December 31st 2022; 2:45am

It’s come to my attention that in a very near future, there’s a real possibility that artificial intelligence could take any sort of flexible computer-based copywriting or design job that I could find myself qualified for. I don’t mean this in a dystopian or science fiction basis. I promise this isn’t cool post-modern-apocalypse prose. I’m just hashing stuff out.

But as I’ve refocused some of my animalistic, capitalistic, survival attention on a job sphere that robots can’t touch (the Flowbee is still no match for a proper haircut), I find my mind perusing how we got here in the first place.

As a child of the 90s, I could’ve never imagined the classlessness that was to rule 30yrs later. Slime looks refined to me, these days. We no longer find ourselves entertained, but rather consumed, by television (or its modern counterpart that lives in our pocket.) Our outdoor time has been replaced by indoor time at an exponential level. (I have no quantifiers for this, I am a part of the problem. I don’t exclusively deal in superlatives but they’re the BEST!) My fear with this loss of outdoor time is that we’re becoming num to (or at the very least, losing reverence for) the majestic nature of the great outdoors and the wonderment of the unknown.

Our current society fears the unknown. (See 2020.) The unknown is unpredictable. And unpredictables are hard to capitalize on.

But it seems to me that soon enough, capitalism itself is going to be tough to capitalize on (see any AI created AI based consumer or B2B software). And if that’s the case, it’s time to either pivot towards an unpredictable future or go digging for some humanity out in the physical world.

My dad didn’t have to fight robots for a seat at the table. And he definitely didn’t have to consider humanity in his kid’s media consumption. He just had to let us watch Aladdin on VHS a couple times a day and get us to bed in time to order a pizza over a land-line-phone and watch an episode of The West Wing.

So…on my quest for the humanity in this infographic-heavy, dumbed-down, headline-exclusive version of modern society, I’ve decided to reverse-engineer my relation to the physical world…

Not by taking steroids, eating raw liver, and putting videos of it on the web,

Not by becoming a weird back-to-the-earth raw food surf bro,

But by cosplaying as a person who went to a private New England (or possibly Chicago) based college somewhere between the late 60s/mid 80s.

“What?” you may ask. “What does that sentence even mean?”

It means I’m lookin for a time machine, baby. I’m gonna live inside of one my dad’s favorite movies.

“I’m pretty sure that’s not what a time machine is…” you’ll say.

I’m zooted, okay. Just go with it.

Here’s the plan:

We’re going to time travel back to a time before the robots were a real threat. I want the idea of robots. But only in a movie sense. I don’t need em all around me. I don’t need em writing movies for me.

And if we’re going to travel back, we might as well put ourselves in a spot where we’re doin pretty good. That way we still have modern conveniences and shit. Like…upper-middle-class, right?

“What the fuck are you talking about?” you may ask.

“The 60s, 70s, and 80s, were a pretty rough time for some people, Mic. You ever think about that, Mic?” someone else might say.

To which I’ll reply, “This is imaginary, Brenden. How are you still reading this? How’d you even hear about this, Brenden, Shut the fuck up.”

So, let’s say, upper-middle-class somewhere between the late 60s and mid 80s.

Let’s say…we went to Georgetown or something. Let’s say we were on the rowing team or something at Georgetown. That’s something that’s real collegiate right. REAL upper-middle-class.

Okay. Great. We’re CREW people. So sick. Getting up before the sun and hitting the Potomac with the boys. Damn. So sick.

But we’re not in college anymore. We’re adults now. I mean…some of us are. Leslie and Alec got engaged. Alec just got some new job working for a senator (a Republican at that). Kevin’s got a decent writing job but can’t really seem to emerge himself. Jules is still messy but always a great time and Billy (played by Rob Lowe) would be a great dad if he’d ever leave his fraternity days behind him.

“Hey, Mic! That’s just the plot to St. Elmo’s Fire. Why am I still reading this?”

Yes…yes, it is.

But hear me out…

If we’re going to time travel back to a version of physical, robot-less (though modern) society, where we were on the crew team at Georgetown and eventually go on to live an upper-middle-class life as the Deputy Communications Director at the Whitehouse, we’re going to need a shepherd.

We’re going to need someone who’s seen the full spectrum of the late 60s, the late 70s, and the late 80s. We’re going to need a king who’s touched the bottom of the pool. We’re going to need a person who’s seemingly time-traveled before.

We’re going to need Rob Lowe.

“Mic…this is getting long-winded. Where is this going?”

You’re right. My apologies.

Anyway…I’d like to invite you to join me in this overly ambitious time-machine…

Allow me

to allow you

to allow Rob Lowe

to allow me

to guide you

through a year’s long journey back in time

to an upper-middle-class fitness fantasy

that never actually existed outside of my father’s VHS collection

where we ROW to the cinematic and silver-screen catalogue of ROB LOWE.

Ladies and Gentlemen…

Welcome…

To…

ROB ROW