A Fresh Case of Dot-com Fever

Human beings, by nature, are a skeptical bunch. Fads and le dernier cri (the trendy French for "the latest trends," ironically) aside, we are often hesitant to accept concepts which are new and alien, especially when it comes to technology. Consider the group of Aristotelian professors who made the following pronouncement to Galileo after he claimed to have discovered Jupiter's moons using a telescope: "[They] are invisible to the naked eye and therefore do not exist." Or the snappish response of Warner Brothers' founder H. M. Warner, who retorted in a 1927 interview, "Who the hell wants to hear actors talk?" when asked about the feasibility of films with sound.

Prejudice against the unknown innovation has not been dulled even in this modern, "progressive" society of the late 20th century. Though we know Vice President Al Gore '69 always believed in the power of the Internet--after all, he created it--many others felt the web was nothing but a passing craze, a folly of sorts. When asked by the New York Times in 1988 if he thought Prodigy could entice customers to stay online, the president of one consulting firm scoffed at the notion. "'This isn't 'Dallas,' 'Dynasty' or Dan Rather,'' he said.

A decade later, the only member of that triumvirate still around to witness the country's seemingly overnight acceptance of the Internet as a legitimate medium was Dan Rather, and it's doubtful that even his staying power can rival that of the web. Those who originally dragged their feet are now jumping on to the information superhighway, eager to catch up (and squabbling over the few intelligible site addresses that remain).

I have to admit that when the dot-com craze began, I too fit the mold: skeptical, skeptical, skeptical. Navigating Netscape is one thing, but programming techniques like C++ and Java make my skin crawl, much to the amusement of friends TF'ing CS50 who speak and think the language of code in the bowels of the Science Center. Steve Martin, in Father of the Bride, had my original attitude pegged exactly when he described his future son-in-law's job as an independent computer consultant: He said it was "code for 'unemployed.'" It just didn't seem possible that website obsession could ever become something more than hobby.

But in the past few months, I've begun to come around. Perhaps it's the sensory overload that has resulted from continual exposure to Internet advertising of one sort or another--dot-org this and dot-net that plastered to the insides of the T, on handouts around campus or occupying three-quarters of Superbowl commercial time last month. Or maybe it's because I've been listening to the megalomaniacal plotting of various friends who anticipate what life will be like as the next Bill Gates. According to a feature in The Crimson last week, plenty of students are leaving school to work at Internet start-ups and "not looking back."

While dropping out of Harvard is not in my future, (though it certainly helped Gates), I'm beginning to see the allure of creating your own web business. Having emerged from the slime and filth of their college dorms to go from rags to riches, the computer entrepreneurs of today radiate the kind of laid-back glamour that clings to jazz musicians and stand-up comedians. In addition, they give their grandparents the bragging rights that used to be reserved for doctors and lawyers. All you need to enter this alternate dimension where the computer chips are lined with gold is a web address, some spare time and a dream.

And the "dream" doesn't necessarily have to constitute something particularly sophisticated, either. Cosmopolitan ran an article last month about a DKNY publicist who launched a website that chronicles her fictional character, a trendy Manhattanite named Vivian. Supposedly, thousands of people are logging on daily to check out what "Vivian" is up to--you can even leave your name and e-mail address so she can contact you "should something major be going on, or just to say hello." One wonders what "major" fictional event could possibly be important enough to manifest itself tangibly--did Vivian get an invisible run in her virtual stockings?

But if there's a market for adults who enjoy conversing with imaginary friends, there's probably a market for just about everything. With that reassuring thought, I did some research and was delighted to find that, for a mere 35 dollars a year (payable online, of course), I can purchase my own web address and be instantly transformed into an aspiring millionaire. My lack of technical skills won't even hold me back; there are a host of web sites out there that are devoted exclusively to designing other web sites.

So as visions of lucrative buyouts dance in my head, I am beginning to brainstorm concepts that just might launch me to cybermogul status in the years to come. With "Dallas," "Dynasty" and even Dan Rather behind me, maybe I can make a goal of outlasting Bill Gates.

Alixandra E. Smith '02 is a government concentrator in Kirkland House. Her column will appear on alternate Mondays.