The Critics Respond, Part Twenty-Four

You can't please all the readers, all of the time. Or maybe you can --- as long as you consider what they really want from you...

Yesterday I wrote an editorial/humor/analysis/commentary piece for TTAC about the meaning of Denali. As of this writing we're up to 275 comments, which is about what Jalopnik gets for a picture of a '94 Sonata parked on the street but which represents serious reader involvement at The House That Bertel Schmitt Didn't Build. It was a pleasure to write and there are probably more "easter eggs" in the language than anybody is going to find without the assistance of a full research team. I spent almost two hours putting it together, which is more time than I normally give anything in my life except for lunch.

Reaction was predictably mixed, as is always the case when you write something beyond listing the specs from the press release and is doubly so when there is a political or social component to the article. I'd say that on the whole, it was well-received. A few people who profess to be fans of mine said that it disappointed them, for which I am truly sorry.

Then you have people like "RideHeight". He's one of maybe five TTAC users who absolutely despise me and on whom I can absolutely depend for a couple of negative comments in every one of my posts. As has become standard behavior over the past few years on the Internet for everybody who hates anything, he is incapable of simply disagreeing with me, or even simply stating that I'm wrong. I have to be inept, as well. Another account, olddavid, has been engaging in a kind of extended riff over the past two years in the comments where he implies that I'm being heavily medicated and that said medication requires adjustment.

I usually have two interior responses when I read this stuff. The first one is to social-engineer a real name out of their accounts and call them up. This is something that I used to do with relative frequency in the VWVortex days and I was never surprised at the lack of backbone shown by the people who answered the phone. It got tiresome enough that I stopped doing it --- there are only so many times you can hear some Aspie stumble through an apology for his enormous eOnlineCawk. As a consequence, I haven't done my patented This Is The Internet Calling You At Home thing a single time since early 2012.

My second response is more productive, or at least I'd like to think it is. I read the article with their eyes, trying to see where I went wrong or where I offended them. Honest criticism is priceless, and the more specific it is the more worthwhile it can be if you're willing to consider it honestly yourself. It's more than arrogant to assume your critics are idiots; it's dangerous to your career prospects.

Commenters like "RideHeight" and the like, on the other hand, aren't responding to any particular thing I've written. They're responding to their idea of me, whatever it might be. Some sort of imaginary Jack Baruth who gets up at noon twice a week to write some lazy clickbait article and earns ten grand a week doing it. Some sort of fantastical me who takes a political position different from theirs because I have been brainwashed by their enemies or because I am an utter moron or perhaps because I am actively engaged in the service of Evil.

I don't think I'm that person. At the very least, I am trying to not be that person. Earlier this week, on the Smoking Tire podcast, my brother pointed out that I am an utterly awful guitarist and musician. He's correct, of course. I'm not the only auto-journo who plays the guitar --- there's whole band full of them in Detroit. I am, however, the only one who regularly puts material up for public consumption and criticism. I'm also only the only automotive journalist to my knowledge who has bothered to discuss any of his mis-steps, whether it be crashing a car or ruining a marriage. I don't hide behind carefully-airbrushed photographs, or, better yet, the line drawings that used to be the only face Car and Driver put forward to the world. I don't pretend to never be depressed or angry. I don't try to be any cooler or more interesting than I am, I don't pretend that I've earned things that were given to me, and I don't pretend to be a pro racer or even a pro writer.

Not that the RideHeights of the world care. They read everything I write so they can write something critical. They are my closest, most careful readers, trying desperately to anger or undermine or simply annoy me. The people who say "GREAT WORK JACK!" might read half of what I write and comment on a tenth of it, but these guys, editing their post multiple times (yes, I can see that) to deliver their shank with the most force possible, are regulars.

So what do you call people who read everything you write, pore over it at length, then never fail to comment in an attempt to get my attention? I suppose you have to call then fans.