There's this thing called the, um, inter-net?

I am the slave to a master I know not. For where he beckons I shall always follow and against the might of its hand shall I always fall. Prick me do I not bleed, ask me to understand the internet and do I not cry like a little whiny child? I'm one lollipop away from a complete meltdown.

It is both the bane of my existence and the fruit born upon the tree of tomorrow's fortune. If you do not understand how the internet works then I'm supposed to tell you that you are not only behind the times but that you will never succeed in today's competitive retail climate. So I'm told. Though the latter is true, as is evident by the multitude of companies now surviving without the benefit of a living breathing brick and mortar store, the former is a bit of a stretch of reasoning really. In fact, the true test of your internet skills is in aligning yourself with somebody who does in fact understand it and letting them run off happy and free with your project. Your task then would be simply to learn to communicate with that individual so as to maintain a fraction of understanding as to what is going on. Nothing will kill the impression of understanding you are believed to have in your business than a stuttered, "It's a bit like an Oreo really, in that you, um, have this layer of squishy goodness in between separate layers of, well, something like a cookie but it's actually just commerce."

We switched over our hosting to a new company (God bless you Bizography!) this weekend. Remember how I warned you against setting up your network with a company that doesn't host email? Yeah, well that came from experience. As with all things, I'm experiencing it so that you don't have to. Anyway, I have learned that the internet is not in fact a man made facilitator of information and networks. It is in fact a monstrosity with an abnormal level of awareness that has grown into a sentient being (a la Wargames) and is currently amassing enough information so as to completely debilitate us and reign supreme over all. It breathes, it absorbs our energy and its heart beats with the blackness of all that is evil and wrong. Just so you know.

Apparently when you switch from one domain host to another, the internet likes to just wait and see exactly how sincere you are in your desire. As if it has nothing better to do than to twiddle its thumbs while you pound on your keyboard and scream at outlook for not sending and receiving your email. Then, after you have depleted your cell phone's contact list in attempting to find someone--anyone--to help, it cracks a knuckle or two and says, "Oh, that? Oh, yeah, just a flip of a switch here. There you go. It's all about the love." I think the internet is a crack pipe and good bit on the corner away from pimping us all.

So what, exactly, does this have to do with opening a bookstore? Well, nothing. Nothing at all. You see, when the internet--spawn of Satan, I command thee!--resorts to shifting you up a block to the even more seedy side of town, you are left with nothing but vulgarity and frustration. It has nothing to do with opening a bookstore, because without its presence and compliance (let's just call it cooperation), in these modern times, you have nothing. A brick and mortar store? All fine and good for your dreams and a dozen bananas, but in the end you need expansion. You need the Big Bang effect. You have to reach out so far that you touch your shoulder on the way back. You can thank the Box Stores (B&N, Borders, etc) and the department megaliths (Wal-Mart, Target, Sam's Club, etc) for that. Let's face it, you can buy a book anywhere. What you can't buy is service. It's vital that you are known, unless you maintain security in mediocrity or failure. That is why I like to think big or not at all.

So, love the internet. Cherish the internet. Feed it bytes and bits and let it cradle your heart and soul. Most importantly, find somebody who can communicate with it and hope that somewhere along the line, you understand what is they say to each other when they think you aren't listening.

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--zach