In addition to ~20 charity/philanthropy/social-goodliness blogs, I read one blog, TechCrunch, about for-profit Internet startups. I’d say I see about 10x as much negativity, sarcasm, skepticism, and criticism on TechCrunch as on those 20 improve-the-world blogs combined. That’s why I like TechCrunch.

If you check out the front page now, you’ll see TechCrunch questioning Google’s high-priced acquisition of DoubleClick, stating “We all know what sucks about LinkedIn [one of the most successful social networks in the world]”, and responding to Rolling Stone’s plan to create a social network with “The Rolling Stone audience may be too old to get into the social networking scene.” Nobody gets off easy.

Contrast with NetSquared, currently holding a vote to showcase 20 projects “remixing the Web for social good.” While TechCrunch picks only the most promising, highest-profile startups to write about, the ~150 NetSquared nominees were selected as follows: anyone who wanted to nominate a project did so. Yet while TechCrunch is constantly picking at its subjects for weaknesses, you’ll have a tough time finding anyone critical of anyone on NetSquared. Here are a few choice examples of the tone: all the projects are amazing, there is far too much to choose from, etc. Check out the specific discussions of projects and you’ll see the same: criticisms are few and far between, and always prefaced with “This is the most wonderful thing in the world, but …”

I believe the difference in tone is pretty constant between these two sectors – and it isn’t just the people, it’s the way people see charity. I’ve even heard my coworkers say things like “I think all charities are doing wonderful things” (I usually ask if they think the same about all businesses).

The thing is, in the business world it’s obvious to everyone that good isn’t good enough. You need to be the BEST, within your area, or else capital is better spent on your competitors – and you’re going to go under. But I don’t see why this is any less true of the nonprofit sector – all of it except the part about going under. Right now, there’s no mechanism for charitable capital (donations from individuals) to flow to where it’s best used, and that means no mechanism for inferior charities to go under, and THAT means no constant pressure to get better. That’s what we’re trying to change, because we think the people served by charities deserve the same relentless improvement and scrutiny that the people served by businesses benefit from.

We need kind people in the nonprofit sector, but I could go for fewer nice people. Nice people are always encouraging; they think everything well-intentioned is worth doing; they respond to my ideas with “OK” instead of “Wouldn’t it be better to ____?” They make good grandmothers, not good partners.

As illustrated by this raging debate between me and two guys at GiftHub. (If you want to get straight to the metaphor-gone-awry goodness, Ctrl-F “life partner.”)

Meanwhile, talking to people about my video game analogy, I’ve realized the biggest problem with it relates to the role of enjoyment. Enjoyment is the ultimate goal of playing video games, but not of charity. That’s because video games are about pretending to do what charity REALLY does (kill bad guys). Charity is enjoyable even though (in fact because) enjoyment isn’t the point.

There really is just no possible analogy that can capture how awesome it is to be actually spending my time trying to kill bad guys. Nothing else is remotely comparable.

“How does helping people make you feel?” That’s what I’ve been asked, and my answer isn’t familiar from any publications on marketing or fundraising that I know of.

When I was younger, I loved playing video games. Single-player video games, without anyone watching. I didn’t get anything for my virtual accomplishments – not appreciation, or respect, or friendship. I didn’t even get the thrill of being good at something, because I knew that most of my friends were better than I was anyway. I didn’t think I was good at these games; I didn’t think I was building up any skill; in brief, I had no ulterior motives.

I just liked killing bad guys. Well, more than that, I hated not killing bad guys. When Heat Man killed my guy and stood around smugly, I wanted to throw the TV across the room, and I couldn’t stop until he was dead.

What sucked about this experience was that it was all fake, and in the back of my head I knew that. In the end I felt pretty empty and lame. Enter altruism – where the bad guys are ACTUALLY BAD GUYS. (See illustration.) Sure, I don’t get the same satisfying explosion when they die … I don’t even know to what extent, or whether, they die. So you can think of this video game as being more in the camp of something lame, like an RPG or something. But it’s infinitely better because it’s real. I don’t care whether the kids are cute, or whether the organizations are nice to me, or whether my friends like my decisions. As with video games, I probably spend 99% of my time frustrated rather than happy. But … Malaria Man just pisses me off. It’s that simple.

I’d call my attitude toward giving straight-up altruism. I’ve heard people deny that real altruism can possibly exist, but I don’t think any of them would challenge my description of playing Mega Man, even once I specify that it was the desired outcome, not the feelings, that kept me playing.

There are a couple key differences between my attitude and the motives I commonly hear ascribed to donors. One is the fact that I’m obsessed, and therefore I’m not looking for a pleasant minute-to-minute experience. Charities focus on making giving a pleasant, immediately rewarding experience for the donor, sometimes at the cost of being really truthful and helping the donor to understand; this is because they expect their donor to spend a few minutes, or hours at most. (And that’s all they’ll spend as long as there’s no clear outlet for using their brain as well as their checkbook.) Another key difference is that I’m not looking to feel validated or important or un-guilty or generally “good” in any warm and fuzzy way; I’m looking to actually kill the bad guy, not just prove to myself that I tried. No matter how it makes me feel, a charity is failing me if it doesn’t get results.

I find most of the motivations that marketers attribute to donors irrelevant. Gaining appreciation, recognition, a legacy, a warm and fuzzy feeling, an ego boost, a thank-you note, a friend – I don’t give a crap about any of it.

A great illustration of what does drive me to give was written today, by an Ohio State fan. I have the same relationship to malaria and diarrhea – and generally, to the problems a species this brilliant and productive still hasn’t solved – that he has to Florida.