by George Takei
Lions and Tigers and Bears (The Internet Strikes Back) by George Takei
Copyright © 2013-2014 by Oh Myyy! Limited Liability Company
All rights reserved.
Printed in the United States of America
Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
ISBN-13 (U.S. Edition): 978-0991370108
Oh Myyy! Limited Liability Company
1650 Broadway, Suite 609, New York, NY 10036
1-917-720-3289 | http://book.ohmyyy.gt/latb
Originally published by
Oh Myyy! Limited Liability Company, December 2013
Contents
Lions and Tigers and Bears 7
The Internet Strikes Back 17
Admiral Snackbar 31
Earworms 41
Ghostwriters on the Storm 53
Spock You Like A Hurricane 63
Grumpy Cat 75
Link Wars 85
Dogged Determination 99
Pink is the New Black 115
Dippity Duped 143
Meme Me Up 159
Let’s Get SIRI-ous 177
Putin on the Ritz 191
Keep Calm 207
First World Problems 221
Signs of the Times 235
Tell ‘Em George Scent You 259
Dedicated to
my husband Brad and
my merry band of staffers,
who have helped guide
this ship through the
treacherous waters of
yet another year
on the Internet.
Lions and Tigers and Bears
My early adventures on the Internet felt like freshman year at college. Everything was new and wondrous. I made so many new friends. And I put on seven pounds. All that sedentary time at the computer. (Okay, that last part was a fib. On the contrary, I was so active and traveled so much last year that I’ve never felt in better shape.) But still, like the prototypical freshman, I had to figure many things out myself. Like laundry. Only instead of having to learn how to wash and fold it, I spent much of my energies learning, well, how not to air it too openly. That first adventuresome year was the subject of Oh Myyy — There Goes the Internet. (Which is already on your bookshelf or on your kindle, right?)
Ah, but then came 2013. Writing the sequel is always trickier. In college, they understand this well. The term “sophomore” derives from two Greek words seemingly at odds with each other: sophos (meaning wise) and moros (meaning foolish or dull). In other words, “sophomores” are really just wise fools. That is very much how I felt throughout most of 2013.
First, the wise part. I had learned a great deal in 2012 about our fans — who they were, what they liked (and what they didn’t), and how to keep them at least mildly entertained. You see, I make no bones about why I’m active on social media. I want people to listen to me when I talk about the subjects that matter to me, such as the Japanese American internment and marriage equality. But I know that I can’t talk about those things all the time. Even my staunchest supporters would start to tune me out. “There goes Uncle George again, always spouting off about equality.”
Instead I talked about matters the fans wanted to hear about, like Spock, Siri, and Grumpy Cat — all of which get a turn in this book. I understood that people came for the humor and stuck around for more of it, and that because of that — and only because of that — I had their attention, at least briefly. Once I had it, I discovered that I could speak on occasion about being a gay man married to my husband, and why we shouldn’t put people in concentration camps. And people actually listened.
But keeping fans entertained and coming back for more in an increasingly crowded social media field is no simple matter. To stay relevant, you have to keep putting out great content. And “great content” is always relative; that is, you’ve got to stay ahead of the curve. The challenge remains this: The rest of the world isn’t going to sit by and let you retain the bully pulpit easily.
Facebook itself has an interest in having great content so that its users keep coming back. After all, if the content isn’t compelling, people will find somewhere else to spend their time. Ironically, Facebook has to rely upon its users to generate that content, and most user-generated content simply isn’t very compelling. Just look at Vines, where everyone in the world can be a producer of the six-second video.
In order to stay in the game, I would have to step it up. Content that is engaging on Facebook gets rewarded by being shared on people’s newsfeeds. Content that grabs your attention on Twitter gets retweeted. And content that “sucks” disappears into obscurity. It’s like a 24/7 popularity contest.
Facebook is similar in many respects to a school yearbook, with the folks at Facebook headquarters our very own geeky yearbook committee. This is unsurprising, given that this is precisely how “Facebook” started at Harvard. And like a yearbook, every person, from the Prom King and Queen to the nerd reading Popular Science alone on the bleachers, is guaranteed at least one little spot in the book — his or her own inevitably awkward and lifetime cringe-worthy photo. But some people get to be all over the yearbook. In fact, it is a rule of thumb that the more popular you are, i.e., the more people who talk about you, the more times your mug shows up. So I knew that I had to keep people talking about my posts and my page, even as the number of competing pages and personalities rose exponentially.
I also learned that social media is constantly evolving, and if you don’t evolve with it, you quickly become irrelevant. Remember Friendster and MySpace? They met social media death as quickly as they had risen. (Admittedly, some vestiges remain. We still say “He friended me on Facebook” — and I credit Friendster with that verbiage.)
By 2013, the space my social media once occupied had become significantly more crowded. There were many times more Facebook pages, Twitter accounts and websites focusing on humor or science or politics than there had been in 2012. These pages and sites often did a better job than I (or my staff) did in finding funny, interesting or epic things to share. Would we go the way of Netscape, a fast-rising star swallowed up in the ensuing fray? Would we become like AOL, a once hot commodity that is quaintly still used by an aging base? Not on my watch, I said.
So I asked my staffers, who have themselves increased in number over the past year, what other Facebook pages were doing, and how we might learn from them. The answer was deceptively simple: “The best pages do what you do, George. They engage with their fans. And they’re staying on brand.” In this sense, I felt we had done a good job, especially on Facebook. In fact, my staffers reported that many pages were copying our model of shareable memes. We had created a strong community of like-minded netizens who enjoyed my posts as well as each others’ often spirited and witty commentary.
And we grew. And continued to grow. To keep up with where the fans were, we expanded to new frontiers like Tumblr, Pinterest and Google Plus. We worked with other sites like Buzzfeed and the Huffington Post to create original content. I even tried my hand at a few funny Amazon product reviews. We also understood that social media was where people were spending increasingly larger amounts of their time. Young people today, for example, often watch live television (if they watch it live at all) with both the TV and their laptops or tablet devices on. This way they can post in real time about what they are seeing, and watch what others are saying as well. I’ve done this myself a few times. It’s almost more enterta
ining to watch your newsfeed and Twitter feed during the Oscars than the actual show.
But television isn’t the only tradition being overhauled. I understand they’re even inventing driverless cars over at Google, no doubt so that people can keep their eyes more glued than ever to their smartphones, or peering at virtual screens on their Google Glass wear, instead of on the road.
Speaking of which, another thing I learned was that you had to keep up with technology. My interest in this was high enough that I launched my own video channel on YouTube in connection with AARP called “Takei’s Take” — on which I get to expound on the latest in gadgetry, technology and the Internet, in a way that was accessible to older viewers. It is a constant learning experience, and I am the wiser for it.
But now for the moros or “foolish” part. For all the time I spent on social media, by the end of 2012 it was clear that I didn’t truly understand many of the risks involved, particularly how the Internet could really drive a person crazy. Sure, I’d faced trolls before, people who post outrageous comments in a bid to get attention. I knew not to feed those lest they grow in strength and audacity. But what I didn’t expect was how quickly even my own fans could turn on me.
A potent example, which I discuss in depth later in this book, was when a story “broke” from one blogger, claiming that I don’t write the memes that appear on my wall, and that I, in fact, pay someone else to write jokes for me. This was not only untrue, it got it completely backward. In fact, I hardly create any of my own jokes or memes. I don’t even claim they’re mine. I simply share what others have shared. In fact, that’s been one of the Internet’s biggest criticism of me: I don’t post enough original material.
This I freely admit. It’s the Internet. Everyone is sharing everything out there, and almost no one can stop it or collect on it. A 4-year old can download and then re-upload an image. If so, why not a 76-year old former Star Trek actor? It really doesn’t take much. The trick is finding the “funny, epic or interesting” stuff worth sharing.
And yet in 2013, I learned the hard way that all this sharing, all this instantaneous news without any thought to original source, can come back to bite you. Apparently it only takes one irresponsible “news” source to publish a misleading statement under a misleading headline, such as “George Takei Uses a Ghostwriter,” and even some of your most loyal fans will abandon you in droves without checking the facts or asking for your side of things.
I also did not fully understand that, the larger my fan base grew, the more it attracted certain types of fans who, apparently, viewed their “right” (to be entertained at all times, to not be offended, or to be free from any updates, photos or links that didn’t fulfill their specific needs) as superior to my right to put what I want on my own page. Mind you, these weren’t trolls. These were fans who had developed, for better or worse, a vested interest in the direction of my page or Twitter feed. They felt entitled. And they made their opinions clear. I found myself having to explain, defend, apologize and — in more cases than I care to recount — even delete posts or tweets, not necessarily to placate these fans, but because I didn’t want the distraction of controversy overshadowing my mission. It just wasn’t worth it.
Then there are the crazies — fans who post on my wall about their dreams in which I inevitably played some disturbing role, fans who accuse me — IN ALL CAPITAL LETTERS — of deleting their posts as if I’d violated a sacred trust, and strangers whose hatred of what I stood for, and whose desire to make that hatred clear, is more than a little scary.
Ah, the Internet is dark and full of terrors. Lions and tigers and bears, oh myyy.
And so I write this account as a survivor of my wise and foolish second year. Like the Internet itself, in this book I cover an eclectic (some might even say random) assortment of subjects, based on observations and thoughts I’ve collected over the past year. There are plenty of moments of utter silliness, right alongside examples that reflect the profound and astonishing complexity of our increasingly social, and increasingly connected, world.
But fear not, friends. I now walk the path with a few more companions alongside — more than five million on Facebook in fact — to help fend off those dangerous beasts in the Haunted Forest, granting to me more brains, heart and courage to the task of finding our way back home — which reminds me to leave you with this gem:
The Internet Strikes Back
I’m going to get some of my “bitching” out of the way right off the bat. As my fan base has grown, my page has attracted attention — some of it not so welcome. This unwanted spotlight has included pundits, bloggers, overly-opinionated fans, irresponsible journalists, spammers, pornographers, and even more than a few outright hate-mongers.
On the somewhat tamer side of things, my activities have spurred many a wonky “industry” discussion about the intellectual value (or lack thereof) that a “social medialite” such as myself brings to the virtual table. One pundit memorably referred to my Facebook posts as simply more “noise” on the Net. He was apparently upset that his far more considered and thoughtful content was being pushed out of fan newsfeeds by the banal material I posted, which, in his mind, comprised primarily nerdy scifi memes and LOL images of cats. (This particular pundit’s own wife is an avowed fan of my page and shares my posts frequently, and apparently she would much rather be entertained by me than bored by him. Perhaps here lies the real reason behind his ire.)
To me, this kind of criticism evinces a decided lack of understanding about the way fan engagement works. To be sure, one can pen a scholarly, well-researched and, as some graduate students might even declare, compelling white paper on the “2009-2014 Outlook for Wooden Toilet Seats in Greater China” but no one outside of the author’s immediate circle is likely to give it so much as a glance. By the way, look this up on Amazon — it is actually available for purchase, and I have reviewed it as follows:
FOR YEARS I HAVE SEARCHED FOR THE PERFECT AUDIO BOOK PROJECT. “SHOGUN,” SOME FRIENDS SUGGESTED. “WAR AND PEACE,” I’VE CONSIDERED. OR PERHAPS “GREEN EGGS AND HAM.”
BUT IT WASN’T UNTIL I STUMBLED, QUITE BY CHANCE, ACROSS “THE 2009-2014 OUTLOOK FOR WOOD TOILET SEATS IN GREATER CHINA” THAT I KNEW. I KNEW.
SURE, THE TITLE AND THE FIRST FEW HUNDRED PAGES MAY SEEM OFF-PUTTING. “WHAT THE F*@K IS THIS?” BRAD DEMANDED, JUST 20 PAGES IN. “IT’S LIKE SOME KIND OF TERRIBLE GRAD SCHOOL THESIS.”
BUT RIGHT AROUND PAGE 375, THE OFWTSIGC (2009-14) BECOMES A WHITE-KNUCKLED, ROLLER COASTER OF EMOTIONS — THE SORT WE EXPECT FROM WORLD CLASS THRILLERS. INDEED, JUST WHEN YOU THINK THE AUTHOR HAS EXHAUSTED HIS DEAR READERS, AFTER WHAT SEEMS AN UNIMAGINABLY METHODICAL SURVEY OF MAINLAND CHINA’S WOOD TOILET SEAT PROJECTIONS, HE REMINDS US, EVER SO ARTFULLY, ABOUT GREATER CHINA.
TAIWAN. MACAO. HONG FRIGGING KONG.
NOW, ADMITTEDLY, THE NEAR $500 PRICE MAY BE A BIT DAUNTING, BUT ON A PER WORD BASIS, IT’S QUITE A BARGAIN. AND IMAGINE ITS USES! SENATE FILIBUSTERS WILL NEVER BE THE SAME. OFWTSIGC (2009-14) IT ALSO MAKES A TERRIFIC FATHER’S DAY GIFT FOR THAT DAD WHO “THINKS” HE HAS EVERYTHING. THIS WILL SHOW HIM, HUH.
As I said in my first book, Oh Myyy — There Goes the Internet, if you have something you want to say on the Net, first gather yourself an audience willing to listen. As I readily admit, my own “master plan” deploys the use of funny memes as a lure to attract and keep fans, so that every now and then I can step back up on my soapbox to speak about more serious matters. I would rather have some portion of five million fans bear with my occasional posts about the injustices of the Japanese-American internment in World War II than have a mere five hundred avid followers hanging on my every word.
Then there are the bloggers and outspoken fans who’ve taken to criticizing the manner in which I run my own page, tsk-tsking me for breaching some mysterious Internet protocol (of which I am apparently blithely unaware, and on which they are always happy to provide tutelage). For example, many have blasted me for my use of so-called “blind” link
s, where no preview of the subject article or video appears. On occasion, however, blind links can serve a useful purpose, as I discuss in greater depth later in the chapter entitled “Link Wars.” I find such criticism presumptuous. These people usually threaten to “unlike” my page unless I change my ways, when they had absolutely no obligation to “like” my page, let alone click on such links, in the first place. Such threats are as empty as they are humorous; the irony is that I’d rather wave those folks a friendly good-bye anyway.
Another common criticism is that I use “shortened” URLs rather than ones bearing the actual website names. Again, there are many reasons for this, which I cover later in “Link Wars,” not the least of which is that I need to keep text to a minimum for the sake of my Twitter account, which is closely linked to my Facebook. I am rather fond of my own URL, http://ohmyyy.gt, which my staffers say permits them to keep track of how many clicks are actually happening in real time — and thus what fans are responding to and what they are dismissing as uninteresting. (Facebook attempts to do this with its “Page Insights,” but the interface and the data are not quite as user-friendly or accurate.)
As I mentioned in the introduction, some of the most irksome comments come from those who believe that they have a right to dictate the content I choose to place on my own page. Their common complaint — and I see this almost every day — goes something like this: “Takei, I use to like u, but all u talk now is gay shit. Bye.” Or, “More funnies, less blah blah please.” Others complain bitterly if I so much as suggest they buy a fundraiser t-shirt or support a charity, or if I promote my own musical or book (like this one), even on my own page. “I came here for the laughs, not to be guilted,” “This page used to be pure entertainment” and “Yes, we get it, George. You have a book. Now shut up about it.”
Even fans who admittedly like my page and my posts sometimes take issue when I elect to do any kind of promotion. In one instance, I was offering fans a free download of a wonderful song from Allegiance, sung by my co-star, the incomparable Lea Salonga, which they otherwise would have had to pay for. Here is my post:
