Pinkerton's Weblog

Nourishing Your Inner Cynic with the Idiocy of Strangers

They say the true measure of a person's character is to give them power. I don't know why they say that, exactly—most likely because rich people are insufferable dicks, I guess, though I don't have any hard facts backing me up on that.

It strikes me as a pretty sound premise though. We all love to complain about how the world's going down the porcelain faster than processed Taco Bell; but if you gave someone a hundred million dollars and asked them which charity they wanted to donate to first, I'm pretty confident the Fuck The Homeless I'm Buying a Porsche Fund's topping the list.

If I was forced at gunpoint to pick a philanthropic goal, though—and of course I'd have to be—I'd fund programs that educate people on the futility of internet debate. I imagine clinics next to internet cafes with friendly open-smiled volunteers, who will sit people down and pleasantly explain that their opinions aren't actually as important as they think; which is to say, they don't matter at all. It strikes me as a noble goal, since I'd be paying strangers large sums to stop annoying me, and conceivably they may well use that money to fund cancer research.

I'm no hypocrite. My opinions? They don't matter either. Not to you, anyway. They matter to me, of course—if I'm deciding which movie to rent, I'm the first person I ask. But I wouldn't expect you to care one way or another. I could type lengthy manifestos about my religious, political and fashion preferences all day. If you were polite you might pretend to read them.

But I'd be kidding myself if I really believed I'd converted anyone to my way of thinking. By the time we get out of high school, we're all pretty much hardwired, for better or worse, into our own modes of thinking—we've sampled the buffet table of life, as it were, figured out what was tasty and what smelled like old boots, and no amount of arm-twisting is going to get us to try those weird-looking shrimp balls next to the sweet and sour pork.

We look for outside opinions to reinforce our beliefs, not challenge them. We pick out sympathetic ears that relay our crises to mouths waiting to say things like "Of course you were right to steal it" and "Where does she get off?" We seek out knowledge that reiterates what we've always believed to be true. We'll look to film reviewers that we've handpicked for their similar tastes.

Never is this more apparent than on the internet, where millions of people spend their entire day getting furious at those unfortunate enough to be less intelligent than themselves (i.e. everyone else). It infuriates us that no one else is selective enough to like what we like, or wise enough to like it for the same reasons. We're so preoccupied with defining ourselves through our preferences that it's not surprising we often confuse taste with intelligence. I know I do. When a grown man or woman tells me they're reading the new Harry Potter book, for instance, I instinctively add quote marks over 'reading', envisioning the sad, spartan bookshelf they must keep at home; the two diet books and a Tom Clancy novel I'd find there, fighting unsuccessfully for dominance with shelves creaking from the weight of DVDs starring Freddy Prinze Jr. and Julia Stiles.

Internet debate exhausts me, and it's everywhere. If you looked at one side of a pointless argument as a zero and the other as a one, you could easily see the internet as it is: an unending stream of binary code stretching off monotonously into the horizon. We'll debate about Jesus, we'll debate about Bush, we'll debate about which Evil Dead movie left the other installments behind—the subject matter is irrelevant. What matters is the conviction that we've got it all figured out, and no effort should be spared to drag everyone else on the planet into the bright, unblinking dawn of our rightness.

I might be more inclined to do this myself if it wasn't that even a cursory scan around my room shows a monumental deficit in the naked cheerleader department, proving rather conclusively that while I might have some things figured out, other more important areas have eluded my grasp entirely. Subsequent glances show an embarrassingly large collection of comic books, a Lord of the Rings super-sized DVD with more extras than I'll ever have the time to watch, and, though I can't remember what I even needed it for, a hammer. I think that anyone who can confidently explain Galacticus's role in the Secret Wars probably has no business dictating their stances on international policy to others, and I include myself in that.

The other problem with net debating is the logical paradox that anyone with sufficient intelligence to have the sort of insights you might listen to is probably also the sort of person with more pressing time commitments than grabbing TittyMaster67 and BladeLovr in the iron fist of reason on the Picard/Kirk debate. This same reasoning is what makes Amazon.com's customer reviews so infinitely entertaining. Here are people with no time commitments in evidence at all. I could be charitable and envision them cooling their dogs in front of a laptop for the afternoon after a taxing liaison with the Chinese Ambassador, but something tells me deeper investigation would reveal collectible figurines, filthy children and bullet-ridden cars on blocks in the backyard that a family of raccoons call home.

Interestingly, both Marcel Proust's Remembrance of Things Past and Dr. Phil's The Ultimate Weight Solution Food Guide get consistent five-star ratings from Amazon.com's crack customer review team. Giving Dr. Phil a slight advantage over Proust, though, is one customer's glowing review title for The Ultimate Weight Solution Food Guide that states "If you read one book in your lifetime..." Call me a snob, but I think that any book reviewer who finds it reasonable to assume this might well be the only book you ever read isn't going to have a lot of reference points as to the Ultimate Weight Solution's place in the literary canon. I'm similarly doubtful that the person who's made a conscious choice to read just one book in their lifetime is the sort to power through a few reviews during their lunchbreak.

Other review titles include the mathematically sound "Buy It, Read It, Follow It = Lose Weight" and my personal favorite, "Great companion to The Ultimate Diet book". I love this one for the sheer balls of it. Forget the fact that Dr. Phil is pushing multiple weight loss books while hardly being a svelte man himself—here's a guy who titles his effort the "ultimate" diet book, then has the moxie to write a sequel to it and call it the "ultimate" weight solution, like these were two disparate concepts that he's put out as companion pieces.

After the five star reviews are out of the way, the zero star reviews of course follow, and lines are quickly drawn in the sand on The Ultimate Weight Solution Food Guide battlefield. Tammy comes forward with the bold treatise that "The negative reviews state these people didn't even read it," working under the unfailable logic that since a) the book is good and b) someone did not think it was good, then c) they did not read the book. Though you'd be hard-pressed to question her logic, someone soon does just that, casting new points to consider into the ring with their assertion that Dr. Phil is "a fuckin fatass."

And so on and so on. Sometimes I'll do random searches on books just to read the reviews, making my Amazon.com Auto-Recommendation list look like I'm the sort of person who eats with a bib. According to Amazon, for instance, my recent surfing choices suggest I might be interested in Diane Stein's Healing With Gemstones and Crystals. One Customer Review for Healing With Gemstones, the discerning 'Tigerave', gives the book what must have been an exhaustively debated-upon five star rating. Tigerave buttresses the stars by explaining that Healing With Gemstones is a "concise, not-overwhelming book of healing properties of stones," presumably meaning that it manages to cut through all the complex science involved in curing headaches with quartz and just spells it out for you in layman's terms. (If you were interested, other books Tigerave found sufficiently review-worthy were Gloria Estefan's Destiny and Sarah Wells' Today I Will Nourish My Inner Martyr: Affirmations for Cynics , an author who clearly didn't research her target audience with her title choice. Of Tigerave's 15 reviews, all are glowing five-star affairs. I chalk this up to her successfully nourishing her inner cynic-martyr, possibly with gemstones.)

I'm told that customers who enjoyed Diane Stein's Healing With Gemstones and Crystals might also be interested in Crystal Healing, Vol. 2 by Katrina Raphaell. I don't doubt it. Once you've conclusively failed to heal your chest pains with one mystic amulet, I think it would necessarily follow that you should hunt up as many books as you can on the subject until you get it right.

If, on the other hand, you've decided to read just one book in your lifetime and can't afford the luxury of two volumes dedicated to getting cancer in a Full Nelson through the magical powers of feldspar, you've at least got the solace of knowing Tigerave's out there somewhere, gemstones weighing down her knuckles as she puts fingers to keyboard, steering the one-book-per-lifetimers the right way with her concise, not-overwhelming reviews.

If the internet wasn't exactly built for circular anonymous debate, it's adapted well enough to suit it. And if you disagree, I'll meet you at Amazon.com. Look for my review of your values under "You + Opinions = Wrong" by BigDickAwesome, and refute as necessary.

The Importance of Never Having Goals

I've never been a big fan of job interviews. I know some people who actually thrive on them, booking interviews for jobs they don't even want to "stay sharp." Their actions are meant to inspire me, I assume, and in a way they do--by knowing them, I've learned how grating overachievers can be.

It exhausts me just watching them. I've always treated interviews as a necessary evil -- a brief period of time where I sit in front of someone and try to get him to believe outlandish, bald-faced lies.

"What are your goals?" Not working at a desk job for the rest of my life in a floundering economy'd be super, but what are you going to do?

"What do you see as your biggest weakness?" I'm passive-aggressive and commitment-phobic. And sometimes I steal office supplies.

"What excited you most about this opportunity?" That you called me and seemed interested in paying me sums of money.

While these answers can be helpful in an introspective sense, I doubt they're the answers my potential employers are looking for, and so I usually try to shovel up as much sunshine-flavored rainbow dribble that I can think of. "What excited you most about this opportunity," thus, I could easily turn into a ten minute blowjob. Gosh, what didn't excite me? The chance for advancement! The opportunity to expand my skills in a nurturing and fast-paced environment! The color of the doorknobs! Your tie, sir!

This evidently gets the job done, as the interviewers usually happily scratch something on a pad and proceed to the next question. One of these times I'm going to grab that pad, just to see if it says what I think it will:

1.) Ask applicant about career goals.

2.) Nod pleasantly until he says 'nurturing environment'.

3.) Check this box and then scribble something below it. [ ]

5.) Draw a pirate!

Interviews are a lot like video games, basically, with the big boss monster at the end of every level that, if you beat, means you move up a level to do battle with the next boss monster. I'd moved up to the second boss monster in the interviews I'd been going to. The first one had gone pretty well. The second one was a bit more of a disaster.

I don't know if I was just off my game or rusty at interviews or what, but I couldn't seem to buy a break. When I was serious it turned out he was being facetious. If I tried a joke he misconstrued what I meant. The worst was the inevitable "Where do you see yourself at this company in five years?"

I absolutely despise this one. Interviewers love it because they think it gives them an insight into a candidate's goals. Horseshit. It's a loaded question and it should never be asked. One, I have no idea what the corporate hierarchy is here. If I say I'd be happy at the same job in five years I look like I have no ambition. If I talk about moving up the ladder and getting advanced -- well, the guy interviewing me is my direct superior on the food chain, for fuck's sake. It's like getting asked "Where do you see yourself in five years, Jay?" and answering "Well, your job looks tasty, to be honest."

It's a lose-lose question, is my point. So it usually takes a couple good shovelfulls of horseshit to work around. The problem here is I've already had huge problems so far establishing any kind of rapport with the guy. I haven't been able to read him at all. Usually by the time the "five years" question comes up I know what the company's about, what the interviewer's about, and what they wnat to hear -- so they hear it. This guy'd given me nothing. I immediately blanked trying to figure out how best to answer it.

Seven seconds later, I'm still blanking. Seven seconds becomes ten. Becomes eleven. I realize with dawning horror that I've officially crossed the cut-off point of polite silence. I have to say something, or in two seconds it will officially become awkward and then he'll have to say something.

So my mouth starts moving on instinct, like it was pushed off a cliff and told to start flapping its arms. Words start pouring out -- but since my brain hasn't actually sent any instructions to my voice box, my mouth is on autopilot.

I think I went thirty seconds -- and in conversational time, thirty seconds is a lifetime you can die in -- without saying anything of substance. It sounded like this:

"Well, obviously I'd like to advance, but, uh -- I don't really know how the departmental... the departmental... the departments are organized here, so, uh... that is to say, I'd be happy doing what I'm... doing... the job, I mean... but also looking for new opportunities. Within the company. You know, laterally, or... up, if possible."

Like that. For thirty fucking seconds. I see his eyes starting to glaze over and think: "Time to wrap this up." Luckily, eventually one of the random vowel sounds coursing out of my mouth like slobber ends up being 'writing', and I lunge at it like a life preserver on a sinking ship.

I manage to turn it into a pretty great response about how the positional requirements are all the things I love to do, and if given a healthy environment to pursue them in I'd excel and see myself expanding on my skill sets in five years time. It didn't really answer the question -- but at least I wasn't speaking in tongues anymore, and it allowed me to wind myself to a stop.

The rest of the interview progressed decently -- he still never seemed to get my meaning most of the time, but we at least reached a semblance of semi-conversation where we sort of pretended to understand one another.

At the end of the interview, as I walked out the door, I debated whether or not to make a light joke about the "five years" question. An hour'd easily passed since then without any slip-ups. Should I roll the dice and hope we could have a quick laugh about it? Would it look weak, like I was apologizing? Would pretending it'd never happened be easier? Or would he appreciate the candor? Now that the interview was over, would we be able to share a knowing smile at my momentary brain-freeze? Was this even a safe bet, given that all previous attempts at levity had been misconstrued?

Fuck it, I'd bring it up. It was already out there, so I wouldn't lose anything mentioning it -- and I might gain at least a thin sliver of casual chumminess with him, which to my mind had been the major downfall of the interview anyway. Getting any kind of human response from him would seem like a win.

"I always get caught on that 'five year' question," I say, giving a low mock-chuckle and shaking my head, as if this was some sort of interview beartrap that I stepped in daily. I'm hoping he'll give an entry point -- a quizzical look, maybe; or an "Oh? Why is that?" Then I can make a light joke about how it's a damned-if-you-do-damned-if-you-don't question -- sort of breaks the fourth wall of the interview a little, so we can at least share a moment or two as human beings before the elevator arrives.

"Well, it's always important to have goals," he responds. Damn. We shake hands and I leave.

Shut down. In a fairly humiliating way too. Somehow we'd managed to leave it under the assumption that I'd floundered on the question because I evidently possess no goals.

Hmm. I guess that works too.