“Dilbert” has been verbed.

We’re starting to hear executives say, “Let’s not Dilbert this,” when debating some question of corporate policy or direction.

Progress is where you find it, I guess.

When Scott Adams invented Dilbert he worked at Pacific Bell. Pacific Bell, like most regulated monopolies, has little incentive to improve efficiency. When a utility makes a rate case to a public utilities commission (PUC), it demonstrates the cost of providing a service. Once the cost has been demonstrated, the price is almost a given. Since PUCs understand margins, they tend to allow pricing that delivers an acceptable margin percentage.

Which means regulated monopolies have an incentive to increase costs, since whatever the margin, higher costs will lead to more profits rather than less.

Regulated monopolies don’t generally find themselves squeezed for funds. You might think this would lead to higher salaries, or more pleasant working conditions, or the ability to “do things right” instead of having to make hard choices.

You’d be wrong.

Over-funded organizations act more like ecosystems than organisms. You’ve heard the phrase “it’s a jungle out there”? A jungle is an ecosystem.

An ecosystem is a stable organization composed of independent organisms, each focused on its own purposes. These individual organisms see to it that free resources find a use (that is, there are no unfilled niches). And as an ecosystem become more stable over time, species diversity increases and the flow of nutrients and energy within it becomes increasingly complex.

A business that acts as an ecosystem is unhealthy, and the symptoms are easy to spot. The company as a whole has no focus. Competitive urges are focused internally — department heads vie with each other for projects or funding. Departmental funding comes from sources within the ecosystem, and internal consumers define the value of most corporate processes — that is, internal economics, often built around a system of charge-backs, drive most activity.

Meanwhile, employees say, “I’m your customer” and “You’re my customer” to each other and mean it.

In companies like this, influence and power come from getting along — from political dexterity. Many employees will, in fact, find it literally impossible to connect their work to the creation of customer value.

And of course, the cost of sales is viewed as an overhead expense … hence the popular financial statistic “SG&A” — Sales, General, and Administrative expense. Sales and Marketing are largely disconnected from the purpose of the business, which is generating shareholder value, not increasing marketshare.

Compare all of this to the most successful business in the world, Microsoft. What complaints do you hear about Microsoft? Most boil down to it engaging in predatory business practices.

A predator is an organism. It has its own purposes, which it achieves through organized, focused activity. It understands that if it doesn’t succeed in achieving its goals, it won’t eat.

Microsoft creates lots of shareholder value but I’d bet you’d have a hard time finding a Microsoft employee who worries about it. Microsoft exists to dominate markets — to be a successful predator, taking food away from its competitors.

If you work in a company that acts as an ecosystem you have some hard choices to make. Don’t even try to change the company. You’ll just alienate the rest of the executive team. Only the CEO has any chance at all to change a company like this, and even for a CEO the road to recovery is a hard one.

You can, however, keep your own house in order. Cultivate executives who deal with external customers. Constantly ask how proposed projects will lead to increased competitiveness or customer value. Focus IS on the company’s purpose as best you can.

Or, you can leave to work for a predator.

People get all excited about the darndest things.

I know otherwise normal people who froth at the mouth when they hear me say the millennium starts Jan. 1, 2000. No, they insist angrily, it begins Jan. 1, 2001. Don’t I know anything?

Well yes, I do. I know it’s more a matter of opinion than the hard-liners think. Why? Let’s begin with a startling realization: Decades and centuries don’t line up!

Decades, named by their first year, number 0 through 9, so the 1990s are named for the year 1990 and end Dec. 31, 1999. Very few people claim the year 2000 is part of the 1990s.

Centuries number from 1 through 100. That makes sense — this is, after all, the 20th century, so the year 2000 had better be a part of it.

The question of when the millennium begins, then, all boils down to this: Does it begin with a new decade or a new century? I say it starts with the new decade, in 2000. You’re free to wait until the new century begins, but I’m guessing you’ll miss an awesome party on Dec. 31, 1999.

And you won’t get to attend one the following year, because the world will, of course, end in the year 2000, destroyed by ubiquitous computer failures.

Just kidding. As it always does, the world will muddle through, saved by a mixture of planning, hard work, and improvisation.

I call this column the IS Survival Guide because survival is quite an accomplishment for the working CIO. Surviving the year 2000 will be quite an accomplishment.

Two big myths surround the year-2000 problem. The first is that it’s a bug. The second is that it’s a mess because somehow the end of the millennium snuck up on unwary CIOs all over the world.

Let’s explode these myths right now so you can focus on solving the problem instead of avoiding the blame.

The way we encode dates, or at least used to encode dates, was an intelligent design decision back in the 1960s and 1970s when in-house and commercial programmers wrote most of our legacy systems. Storage — both RAM (we called it “core memory” back then) and disk — cost lots of money, and the best programmers were those who could squeeze the most performance into the smallest computing footprint. Saving 2 bytes per date field made all kinds of business sense, and nobody figured these systems would have to last three decades or more.

They’re still running, either because we failed at our grandiose replacement projects (I’ve seen several of these) or because there simply has been no compelling business reason to replace systems that work just fine.

That is, it really is a feature, not a bug, and it proves once again that no good deed ever goes unpunished.

Here’s who will be punished: You, for not starting to fix the problem several years ago. And it isn’t entirely your fault.

I remember asking in 1994 whether we had any year-2000 problems, when just a few worriers first started to write about the subject. It didn’t matter. We had a tight budget, had just reduced staffing 10 percent to help the company improve its short-term profitability, and had the usual laundry list of urgent projects. The millennium would just have to wait a year or two until it became urgent.

Business has a short-term focus because Wall Street drives business strategy, and Wall Street insists on quarter-by-quarter earnings improvement. Fixing year-2000 software problems adds no new value, so until the problem reached crisis proportions last year, few companies bothered to spare any resources to fix it.

There’s plenty of blame to spread around, but let’s not. Instead, next week, we’ll look at some lessons we can learn from this fiasco.