COLUMN: Influencers

Last week, I did the unthinkable. I broke my number one columnist cardinal rule: I became an old curmudgeon.

When I was a kid, I used to read newspapers and bristle at their columnists. Why? Because I'd invariably run into some old fuddy-duddy trying and failing to understand youth culture. Every week, I'd read how I was somehow taking life for granted, or that I didn't know how to communicate, or that my driving sucked.

For the past 25 years, I've been lucky enough to have a front row seat to the newspaper industry, and I know how important it is to get younger generations to read, enjoy, and engage with our products. And a good way to NOT do that is to fill pages with some crusty Andy Rooney-type telling them they don't know anything. I swear half the reason I wanted to be a columnist was out of spite over those clueless columnists of yore. I vowed to be the voice of the younger generation.

There's just one problem with that -- no matter how much I may try to deny it, none of us stay the younger generation forever. I'm now a voice of a boring middle-aged generation, and more often than I care to admit, sometimes we don't understand youth culture. Last week, I spent a whole column trying and failing to appreciate TikTok, a phone app that seems endlessly entertaining to anyone under 30 and endlessly stupid to the rest of us.

Even though I might not fully understand today's kids, I hope I'm still a few years away from full-on Andy Rooneying. But while I'm on a roll, I may as well dip my toes in the curmudgeony sea one last time and tell you about another thing I simply don't understand.

My overall plan for world domination is clearly going slower than anticipated, but should I ever find myself sitting on the Iron Throne in judgement of the entire world, I'm pretty sure I know who would be first against the wall when my revolution comes: anyone who states without shame or embarassment that their occupation is "social media influencer." Second against the wall would be anyone who's actually influenced by these people.

I'm still not quite sure what it means to be a social media influencer, but I think it works like this: You join Instagram and Youtube and TikTok and amass a ton of likes and online followers. If you get a big enough audience, eventually companies will pay you to shill their products. Just like that, geeking out on Facebook is now your CAREER.

Some social media stars become full-on celebrities despite not having done anything worth celebrating. And now that big business has realized they can make a buck off these amateur celebrities, the internet's become full of phony pitchmen posting infomercials disguised as entertainment.

For a while, I regularly followed an Ohio family who boast over a million subscribers to their Youtube channel. Almost every day, they'd post a fairly amusing video of their daily adventures. It was fun and endearing to watch this average family achieve internet fame by basically just being themselves, and all the while the overall message was positive and uplifting. You couldn't be in a bad mood while watching their videos.

But over the past year, things changed a bit. They'd never admit it publicly, but it's fairly clear they've grown sick of the schtick. Honestly, who could blame them? Filming original content and doing something entertaining every single day has to wear on you with time. Their once daily videos became weekly, and now sometimes they go weeks without posting.

But no one in their family holds actual jobs. Their income depends entirely on their online sponsorships and merchandising. So now, whenever they DO post a new video, you can almost guarantee a sponsor has mandated it. How can you tell? Because the product placement in their videos has become obvious and awkward. They still film themselves goofing around, but now it always includes some cringe-worthy scene like, "Hey guys, before we head out today, we should replenish with a glass of Vitafuel! Mmm, that Vitafuel sure is tasty and healthy!"

When you know the only reason they're uploading videos is to earn a buck, it takes the fun out of the whole thing. I'm half expecting them to introduce their new neighbors, Flo from Progressive and Vince the Sham-Wow Guy.

Yet somehow these social media influencers remain popular, presumably because they're actually influencing people, and that's scary. If you've ever bought something because some Youtuber told you to, seek help.

The list of "influencers" in my life are short: Mom & Dad Brown (although don't ever tell them I admitted to it.) The author Douglas Adams. Monty Python's Flying Circus. Chris Lagrow, who taught me how to DJ. The Columbia House tape club, who showed me a world of music beyond what I was hearing on the radio. A few friends. A couple teachers. A co-worker or two. And nary one Kardashian in the mix.

I'm not slighting advertising one bit. Advertising pays my bills. Consumers need to know about new products, and new businesses need a way to get their message out. But when you're living in a mansion and demanding VIP treatment because you wore a watch in an Instagram photo, I'm pretty sure I hate you.

Maybe social media influencers are awful corporate shills. Maybe I'm just jealous. After all, I've had this corner of newspaper real estate for over a decade, and I've never used it to plug a product for personal gain. Maybe the younger generation is smarter than I thought. I'll be sure to contemplate that, right after I enjoy this ice cold Coca-Cola. Yes, nothing satisfies you at the end of a column like a crisp refreshing Coca-Cola. Mmm, Coke Is It! (Make check payable to me.)

COLUMN: TikTok

Whenever I get stalled for original column ideas, I have a tendency to fall back on some well-worn topics. You know, things like:

• Cats do cute things.
• Gee, that episode of [INSERT TV SHOW HERE] sure was crazy.
• Let me tell you about some video game you couldn't care less about.

And, of course, countless variations of my perennial go-to:

• Waah! I'm old!

This, of course, is a ridiculous assertion. I'm only 48. If you think I'm not painfully self-aware of how silly I sound whining about the passage of time, you're sadly mistaken. I know how ludicrous I sound. 48 isn't old. But it IS closer to 70 than 20, despite what my wardrobe, maturity level, or the volume of my car stereo might have you believe. That's a tough pill to swallow when I still have occasional nightmares about bombing my midterms.

I'd rather the hands of time come to a grinding halt. But if I had some kind of magical opportunity, would I want to be a kid again in today's world? NO WAY, and I just found the perfect example why. This week, on a whim, I downloaded TikTok.

I've spent the past two months bombarded relentlessly by ads for TikTok. Each ad is essentially the same thing: a picture or video of some impossibly attractive 20-something looking like they're having the most fun of their entire lives. I might not be ancient, but I'm clearly past the target demographic of TikTok. Still, curiosity got the better of me, so I decided to see what the fuss what all about.

TikTok is an app for your phone -- and by "your," I mean your CHILDREN'S phones -- that allows users to film, edit, and share short 60-second videos. TikTok also gives their users access to a vast catalog of song and movie snippets, so when handed the tools to create original content and a platform to distribute said content to a global audience, the vast majority of TikTok members use this stunning technological feat to lip-sync.

Essentially, it's a super easy way to make yourself a worldwide idiot. If I was looking for a way to feel young again, this ain't it. TikTok makes me feel older than I am, because I simply don't get the appeal. I grew up watching MTV, which at least had REAL musicians lip-syncing. I don't get the entertainment value in watching 35 strangers fake-sing to the same 30-second Beyonce clip. But I'm also not a teenager.

There's no way I'd want to be a young person in today's world. When I was their age, I was an expert at NOTHING. But just to be an active participant on social media, today's kids need to be movie directors, film editors, professional models, skilled actors, and competent dancers. I sure didn't know my good side or my best angle when I was a teenager. I'm still trying to find that magic angle today. 

Not to portray myself as a mature adult (eww gross), but it's easy for older generations to look at Instagram "likes" and silly lip-sync videos and dismiss them as childish fancy. But for today's kids, it's not so foolish. Likes and followers are currency, both socially and fiscally. The most popular users of TikTok are Lisa and Lena, twin sisters from Germany who've amassed 32,700,000 followers and counting. There aren't 37 million people who've ever heard of ME, that's for sure. And they've already parlayed their lip-sync success into a successful clothing line and record deal.

Then there's the case of Montero Hill. He was a teenager devoted to making comedy videos on Facebook, viral posts on Twitter, and homemade raps on Soundcloud. Then one of those homemade raps got picked up by TikTok for a snippet. You might know it as "Old Town Road," the #1 song in the country (and eleven other countries) right now, racking up gold and platinum sales all over the world.

So next time your kids slack off on their chores, cut them a break. They're probably exhausted from spending the whole day thinking up creative ways to lip sync to the new Drake single. Regardless of your opinion on TikTok, you've got to appreciate the effort these kids put into it. Maybe this generation will have a work ethic so intense that we can slack off and let them handle everything. Or maybe we'll carry on making all the money because we're not wasting our days lip syncing mindlessly into the lens of an iPhone. Either way, we win.

Heck, I remember making videos in high school, too. My friends and I had a video camera. It cost us $50 to rent for a weekend and weighed about twenty pounds. I'm sure everyone would love to see our hilarious hijinks, and I'll show them to you as soon as someone finds me a Betamax player and a TV with analog inputs.

I guess we should let kids be kids and fads be fads. It probably won't be long before TikTok gets replaced by something else whose appeal only our kids' kids will understand. I might think it's an absurd waste of time, but that's okay, because it's not meant for me. TikTok sure does a good job at making me feel old, but it also makes me happy and relieved to be too old for it. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some Beyonce choreography to learn.

COLUMN: Waterworld

We all owe Kevin Costner a HUGE apology.

Once upon a time, he was one of the most successful and popular actors on the planet. He wowed us in The Untouchables, thrilled us in No Way Out, and danced with wolves in, umm, Dances With Wolves (I presume. Never saw it.) With Bull Durham, he proved that old baseball players could still be loveable. With Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, he proved it was possible to do a worse British accent than Dick Van Dyke. And above all else, he became a friend to the Midwest with Field of Dreams, perhaps the only movie that's ever tried super hard to make Iowa seem like a cool place to live.

Then 1995 came along and it all went sideways. Kevin Costner accomplished an extraordinary feat of cinematic achievement: one of the most expensive and most terrible movies ever made. It was a production so epic that the director reportedly walked off, the cast spent most of the production nauseous, and the non-sensical plot is riddled with so many holes it's the Swiss cheese of cinema. BUT it does have a scene where flaming jet-skis fly through the air, which is admittedly pretty sweet.

The film is Waterworld, one of the most celebrated rotten tomatoes of movie-making.

But I get it now, Kevin. It's not a terrible movie. It's a handy guideline for Midwestern survival in 2019. We all scoffed at the notion of a future world underwater. Based on our recent weather patterns, I reckon that'll be happening, what, about a week from Tuesday? Waterworld isn't a bad movie. It's a manual for surviving life along the Mississippi.

Waterworld takes place in a post-apocalyptic dystopian future (aka a week from Tuesday) where the ice caps have melted and rising waters have wiped out life as we know it. Those with the fortitude, strength, and cool enough wardrobes to survive are left to float around on ramshackle armadas fighting each other presumably out of boredom. But hidden inside this gem of a movie are wise Kevin Costner's tips for survival.

I just watched Waterworld. Well, at least the first ten minutes. I'm pretty sure that's good enough to glean the knowledge Kevin Costner wants us to have in order to survive the Great Flood of 2019:

Waterworld Tip #1: Start hoarding dirt. In "Waterworld," dirt is currency. It's the most precious commodity. Henceforth, I am using this as justification to stop cleaning my house.

Waterworld Tip #2: If possible, grow gills and webbed feet. In the movie, Costner inexplicably has them, due to "evolution" or maybe his great-great-grandfather having an unspeakable tryst with a mackerel. Regardless, they seem to come in super handy, so let's get to work on evolving, people.

Waterworld Tip #3: Stay away from anyone who remotely looks like Dennis Hopper. This seems to be solid advice for all facets of life, flood or no flood.

Waterworld Tip #4: And this one's probably just for me and a few others: Learn to swim. It seems to be important. Of course, if I grew gills, I could just stroll along the river bottom, but swimming seems like a solid backup plan to spontaneous gill growth and first-hand knowledge of what lies on the river bed. Plus, breathing water sounds painful, and breathing Mississippi water sounds especially nasty. Sewers are backing up, people. My future gills have standards.

So far, my plan is to hope my basement holds up, be thankful I live on the other side of a reliable flood wall, and not worry unless I see animals start lining up 2-by-2 to get onboard any arks. But in that event, I offer a plea to any aspiring ark builders out there: This time, can we maybe skip the snakes and the wasps? Would anyone except maybe Alice Cooper really mind? I suppose it's not good karma to advocate for taxonomic genocide in times of crisis, but would there be any silver lining to this flood better than the elimination of stupid wasps?

When it comes to ark life, I suppose my real fear should be its capacity for humans. Hard cuts would have to be made, but I think I'd make this list.. After all, a new society would need important skilled inhabitants: doctors, politicians, cooks, tradespeople, and of course the guy who DJs the mad parties once electricity gets re-invented. Of course, this would mean I'd have to bring my music collection onboard, sooo... tough break, platypuses. Let's be honest, you guys were probably a mistake the last time around. Sorry for your extinction, but we need room for records in the new world.

The worst part about spring floods is that there's little we can do except wait it out, wade it out, and help everyone affected as best we can. In the meantime, you should totally NOT rent Waterworld. Sorry, Kevin. We appreciate your input, but the BEST advice is to save your money and instead use it in help or patronage of the many wonderful citizens and businesses in the thick of it. They need and deserve our support.