One of the challenges we face in today’s online information landscape is managing the immediacy and permanence of what we choose to say, write or post.

The tools are a blessing in that we can get what we want, when we want it. It’s not just a 24-hours news cycle — it’s and up-to-the-minute news cycle that lives forever on search engines. That’s why Twitter is growing so quickly in popularity. We can find instant information about things that are happening almost in real time. It’s also why Twitter is such a threat to Google in that often times you can find things on Twitter hours earlier than you can on the world’s largest and most used search engine.

Without the proper amount of constraint or long-term vision, our new toys can also be curse. We can write things, make comments, or post pictures that today might seem innocuous, but a year from now could come back to haunt us. It happens to us all.

I recall counseling a young staffer at my last place of employment. She had posted an attractive photo of herself on Facebook and was using it as her profile photo. It wasn’t as if she was naked in the picture, but it was a bit much, especially considering the conservative nature of where we worked at the time. And when there are 200 million people on Facebook, there’s plenty of colleagues, HR people, clients, or potential clients in that mix. So I suggested she change the picture just to be safe.

I’ve been in the same spot. I blog on JoeSportsFan.com and for my beloved American Mustache Institute, and sometimes in the heat of the moment I’ll write something that in retrospect makes me smack my forehead. Hell, I’ve fired off my share of short-sighted nasty-grams via e-mail.

But I was interested when I read that former New Yorker reporter Dan Baum — who apparently likes pink hats that come with a free bowl of soup — had begun a Twitter feed and was chatting up his dismissal from the New Yorker. He’s Tweeting  things like:

• It (The New Yorker) shows no loyalty to its writers, yet expects full fealty in return.
• My gig was a straight dollars-for-words arrangement: 30,000 words a year for $90,000.
• First, a little about the job of New Yorker staff writer. “Staff writer” is a bit of a misnomer, as you’re not an employee.
• Nobody leaves a New Yorker job voluntarily. I was fired. And over the next few days, I’ll tell that story here, in 140 (characters).

Here’s the thing. Dan is clearly a natty dresser and his anger with The New Yorker for letting him go is great theater.  But he’s got to realize that his rantings are now part of the public record. A record that his former New Yorker editors and any future employers can see and use as leverage.

Do you think The New Yorker wants salary commitments communicated to a broad audience or to be portrayed as a disloyal employer? Do they want it detailed in the public domain how the employment contract works? Of course not.

Baum also Tweeted, “Isn’t that (The New Yorker) the best job in journalism? Yes…” And he also told Gawker that “… I would like to go back there…”

If that’s the case, why take this tact? Certainly Dan realizes the can of worms he’s opening, as if you’ve read an of his pieces in the New Yorker or his book, “Nine Lives: Death & Life in New Orleans” — you know Dan’s a smart, savvy thinker.

The reality is, however, that most don’t give it as much premeditation before making a statement or venting frustation online (myself often included). It’s just so quick, easy, and potentially timeless, that we must always keep in mind whether the curse of immediacy and permanence will come back to haunt us.