It's been a long time since I've had to go through the interview process. (Five months, for those of you keeping track at home on your whatever-whenever score cards.) In the past few weeks, I've had numerous phone interviews, first interviews, second interviews, and, as of yesterday, my very first third interview that I think I've ever had. And I want to tell you all, I am officially sick of myself.

I've met some great people and genuinely enjoyed most of my conversations, but I feel weird telling the same stories about myself over and over again. Though I know those I meet haven't heard them before, I still feel a bit odd repeating myself, on average, four times a week. Considering I have no issues displaying my sexual proclivities regularly to the web community, you'd think I'd have no problem talking about my work experience. Maybe it's just that my sex life (when it's active) is far more interesting.

God, wouldn't it be great if all of our job interviews had nothing to do with work experience and everything to do with what we did last weekend? The first ten minutes could be assigned to the down and dirty details: Here's what I've done, Here's what I want to do, Here's what I want to know about the job. And then the interviewer, in return, could say: Expand, Explain, and finally, Enough.

And then it's time for a nice thumb war match. Oooh, that's even better. Thumb wrestling for jobs. And if not a thumb war, at least the interviewer could let you see which MP3s they've downloaded from Napster. Or they could show you pictures of their family. Or you could tell them about the first time you fell in love.

When I lived in Seattle, practically every job interview I had or gave was over coffee or a cigarette. Everyone understood that sooner or later we would all know the minute details of our co-workers' lives. I think we all recognize that our work life can often sub for a family life, or at least - if you're in the right place, that is - you'll be able to create an extended family of sorts.

I say we all throw it down in the beginning. Get over the foreplay and go straight to the loving. Am I smart enough? Sure. You can figure that out from my resume, and reading my writing, and talking to me for ten minutes. But would you want to work sixty hours a week right next door to me? Would I want to see you early in the morning or very late at night, delirious on the third coffee of the day? I probably would if you had some rocking MP3s, or if you knew that I had driven cross-country for four months when I was 22, or if I knew that you really respected the work of Steve Martin.

And the rest all falls together, I think. At a certain point, our past accomplishments should be recognized, and our potential is easy to envision. Share your aesthetics. Share your passions. Share your dreams. The best workplace atmosphere is one based in collaboration.

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