby (for free), who would trouble to pay for more? In the gardening group, a haven of sheltering gentility, I hear about a fantastic fertilizer: elephant dung. Maybe I could market that. The gardeners are certainly hot for it. But there's competition -- ZooDoo -- so I beg off. I should have copied the E-mail address of that Amway distributor.
When no one is looking, I buy a copy of The Internet for Dummies. It brings me no closer to my own place on the Inc. 500, but I do learn how to "finger" people on the Net. I try to finger everybody I can think of, including the vice-president of the United States. Fear not; national security has not been breached. Al would not be fingered. But this is how people who spend long, fruitless hours on the Net get their kicks.
By day 17, I'm no longer desperate. I'm delusional. It's 10:24:51 p.m., and I'm E-mailing myself: Is this a plot or what? Everything is falling into place: I haven't been dispatched to start a business. I've been dispatched to disappear. Yeah. Inc. has exiled me to my basement, set me adrift on the Internet, presumed I'd never be heard from again. A virtual pink slip.
Virtual Rule Number Three: Don't try to conquer the Internet alone. Seek professional help.
* * *
The Quest for an Interface
I get by with a little help from my friends.
Maybe it's time to admit defeat. It was utter hubris to imagine I'd survive the raw Internet, much less build an empire. I need an interface. According to people I once considered clueless Luddites, a wonder program, Mosaic, will change my life. It reduces the chaos of the Internet to the order of a point-and-click interface. I could find my way out of the breakdown lane and get about the business of starting a business. Most miraculous of all, Mosaic is free. Yes! Free! I must have this program. I E-mail my host:
Date: Thu, 28 Apr 1994 13:47:26
-0400 (EDT)
From: Anne M Murphy amurphworld.std.com>
To: staffworld.std.com
Subject: interfaces, interfaces!!!
Can you tell me whether or not it is possible to run Mosaic on a 486 machine? And if so, how can I get my hands on it? I've heard that it might make the learning experience less painful for this new user. Does Software Tool & Die make it available? Please help me find a kinder, gentler way to navigate the Net. UNIX is killing me. . . . Anne
P.S. The hype that tells us the infobahn is here for the masses is a BIG LIE.
Four hours later, a solicitous staffer responds in riddles. "Mosaic," she writes, "is a software program that requires the use of a dedicated Internet connection direct from your local host computer to the Internet network. This type of connection is called IP service. Your host does not support IP service."
