Happy First Birthday, Deep Dive AI (Please Don’t Blow Out the Wi-Fi)

Happy First Birthday, Deep Dive AI (Please Don’t Blow Out the Wi-Fi)

There’s a cake on the table, but not the kind your dentist worries about. This one is sketched in bold ink, cross-hatched like a vintage newspaper panel, and—because we’re us—shaped like a giant YouTube play button. A single crooked candle leans over the top like it partied a little too hard, stamped “1 Year” in loud red. Underneath, the pedestal wears our favorite inside joke in even louder red: “$51.53 (and counting… but not paid till $100!).”

Happy channel birthday. We’re officially old enough to know better and young enough to try anyway.

Kellie’s leaning in with a balloon labeled “Deep Dive AI,” equal parts amused and proud. I’m beside the cake with a tiny fork like I’m about to duel a carbohydrate. At the base, stacked like geological layers of a very confused bakery, are reels with our top-earning titles—“DMT Laser,” “Restless Spirits,” “Smokey Texas Blues,” and a few more that totally make sense if you were there for that week’s editorial mood swing. The banner drooping over everything says exactly what the creator economy says to rookies: “Happy Channel Birthday – We’ll Pay You Later!”

The Russian Blue (chunky, tuxedo, smug) is perched on a piggy bank that’s chained shut with a lock reading “AdSense $100 Minimum,” patting dollar-sign confetti like it’s training for a tournament. An hourglass drips in the background. The sand moves, slowly. It is not in any particular hurry.

Welcome to Year One’s finale: a party where the punch is analytics, the gift is stamina, and the cake tastes like persistence.

The cake, the cat, and the quiet math If you’ve never celebrated a first year on YouTube, imagine throwing a birthday party where the theme is “gratitude and grit” and half the guests are still looking up your address. You hang the banner anyway. You light the candle anyway. You cut the cake anyway—even if you’re doing it with a fork, standing at the kitchen counter, while the cat judges your posture.

That $51.53 on the pedestal? It’s not a complaint. It’s a monument to the least glamorous, most essential element of creative work: the long middle between “started” and “actually getting paid.” The $100 threshold isn’t mean so much as it is… ceremonial. It says: build a tiny body of work, and then keep building until the tiny becomes a habit. It says: prove you weren’t a one-week wonder with three shorts and a dream. It says: we don’t cut checks for momentum—we cut checks for consistency.

The piggy bank’s lock is funny because it’s true, and the truth is funny because it’s so universal. Everyone starts here. Some people never admit it. We drew it on a cake.

Why an editorial cartoon for a birthday? Because satire is a mirror that lets you grin while you look at your reflection in weird light. Because cross-hatching can hold both celebration and reality inside the same frame. Because selective red—on the candle, the labels, the balloon—lets you feel the heartbeat of the scene without smothering it in confetti.

An editorial cartoon is a little cathedral of contradictions: serious but silly, timeless but now, economical but dense. Our channel has lived in that tension all year. We’ve talked about lasers and ghosts and smoky blues, then pivoted to camping menus and Michigan weather like the same playlist somehow works for both editing a track and lighting a campfire. That’s the brand. That’s the joke. That’s the party.

Also: when you haven’t actually been paid yet, it’s spiritually correct to draw a cake instead of buying one.

The layers we baked this year (a slice of the reels) The cake base is layered with the little reels that paid the bill (or, more accurately, the hopeful tip jar). They’re labeled like artifacts from our highlight reel:

“DMT Laser” — our “is this too nerdy?” arc that turned into “apparently nerdy is the assignment.” The video where we realized specificity beats scattershot, every time. We learned that the more particular the problem, the more likely someone’s typing it at 1 a.m., praying for an answer.

“Restless Spirits” — bluesy, moody, the sonic equivalent of a good porch light. Sometimes the clicks aren’t fireworks; they’re steady candles that burn a long time. This was one of those: fewer spikes, more tail.

“Smokey Texas Blues” — the thumbnail that taught us the difference between “looks cool” and “gets clicked.” We learned to put the hook where tired eyes land, not where our pride wants to show off. (And yes, we moved the text three pixels twelve different times. Growth is real.)

There were others. Some did a polite little shuffle across the stage and left without applause. A few surprised us by hanging around long after the party ended, quietly clocking views like the introvert who turns out to be the best guest.

We learned to love the long tail. It’s not flashy; it’s faithful.

Jason and Kellie, exaggerated but accurate In the cartoon, my fork is small because the work felt big. I look proud because we showed up; I look exasperated because the learning curve had elbows. If you’ve ever taught yourself a new tool—Adobe Premiere Pro, anyone?—you know the specific face you make when a feature is both brilliant and unreasonably hidden. That face is in the ink lines.

Kellie’s balloon says “Deep Dive AI” because she is the person who turns a good idea into an actual plan. She’s also the person who reminds me to celebrate the wins before we bulldoze them under the next to-do. The balloon is light on purpose. Some brand assets should float.

The cat is a truth serum. Our Russian Blue tuxedo has unimpeachable vibes and no respect for milestones. That’s good for us. Every time the channel wants to puff itself up over a nice week, the cat jumps on the keyboard and types “,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,” into our script. Perspective restored.

“Happy Channel Birthday — We’ll Pay You Later!” It’s funny because it’s the subtext of every platform rule. It’s also honest. The payout gate is a proxy for something deeper: are you building a system or chasing a viral slot machine? The banner isn’t bitter; it’s binoculars. Zoom out and you see the year differently:

• We built rituals: record, edit, publish, post, link. • We tuned craftsmanship: better pacing, tighter cuts, sound that doesn’t fight the story. • We found a voice: part porch, part lab, a little mischievous, a little Midwest, usually caffeinated.

YouTube will pay us later. The skills paid us now.

The hourglass and the confetti Time moved weird this year. There were weeks that raced (thumbnail, rough cut, export, upload, finger-cross). There were weeks that stretched (rework the audio bed again, re-write the intro again, re-learn the shortcut you swore you tattooed on your hand).

The hourglass drips because this work is slow on purpose. Every grain that falls is a rep we can’t skip. The confetti is dollar signs because yes, monetization matters; we want this hobby to buy its own groceries. But the confetti is also… confetti. Joy sneaks in. You get to laugh with people who found you by accident and decided to stay.

Fifty-one dollars and fifty-three cents (what it actually means) Here’s what $51.53 buys:

• Permission to call it real. The meter moved. • Proof of consistency. Those pennies had to come from somewhere; they came from you uploading when it didn’t feel convenient. • A tangible story. “We’re at $51.53” is better than “we’re working on it,” because it might be small, but it’s countable, trackable, and absolutely headed to three digits.

And yes, it also buys the right to make jokes about the $100 threshold. (We will make those jokes. Repeatedly.)

Behind the ink: the year in small pivots A year isn’t one big decision; it’s a hundred tiny ones. Some of ours:

We switched from “maybe this sticks” to “this solves.” We learned that videos are treatments for problems—creative, technical, emotional—not just little performances begging for love.

We stopped arguing with the algorithm and started feeding the audience. The algorithm is moody; the audience is human. Humans win.

We moved our hooks up. If you’re telling people why they should care at minute 2:17, you just told on yourself.

We put people in the thumbnails. Faces move clicks. So do clear, legible words. It turns out eyes like eyes. Who knew.

We built a small universe. Blog, video, Shorts, podcast. Not all at once, not perfectly, but together enough that a new viewer can fall down a pleasant rabbit hole without bonking their head.

What the cartoon style does for the story Editorial cartoons compress opinion, data, and feeling into one frame. That’s exactly what this moment needed. We could have posted a screenshot of analytics and called it a day, but the cake says more in one panel than a chart ever could: it’s celebratory, yes, but it’s also about structural realities (thresholds, gates, time), and it lets us smile at the long road without pretending it’s shorter than it is.

The selective color scheme—mostly monochrome with pops of red and pastel blues/purples—keeps the focus where it belongs: the candle (time), the labels (constraints), the balloon (brand), the lock (gate). The digital glow in those pastels nods to the medium: this party lives on screens.

Community showed up (and we felt it) You liked, you commented, you shared. Some of you DM’d that a tutorial rescued your afternoon or that a story landed on the right day. We felt that. It turned a lonely edit into a conversation.

To everyone who subscribed: you put an extra sprinkle on the cake. To everyone who hasn’t yet: the fork is waiting, the slice is ready, the button is right there. (YouTube: http://bit.ly/44ArQcq — and for the audio crowd, Spotify: https://bit.ly/41Vktg6.)

Yes, we will talk about money We’d like this to pay for itself, then for a few adventures, then for a few bigger adventures. We are not allergic to practical. But we also refuse to let the $100 gate decide our joy. The piggy bank can keep its lock for a minute. We’ll keep posting. We’ll keep getting better. Checks follow chops.

What the candle knows It’s crooked. It leans. It’s still burning. Perfection is not a prerequisite for celebrating. In fact, perfection is the enemy of cake. The candle’s job is to mark the moment, not to pass a stress test.

We lit it anyway. That’s the whole thesis.

Twelve tiny takeaways from twelve messy months

1. Start before you feel ready. You won’t. Start anyway.

2. Publish on the schedule you can keep, not the schedule you brag about.

3. Learn one keyboard shortcut per week; guard it like treasure.

4. Your voice will embarrass you at first. Keep speaking.

5. Titles are promises. Thumbnails are doors. Don’t lie with either.

6. Treat comments like a room of neighbors: listen first, talk second.

7. If a tool saves you five minutes every day, it’s not a toy; it’s rent.

8. When in doubt, cut ten seconds. You won’t miss them.

9. Music should serve story, not show off your playlist.

10. Reuse your wins: one idea can be a video, a short, a blog, a post.

11. Make checklists when you’re calm; use them when you’re frazzled.

12. Celebrate in public. The internet needs more confetti.

The cat’s editorial note (unsolicited) If our feline art director could speak human, it would say: “Congratulations on your medium-sized progress, tiny producers. Please deliver sardines to conference room sunbeam at once.” The cat is correct. Rewards matter. So does sun.

What we’ll do in Year Two (a pledge you can quote back to us) • Hit the payout gate without losing the plot. We’re not chasing cents; we’re building sense. • Double down on clarity. Hooks that land, pacing that breathes, sound that doesn’t fight. • Keep the brand cohesive: editorial-cartoon energy in the imagery; helpful, human energy in the voice. • Invite more you. Interviews, Q&As, comments that become segments. • Expand the “layers” that worked—yes to more deep dives like “DMT Laser,” more moody music explorations like “Smokey Texas Blues,” more narrative pieces like “Restless Spirits,” and more practical guides from the field.

And yes, the balloon stays. It reminds us not to take our own seriousness too seriously.

Behind the scenes of the cake composition (for the art nerds) The reason the play-button cake works is structural: the triangle points you to the candle; the candle pulls your eye to the red; the red bounces to the lock and the balloon; the cross-hatching rides you down to the reels at the base; the labels send you back up to the banner; the banner frames the joke and loops you around again. It reads at a glance and rewards a stare. That’s good design. Also, it makes the cat’s hat funnier. This is important.

The hourglass? It’s tilted just enough to feel unstable, because YouTube time never sits still. You can’t “set it and forget it.” You tinker. You learn. You post. You tweak. You live. The sand keeps falling either way; may as well enjoy the curve.

A toast (coffee okay, seltzer acceptable) To the first upload we published while holding our breath. To the first subscriber who wasn’t related to us. To the first comment that said “this helped.” To the first short that didn’t flop. To the first longform that did, and taught us more than the wins. To $51.53, currently moonlighting as a patience coach.

Here’s to the second candle we’ll light next year, straight or crooked, paid or pending. Here’s to our tiny fork and your generous appetite for the strange, the helpful, the musical, the Michigan.

If you want in on the next slice, you know the drill: • Subscribe on YouTube: http://bit.ly/44ArQcq • Follow the podcast on Spotify: https://bit.ly/41Vktg6 Bring a friend. Bring two. Bring the neighbor who still says “what’s a thumbnail?” and the cousin who thinks the algorithm is a myth invented by Big Spreadsheet.

A word on “We’ll Pay You Later” We’re not offended. We get it. Systems need thresholds; so do people. Ours is simple: show up twice a week, tell the truth, try the weird angle, post the thing. If the piggy bank wants to release the funds next month, we’ll wave at the mailman and make another cartoon. If it takes a little longer, we’ll wave at the mailman and make another cartoon. Either way, the cake gets cut.

The 16:9 thought (because of course we’re thinking ahead) When we shoot the celebration video, we’ll riff on this composition in landscape: keep the play-button cake left-of-center to leave clean space for title copy on the right; tilt the banner like a cheeky lower-third; let the hourglass anchor the far right edge as a counterweight; keep the red pops on the candle, lock, and balloon so it reads at phone-scroll speed. (Text big, crisp, and unashamed. We are not whispering this party.)

But that’s for the upload. Today is for the story.

One last glance at the panel If you step back from the drawing, you’ll notice something you can’t see up close: it feels like a real birthday. Messy, sweet, a little ridiculous, full of people who matter. The cake isn’t perfect, the candle tilts, the banner sags, the cat is stealing the show. In other words, it’s us.

Thanks for showing up. Thanks for clapping when the flame wobbled. Thanks for being the kind of audience that appreciates a joke about payout thresholds and then sticks around to learn a new trick in Premiere. We’ll keep making things worth your time. You keep telling us when it works.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a piggy bank to negotiate with, an hourglass to rotate, and a candle to relight because somebody (cat) snuffed it while I was typing.

See you at Candle No. 2. Bring your fork. We’ll save you a corner piece.