My Life as a Youtuber

by Janet Tashjian

  Mom ignores him, moving on to the leather sandals in the next booth.

  Dad LOVES sampling food—it takes forever to get him out of Costco, where he tries bite-sized pieces of everything from cheese to salmon. Today is no different. Spoonfuls of blueberry honey, multigrain bread on a toothpick, and sausage in a little paper cup—Dad’s not fussy when it comes to trying new foods.

  “Try this hot sauce,” he tells me. “It’s got ten different chilies—it’ll blow a hole in the back of your skull.”

  Mom shakes her head and walks away; she’s not a fan of spicy foods like Dad and me who’ll put hot sauce on just about anything.

  Dad hands me a piece of bread doused with a sauce called Taste Bud Explosion 10.

  “It makes our Taste Bud Explosion 9 seem like baby formula,” the vendor tells us.

  The sauce has barely hit my mouth when I start sweating. The vendor doesn’t blink, just hands me a glass of water. If I were a cartoon, there’d be steam coming out of my ears with fire engine sound effects. I still can’t talk but give my dad a big thumbs-up.

  He takes out his wallet and reaches for two bottles of the hot sauce. “It’ll kick our chicken chili to a whole new level.”

  But I’m not thinking about chicken or chili or even nachos. I just figured out the premise of my new YouTube show!

  YET ANOTHER IDEA

  My parents have been adamant about me not using Frank in my YouTube videos, but considering the class reaction to the Tank, I don’t have a choice but to go back to using my capuchin. I’m facing some fierce competition—not just from the other kids in Mr. Ennis’s class, but from the billions of people already on YouTube. Anybody with a monkey at his or her disposal would use it, right?

  Even if I’m going to disobey my parents, I know better than to give hot sauce to a monkey. Of course that doesn’t stop me from putting a tiny drop of the new hot sauce on my finger and letting Frank lick it off when we get home. He seems to like it—even tries to grab the bottle out of my hand—but if I’m going to shoot lots of videos, I’ll need a substitute for Taste Bud Explosion 10.

  Gratefully, Mom’s meeting a friend and Dad’s catching up on work so the chances of them cutting into my fun are slim. I rummage through the back of the fridge where all the half-eaten jars of curry and pickles are until I find a bottle of hot sauce from the last street fair or farmers’ market Dad went to. I empty the contents into the sink, rinse the bottle, and refill it with ketchup, a harmless condiment that will look exactly like hot sauce in the video.

  Frank must know something’s up because he’s already clambering to get out of my arms. As soon as I douse one of his monkey biscuits in ketchup, Frank grabs it out of my hand and gobbles it down. I squirt some ketchup on the outside of the bottle to keep him interested.

  Capuchins are pretty good at foraging, so my idea is to hide the bottle of hot sauce and have Frank root around the house to find it. In post-production, I’ll speed up the footage, add cartoon sound effects, as well as a theme song to make the video even funnier. So question number one: Where should I hide the hot sauce first?

  Inside the fridge, the vegetable bin is full, so I bury the bottle underneath the lettuce, zucchini, and carrots. Frank’s on my shoulders, bouncing in anticipation. I make him wait a few more minutes as I set up my cell on the tripod.

  When I’m finally ready, I prop open the door of the refrigerator so Frank can have full access—and I can have light to film. He doesn’t wait for me to turn on the camera, just starts shoveling out the vegetables until he finds the bottle. I constantly try to get Frank to look into the camera but he’s pretty focused on finding his snack.

  By the time he’s finished, the floor of the kitchen looks like a produce stand. Frank’s gotten ahold of the fake hot sauce and is guzzling it down and squirting it on the vegetables. I scoop all the veggies back into the bin so my parents won’t find out.

  Before I put Frank back in his crate, I snap a picture of him holding the bottle of hot sauce and text it to Carly. She might still be angry with me, but she’s always had a soft spot for Frank.

  My phone immediately dings with a new text.

  It’s from Carly. A picture of you with hot sauce is NOT an apology.

  I type back. That was Frank, not me. Besides I apologized WITHOUT hot sauce too.

  I watch the three dots bouncing on the screen as she types her reply.

  Come on, come on!

  Are you sure? Looked more like you than Frank. Then the school emoji and a wave goodbye.

  Yes! I am forgiven!

  Cleaning up the kitchen after that is a breeze.

  READY, SET, GO!

  I can’t wait to show Mr. Ennis and the rest of the class my new video. Unfortunately, I’ve got a full day of school to get through before that.

  There’s a test in social studies on Islam; I tried to study for it but spent too much time with hot sauce and ketchup instead. I know three out of the twenty questions and end up guessing the rest. Mr. Maroni tells us we’ll be starting the section on Buddhism next week—maybe I’ll have better luck with that religion.

  When it’s finally time for Mr. Ennis’s class, Matt and I race down the hall until Ms. Cardoza in the media center gives us the evil eye. I almost slam into Carly, which is weird for a moment—are we still good?—until she hands me a stick of red licorice and tells me to stop clogging the halls. Yup, things are back to normal.

  In the past week, Tyler made more than ten YTP videos—all of them wacky and ridiculous. He always kept a low profile so I’m kind of surprised his work is head and shoulders above everyone else’s. I guess all the time he’s spent watching YTP has paid off when it comes to making clips of his own.

  Umberto’s video is also funny—but unpleasant to watch at the same time. In the clip, he’s at a restaurant on the Promenade with his brother, getting ready to have lunch. When the waitress comes over, she only talks to Eduardo, asking him what Umberto will have too.

  I’ve been in those embarrassing situations with Umberto before—when people talk to Matt or me instead of Umberto as if he’s just his disability and not one of the smartest, funniest kids on the planet. It’s not that strangers should KNOW he is; they just should give him a chance. This time, Umberto kindly—but firmly—lets the waitress know that HE’LL be having the chicken tacos without the cabbage but with lots of sour cream. When the clip ends, Umberto gets even more applause than Tyler.

  Throughout the class, I keep glancing over at Mr. Ennis, who looks as mischievous as I do before Brianna comes over to babysit. He’s got something up his sleeve but I can’t figure out what it is. (A pizza party after class would be AWESOME.)

  As Mr. Ennis cues up Carly’s video, she leans over in her chair. “Don’t freak out,” she whispers.

  Alarm bells go off in my head. “What am I going to freak out about? I don’t freak out.”

  “Yes, you do!” Carly points to the screen where her video is starting.

  I guess she’s still doing that tiresome show about her braces because she’s sitting in her room talking on webcam again.

  “Talk about bad timing,” on-screen Carly begins. “I got my braces the week before class picture day! I felt ridiculous! Should I smile with my teeth and flaunt my braces? Or smile with my mouth closed which feels totally unnatural?” She then runs through several kinds of smiles for the camera—some of them are funny, some are cute, and a few are downright scary.

  When I look over at Matt to see what he thinks, he’s staring at me and making a cut-your-throat motion with his hand. I mouth, “What?” since I have no idea what he’s talking about. He just shakes his head and looks back at the screen.

  “So I’ve got swollen gums, I feel ugly, and the photographer is mean—and as if THAT’S not enough—two of my best friends start making fun of me while we’re in line! You heard me—two of my best friends!”

  I look around the room, hoping everyone doesn’t know who she’s talking about, but pretty much everyone do
es and is staring at Matt and me. Carly just shrugs as if she’s not the one who made the video.

  Throwing herself on her bed and pretending to cry must be a running gag on Carly’s channel because she does it again now. At the end of the class, she gets as much applause as Umberto and Tyler.

  “Well,” Mr. Ennis says. “Any comments?”

  I don’t even bother raising my hand. “You said we were fine,” I tell Carly. “Why’d you have to make that video?”

  Carly looks at me with an expression that’s not mad, just serious. “I think a better question is, why’d you have to insult me in the first place?”

  It’s a good point but it doesn’t answer my question. “I know all our channels are still set to private, but you wouldn’t post that if they were public, would you?”

  Before she can answer, Mr. Ennis jumps in and asks the rest of the class if THEY think Carly should post it.

  “Totally!” Natalie says.

  “Absolutely,” Tyler adds.

  Umberto looks torn but joins in anyway. “I think sometimes the uncomfortable videos are the ones that hit the hardest.”

  Mr. Ennis says it’s time to move on to the next video, but before he does, he asks Carly what she’d do.

  She doesn’t hesitate. “I’d totally post it.”

  Great—make me look like a thoughtless moron just as our teacher is about to screen my new video. Thanks, Carly.

  But I don’t need to worry—Monkey Love Hot Sauce is a hit. I’m glad I decided to speed up the video and add sound effects; it makes Frank’s search for hot sauce even more frantic and silly. Mr. Ennis laughs out loud which puts a cherry on top of the class reaction.

  “That was great, Derek,” he says. “See what you can accomplish even with all those rules and parental supervision? Your parents did sign off on this, right?”

  I can’t tell Mr. Ennis that I was the one who scribbled Mom’s signature on the parental permission form, so I just nod and tell him they liked the video too.

  “Frank’s a star,” Tyler says. “Please say you’re using him in all your videos.”

  Getting one good video has taken much more time and energy than I’d planned on. But after all those practice attempts, I finally came up with something that works. As I tell Tyler I’m definitely using Frank again, all I can think about is how I’m going to hide my shooting schedule from my parents.

  Next up is Matt’s video, which has been shrouded in mystery. All he’s told me is that he gave up the LP idea in favor of something different.

  Before Mr. Ennis hits play Matt turns to the class and tells us he decided to do an unboxing video.

  WHAT?!

  If you’d asked me to bet on what type of YouTube channel Matt would create, unboxing would be at the very bottom of the list. Most of the unboxing channels consist of a woman with fancy nail polish opening toys while her disembodied voice talks to you like you’re a two-year-old. Please don’t say Matt’s going to do THAT. Unboxing a new smartphone or even a bag of Doritos is more like Matt. I’m confused—and curious—to see what he’s come up with.

  On-screen, Matt is dressed like a caveman; I recognize the outfit he’s wearing as his mom’s sheepskin rug. His face is dirty and he’s sitting in the woods—which I also recognize as a trail we’ve hiked in the Santa Monica Mountains. Did he use a tripod or did someone else tape it? Does he have another best friend now? I decide to stop worrying and just watch the clip.

  His caveman character holds an old cardboard box painted gray, fastened with a piece of jute. Matt put a lot of work into his video too; I guess coming up in the rear of the class taught both of us a lesson last week.

  “Welcome to Shopping with Neanderthals. Today, we’re going to see what’s in this package I just picked up at my local StoneMart.”

  Several kids laugh, including me.

  Caveman Matt unties the string and slowly opens the box. As he does, he’s swatting imaginary flies.

  “Ohhhhhh, look at this.” Matt slowly lifts a large rock out of the box and holds it up. “This one’s a beauty. Nice shape, good grip. I’m going to be able to clobber lots of other cavemen with this bad boy.” He weighs the rock in his hand. “They really made some improvements over last year’s model; even the packaging is better.”

  He signs off with a grunt and we all applaud. Matt beams, happy that he came up with something funny and original. He tells us his brother Jamie helped him, which eases my fear about a new best friend.

  After all the videos are shown, Mr. Ennis tells us he has a surprise. NOW can we have some pizza?

  “As of today, you can all move your YouTube settings from private to public so everyone can finally enjoy these beauties.”

  Wait—everyone in the WORLD is going to see Carly talking about how mean Matt and I were?

  “From here on in,” Mr. Ennis says, “you’ll be promoting your channels and uploading new videos. And remember: It’s not just about views and subscribers—it’s about creating videos you can be proud of.”

  As much as Mr. Ennis says it’s not about numbers, I don’t have to ask my classmates what they’ll be aiming for because I already know the answer—views. Umberto, Matt, Carly, and I originally thought we’d all be making videos together. Now I have to compete with not only everyone in the class, but my best friends.

  BAIT AND SWITCH

  Several kids in our class already have lots of videos “in the can,” which means shot and ready to go. I, on the other hand, have to film all the new Monkey Love Hot Sauce videos from scratch.

  As I lie in bed Saturday night, my mind is abuzz with everything I have to do. Film the videos, edit them, upload them, promote them, answer comments … then start all over again. Is this what it feels like to be a grown-up—a constant stream of stuff you need to accomplish? If it is, I’m not in any hurry to sign up.

  Even though today is Sunday, Dad has a meeting and Mom’s next door interviewing for a new receptionist, so I’m clear to start filming the next episode of my channel. But first I need to come up with a theme song!

  It’s been a while since I used GarageBand, so it takes me over an hour to make a song I’m happy with, one that feels panicky and fueled by hot-sauce energy. I turn on the laptop’s internal mic and record the theme song to my new channel.

  Monkey love hot sauce!

  Monkey love hot sauce!

  It’s so hot, I love it a lot!

  Monkey love hot sauce!

  It’s ridiculous and stupid—in other words, perfect for YouTube.

  I don’t know how long Mom’s going to be working, so I have to hurry if I’m going to film Frank. Where should he go kooky for hot sauce today? The TV room? The trash?

  Within the next few hours, Frank scours my mother’s jewelry box, the recycling bin, as well as a basket of laundry, and the washing machine. The only difficulty Frank had was with one of Mom’s bangles. He was in such a frenzy to get his hands on the hot sauce that he ended up with the bracelet caught around the lower part of his face. It made for hilarious footage but he started freaking out, so I had to stop being cameraman/director and help him. A few of my mother’s chains and necklaces got pretty tangled, so I put them back in the bottom of the jewelry box where she won’t find them for a while.

  By the time I get Frank in his crate, he’s exhausted and passes out on his blanket. Then I look for Bodi. I can’t give him equal time tonight, but I need to at least give him some. I settle him next to me on the couch as I download the footage from my phone to my laptop.

  The footage came out GREAT and I’m excited to get to the editing phase, until I realize I’ve forgotten something. Since I can’t show my parents Monkey Love Hot Sauce, I’m going to need a decoy channel to show them what I’m doing for class. I not only have to make Frank’s show, I need to make another whole fake channel. What’s THAT show going to be?

  I look around the room and bat around ideas. Derek eats? Boring. Derek eats candy? Been done. Derek watches TV? Too passive.

&
nbsp; Mom’s got a few boxes near the front door of things going to Goodwill. She asked me a few days ago if she could get rid of some of my old toys and I said fine. I open up the boxes until I find the one full of action figures.

  I really don’t feel like working but there’s no way around the task at hand. I set up the camera again and dump the box of action figures onto the kitchen table.

  “Hi! Welcome to Action Figure Mashup,” I say to the camera. “I’m Derek, your host, and we’re going to create some NEW action figures out of my OLD action figures.”

  I don’t have time for a lot of takes so I make sure to speak as clearly as possible. “First, we’re going to take off Bart Simpson’s head and put it on Gumby.” I yank off Bart’s yellow head and shove it onto Gumby’s stretchy green body. “Ta-da!” I hold my new creature up to the camera. “Say hello to Bartby.”

  I sign off then check the quality of the video as Mom enters the kitchen with a stack of folders. She pours herself a glass of wine and asks how filming went. I lean over and show her the footage I just shot.

  She takes a sip of wine. “Do you think it might skew a little young? You haven’t played with those toys in years—you might get a lot of four-year-old viewers.”

  I tell her I don’t care WHAT age my viewers are, as long as I have some. But her comment makes me wish I could share my REAL show with her.

  “See what your teacher says,” she adds. “But I think you might be able to challenge yourself a little more.”