From Dan Reines, Editorial Assistant:
Hi, I'm Dan. I'm the new guy here at Tripod.
Heh, heh. That's my little joke, warm-up-the-crowd kind of stuff. See,
saying "I'm the new guy" around here is like saying "I'm the tall guy" in an NBA locker room. Or "I can't drive" in Boston. Tell me something I don't know, Jack.
Everyone here at Tripod is new. We have some 30 employees, and as far as
I can gather, about 20 were hired in the last 10 months. How fast is this place
growing? Look at the vets around here. Emma's what, 23? But this is her second winter at Tripod, so she's like the old man on the mountain giving out sage advice about where to get good snow tires in Williamstown. Word is they've already bought the gold watch. So yeah, I'm new. Whoop-dee-freakin'-do.
At my last job, I got to be New Boy for a year and a half. I was packing
up my desk and people were still telling me how good it was to have me on board. Sounds annoying, but it was kind of nice, actually. Every time the printer ran out of toner, I'd just call in the tech guys, shrug, and say, "Hey, I'd do it myself, but I'm New Boy. New Boy is still adjusting to your Alien Ways. He is too disoriented by all these New Things to deal with printer
problems." Ahh, the good old days.
But that's all changed. Here at Tripod, nobody slides by on that newbie
act for more than a week (which is pretty much how long it takes to move from New Boy to Settled In, anyway). Give you an example: Last Tuesday the server crashed and Jeff was on his way to lunch, so he handed me a pair of pliers and some duct tape and told me just not to bend anything plastic "without heating it up first, mon frère." So if you were wondering why our home page was rigged to Fabio's for two days last week, now you know. It was New Boy.
So there are definitely changes to deal with in joining the fast-paced Field of Tomorrow, especially after spending most of my post-college time in the Field of Yesterday, newspapers. There's a lot of uncertainty in newspapers right now, what with the rising cost of newsprint and the encroaching success of the moving pictures (especially that which they call the "talking box"). But at least you had a pretty good idea what the industry was going to look like a year from now. But the Internet? It's tough to say.

The week I moved here, I picked up a book at a local Sons of Italy tag sale: The Wonderful World of CB Radio. Cost me five cents. It's got a sharp red-and-yellow dust jacket, and the woman on the front ties her shirt in a knot just above the navel, just like the Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders used to. I like the book, and the book looks good on my coffee table. But the book frightens me.
See, right there on the back cover is a screaming invitation to "Join the
CB Revolution!" And I wonder: If I was a bit older in 1976, would I, too, have joined the CB Movement? Would I have quit my job and moved to the South to play rhythm guitar in the Citizens Band? Think I'm talking crazy? Get a load of what the author writes in the introduction:
"Racing past the pocket calculator and digital watch in 1975, Citizens
Band radio exploded everyone's wildest predictions ... CB is a great social leveler ... CB is the most potent mouthpiece since the telephone ... experts are talking about a CB expansion that could place a two-way radio in every car ... the President wants all schools to join the CB Superhighway by the year 1980."
OK, that last one was mine, but you can see my point. You read so much about how big the Internet is going to be, how the experts predict people will be downloading bread from the bakery by the year 2000, and you have to wonder. Are these the same guys who laid their reps on the "A CB in Every Datsun" claim?
I know, I know, this isn't BJ and the Bear, and Bo, our CEO, ain't Greg Evigan. But I worry. I mean, as soon as someone comes along with a working time-travel widget, or a pocket teleportation gizmo, I'm sure it's going to do to the Net what the Net did to the CB Nation. Did I mention the book cost me a nickel?
Hopefully all that won't happen too soon -- I just signed a lease. In the meantime, I gotta get truckin'. We've hired a new editor in the time it took me to write this, so I can't afford to dawdle.
Well, it's been nice jaw-jacking with you. Have a safe and sound one, and keep Smokey off your tail. Over.
--Fuzzy Bear (12/6/96)
Read more "Letters from Tripod" in the archive.