got good news today for 1/2 passports we are waiting for and wanted to share our timeline. it’s long but i wanted to give as much detail as i could in case it helps anyone:
4/17 - applied in person at local post office with expedited service and shipping for 2 first-time passport books and cards (myself and nephew) with travel date of 6/5 listed on both
4/20 - applications received and “in process” at locator 79 (houston, tx)
5/23 - filled out and submitted the form on Senator Chuck Schumer’s website for assistance with passport applications and emailed the signed privacy waiver forms for both of us (done right before close of business that day)
5/24 - at 11am i got an email from an intern in Schumer’s office requesting a copy of our flight info (including our names, date of flight, and airline confirmation number). emailed that to them about 15 minutes later.
5/24 - 3pm got an email that said they forwarded our inquiry to the passport agency and requested a response. told they would keep us updated.
5/28 - (sunday before memorial day office closure) spent 2 hours 40 minutes on hold with the passport 877 phone number for my application and they “sent an urgent alert to locator 79 to process your application based on your date of travel” because there were no appts available anywhere in the country before our fly date. gave me the standard disclaimer of “this is not a guarantee” etc.
5/28 - spent another 4 hours 56 minutes on hold on call #2 for my nephew’s passport because they could not do both of ours in the same call since he is not a minor. same responses. oddly enough we got the same representative (Bernadette) for both calls.
5/30 - sister calls local office for senator Schumer because i am now panicking. very nice man has me send him all of our info again and says he’ll try again for us since i have thousands of non-refundable dollars tied up in this trip. emailed him at 3:16pm.
5/30 - at 5:30pm the nephew’s passport is approved. at 6:30 we have a tracking number and it says it will be here tomorrow by 7pm via UPS. it is now 10pm and my passport status is still listed as “in process.” i feel a bit sick to my stomach, but i’m hopeful at least.
if i hear anything about my passport i will post an update. i hope this helps, because i have seen very little info here about locator 79.

Hi all,
I just want to begin by saying for those that experience this all the time/frequently I am so sorry. I will admit for a long time I was a person that just said "oh it's just a bad dream, you're fine" and for that I am regretful for my ignorant thinking for all those years. I had a short but horrifying experience for the first time in my life and it feels like it's still kinda affecting me, even days later. I'm not one that has bad dreams, or dreams in general very frequently but this is one that will probably stay with me for the rest of my life.
Me and my hubby were on vacation at his childhood home for Memorial Day weekend. We had family and friends over, a cookout, yard games, and just an overall great weekend. Once everyone left and we got the house/yard (somewhat) picked up me, hubby, and in-laws went inside to wind down and get ready for bed. I hopped in the shower last so I could take the longest as I needed to wash my hair and hubby and in-laws watched some TV and scrolled on their phones. When I was waiting to hop in my FIL had on something about the Coca Cola 600 that got delayed that day and I was really just scrolling on tik tok and snapchat to see what all my friends did over the weekend while I was away. I showered and when I was done, I joined them in the living room and watched TV with them for about 15-20 mins till my eyes were getting heavy and I knew I needed to go to sleep as we were leaving at around 4 am to head back home (10ish hr drive). I will say when I got back they were watching some of the "spooky" shows of "real ghosts/spirits" caught on camera but that's something hubby enjoys so it's nothing out of the ordinary for us to watch right before bed and the stories we watched weren't anywhere near as scary as what we have seen before.
It was around 10-10:30 when we went and laid down and probably closer to 11-11:15 when we finally fell asleep. Both me and hubby are light sleepers and we toss and turn quite a lot, along with being in a queen bed when we're used to a king we don't get optimal sleep when visiting his parents but it has never been an issue before. We woke up around 2 am, him adjusting the fan to point more towards him and I had to go pee. When I checked my phone right before I fell asleep again to make sure the alarm was set it was 2:07 and I fell back asleep pretty fast. This is where the paralysis kicked in. I had a dream that we were back outside during the cookout and I started to feel a bit woozy and light headed, I walked inside with my MIL and she told me to sit down while she grabs me a water bottle from the garage. I did as she said but when she came back I was on the floor being picked up by what I thought was my husband. I tried to look behind my shoulder to him but I couldn't, and I go super nervous and could only look forward to my MIL standing in front of the couch looking down at me saying "it's okay, you just had a bit too much to drink, you'll feel better soon. (Note: I did not have too much to drink that day/night. I had maybe 3 highnoons all day and never once even got tipsy, I'm not a heavy drinker by any means but I do drink occasionally and can hold my liquor fine and I know that has nothing to do with it.) I kept trying to look back but couldn't but the arms were getting tighter and tighter around me. While at first I thought it was my husband picking me up I quickly realized it was not him at all. Whatever had me didn't even feel human. I was being dragged into the bed room and when I would take a deep breath to scream NOTHING would come out, I tried multiple times and the last time I did my eyes shot open and I realized it was just a dream. I laid there for a minute just staring at the wall to calm down and my mouth was wide open and super dry so I tried to grab my water bottle off of the nightstand to take a sip but I couldn't make myself move. I kinda fought with myself for a bit to force myself to grab the bottle but stopped when I felt the arms slide around me again. I tried to move, even just clench my fist together, I could maybe flinch my fingers in the slightest movement, just enough to know my limbs were still attached but they were completely useless. I heard my husbands voice for a split second, I couldn't make out what was actually said but it sounded like him and then it just didn't. I was like a crescendo of whispers, on top of more whispers, all saying something clear as day but getting muffled out but the others. I couldn't make out anything but I felt surrounded by the noise and it just got louder and louder. I could feel myself getting scared again and wanting to scream but the same thing. I would take a deep breath, go scream but nothing would come out. I realized then that I was having sleep paralysis and just thought "it's okay, you're okay, this isn't real, it's just a dream, it'll be over soon." I kept repeating that to myself in my head over and over again for what seemed like forever while the arms around me seemed to pull me in closer and tighter and then the whispers suddenly stopped all together. Silence. Like an eerily, sudden silence that almost hurt it happened so close to the loud whispers. I hear a distorted version of "my husband's" voice say "oh, is it? are you? are you sure?"
Then I finally came to for real this time. My eyes were wide open and all I could make myself do was move them around for the first few seconds, looking around the room making sure it was real this time. My breathing was super short and fast, heart rate felt like I had just sprinted a full mile. Under my pillow I moved my fingers to touch my thumb, again making sure I was really awake this time. Like in my dream, my mouth was wide open and dry as the Saraha Desert, I drank that entire bottle in about 3 seconds and just laid there till my alarm went off. I was a bit in shock just because it felt so real, I had to lay there and make sure what really happened vs. what I dreamed. My alarm started beeping shortly after and once my hubby was awake and moving I asked if I made any weird noises or anything like that while I was sleeping and he didn't remember anything but said he didn't sleep good so he didn't pay much attention to me.
I was still creeped out pretty much the entire trip back. I didn't want to dwell on it and freak myself out even more but it was also just something that kept popping into my mind. I kept apologizing to my husband for talking about it so much, especially since it was just the same thoughts on it over and over again. He assured me it was okay, and I can talk about it as much or as little as I need. Once we got home I took a quick cat nap and thankfully didn't have any dreams or anything but I started house/dog sitting last night and I will say it took a bit of courage to finally let myself fall asleep, especially away from my husband, and in a house and bed that's familiar, but isn't mine. I don't want to develop anxiety towards sleeping but I feel a bit uneasy about it. It was the first time I ever had an experience like that and nothing out of the ordinary happened to cause it. It was one of the most terrifying moments of my life, and I hope the only time it ever happens.

I'm a day late posting this -- I'm sorry to have gotten off schedule! I realize there have been a lot of high-earner diaries recently, but I hope my perspective is still of interest.
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Section One: Assets and Debt
Retirement Balance: $460K (mine) and $250K (husband’s). We both max out our annual withholdings. I’ve been working longer than him, and my employer offers a more generous match, which contributed significantly to my balance.
Equity: $275K. Our home is currently worth about $450K. We live in a M-HCOL area (far) outside of NYC, and our home was a fixer upper when we bought it. Honestly, it’s still a fixer, and we are saving towards a major renovation.
Cars: Maybe $15-$20k total…we drive two paid off cars. One is 13 years old, and the other is 10 years old.
Other Cash and Investments: $150K
Credit card debt: None, paid every month
Student loan debt (for what degree): $80K towards the grad degree I’m pursuing now. Since we’re saving towards the home reno, I’m financing my degree rather than paying for it outright. I know this is counterintuitive given the interest rate environment. However, the home reno has been a priority for us since we bought this home.
Daughters’ 529s: $75K
Total Net Worth: $1.145M
Section Two: Income
Income Progression: I've been working in my field for 13 years and my starting salary was $40,000.
I work as a Director of Financial Planning & Analysis in a niche field. I won’t go into too many details because it’s a small world. My salary progression was as follows:
Year 1: $40,000 starting, right after recession. I had an amazing boss who mentored me and recognized my potential. After six months, I received a promotion and raise to $60,000.
Year 3: Promotion and raise to $90,000, for a role with more financial and analytical responsibility. Although I worked hard, I continued to benefit from having a boss who advocated for me. I consider this a major turning point.
Year 8: Raise to $120,000 for additional responsibilities after a coworker retired.
Year 10: Raise to $135,000
I’ve received an average of 2.5% COLA increases and now earn $145K. My boss has requested a $10,000 bonus for me this year, which I haven’t yet included because it’s still under review.
My husband earns $260,000 base salary as a VP of a large corporation (this is a very recent raise…he was at $200K previously). In addition, he can receive a performance-based bonus of 20-30%. We don’t include his bonuses in our financial planning because they are not guaranteed and because a portion is RSUs. When he receives a cash bonus, we put it towards our daughter’s college accounts and/or our home reno fund.
Education: I have a bachelors and a masters in a field unrelated to my career. My tuition was paid by scholarships/assistantships. In addition, my parents covered my living expenses during undergrad. During my first graduate degree, I worked 3 part-time jobs to cover my non-tuition expenses. I’m now enrolled in a grad program more directly related to my career. My employer encouraged me to do this program and generously allows me the time out of office. In addition, if I stay for a certain number of years, they will reimburse a portion of my tuition.
Main Job Monthly Take Home:
Monthly take home: $6,300 after taxes, retirement ($1,875) and medical/dental benefits ($110– self only)
Husband’s monthly take home: $12,560 after taxes, retirement ($1,875), and medical/dental ($400 for him and our two kids)
Section Three: Expenses
Mortgage: $2,485 for principal, interest, insurance, and taxes. We refinanced to a 15-year loan at 2.3% when rates were low
Daycare: $3,510 per month (full-time for a toddler and preschooler)
Savings contribution: $3,000-$5,000
Daughters’ 529 accounts: $2,000 ($1,000 each)
Debt payments: $700 towards my student loans. This will increase once I’m done with my degree
Donations: $3,000 annually
Transit $350-400 for husband’s commute (3x/week to NYC)
Electric: $60
Wifi/Cable/Landline: $120
Cellphone: $180
Subscriptions: $59 for Netflix, Hulu, Disney+, Duolingo, Apple Storage, and credit monitoring
Gym membership: $149 for Pure Barre
Husband’s physical therapy: $130 (portion not covered by insurance)
Car insurance: $3,200 annually. (This seems high, considering we have good records, don’t drive much, and both cars are paid off. I need to look into this)
Life Insurance: $3,100 annually
Day 1 (Saturday):
6:00 AM: Wake up. I’m doing a modular course for my graduate degree, and the class wraps up today. I study for the exam that happens this afternoon. A little after 7, I walk to a nearby coffee shop and buy a large Americano for $4.50 including tip. When I’m back at the hotel, I pack up my room and leave a $20 tip for housekeeping. On the way out, I drop my bags at the bell stand. The hotel cost is covered by tuition.
9:00: Meet with my study team to finalize a paper and presentation that’s due today. At noon, we break for lunch (also covered by tuition). I have a salad and lots of carbonated caffeine. After lunch, we have an hour-long final exam.
2:00: Final course wrap up. It’s been an intense week-long session. I learned a lot, but am so ready to head home. I walk back to the hotel to retrieve my bags. Along the way, I stop to buy an empanada ($8 including tip). Then I call an Uber to the airport ($55 including tip). While in the Uber, I talk to my husband and daughters, who are 1.5 and almost 4. Due to the time difference, it’s their bedtime and if I don’t catch them now, I’ll lose my chance. I promise them that I’ll be home when they wake up in the morning. A lot of my classmates went to dinner together before heading to the airport. On the one hand, I have FOMO because my classmates are awesome. But on the other hand, it was really important to me to talk to my family, and I know I couldn’t have done that easily in a bustling restaurant (I’ve tried, and it was a frustrating experience for everyone!).
6:00: Arrive at the airport. I check my bag ($35). Once I’m through security, I pick up some souvenirs. My hotel wasn’t in an area with good shopping options, and the class days were pretty packed anyway. I get locally made chocolate for my husband. The girls get a small stuffed animal each, and a book to share ($70 total). Then I treat myself to crab cakes and a French 75 to celebrate the end of the week ($60 including tip).
10:00: On the flight, I read until the cabin lights go out and then try to sleep. I used to be able to sleep better on red eyes, but I wake up every 15 minutes.
Day 1 Total: $252.50
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Day 2 (Sunday):
6:00: Flight lands and I gather my bags and take the parking shuttle. Although I parked in an economy lot, the total was still $174. Ugh – this has been an expensive week.
7:45: Arrive home. The girls crawled into our bed and are snuggled up next to my husband. The toddler wakes up as I come into the room and the look on her face when she sees me is priceless. Our preschooler wakes up soon after. It’s so good to be reunited with my people! We all head downstairs and have breakfast (waffles and cereal, plus a huge pot of coffee). It’s cold and rainy today and we spend the morning watching TV together.
10:00: Our toddler falls asleep for her nap, and my husband encourages me to do the same. Our preschooler is happily entertaining herself with Legos and puzzles, so I doze for a couple hours. Around 1:00, we all have turkey sandwiches for lunch. Then, I take over kid duty so my husband can finally have some time to himself. He spends the afternoon woodworking in his basement workshop.
2:00: Our preschooler’s birthday is coming up. I buy digital invites from Etsy ($12) and send them to Staples to print ($16 with a promo). They are ready in about two hours and we pick them up. My preschooler asks for kinetic sand at Staples and I cave in and buy it for her ($11). I constantly complain about the amount of “stuff” in our house, but to be honest, I’m guilty of contributing to the clutter. When we get home, I spend the afternoon doing crafts with the girls.
5:15: We heat up some leftovers that my in-laws dropped off while I was gone. We do the girls’ bedtime routine a little early since everyone seems tired. Lights out by 8:00 for the girls. Then I catch up on work email and start making a list for the week. For the purposes of this money diary, my husband mentions that he spent $270 yesterday restocking groceries. Then I watch Succession and head to bed
Day 2 Total: $483
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Day 3 (Monday):
5:08: My alarm goes off because I typically go to Pure Barre on Monday morning. I’m still jetlagged so I decide not to go today. I hadn’t actually signed up for a class because I had a feeling this would happen.
6:30: Everyone else is still asleep, so I go downstairs to make coffee and enjoy a few quiet moments to myself. When my husband and kids wake up, we all have breakfast (frozen waffles and berries for the kids. English muffins for the adults).
8:30: Drop the kids off at daycare and then get to work. I work primarily from home, so I just have to walk upstairs to my office nook. I spend the morning prepping for an important meeting tomorrow with senior leadership. I get a reminder on our phone that our toddler has a well-child visit today…usually I sync my calendars, but I totally neglected to log this on my work calendar, and it conflicts with a meeting with our chief of staff. CRAP. I debate canceling the doctor’s appointment, but decide to keep it. Our toddler is getting vaccines today and if I don’t keep the appointment, I’m not sure when I can reschedule. I apologize profusely to our COS and ask if we can reschedule. She says not to worry, and that she appreciates the extra time in her schedule…hopefully I didn’t make a bad judgment call.
1:15: I quickly eat a turkey sandwich for lunch and then pick up our toddler from daycare for her appointment. These well visits usually take 30 minutes and are covered by insurance. As luck would have it, we spend 90 minutes waiting because they are running behind. Luckily, I have snacks and activities in my purse to occupy her. To pass the time, I browse for favors and paper goods for our older daughter’s upcoming party. I end up buying paper goods, decor, and favors ($67 from Target) and iced sugar cookies ($240 from Etsy). As I type this, I realize how bananas it is to spend that much on decorated sugar cookies. Our incomes have increased pretty dramatically in the past few years, and although we haven’t increased our fixed expenses, we’ve definitely succumbed to lifestyle inflation for one-off things like this. It’s something I need to be aware of. I’m finally home around 3:30, just in time for my next call. My husband is WFH today and takes over kid duty during this call.
5:15: It’s time to pick up our older daughter from preschool, but my call is running long so my husband picks her up. For dinner, we make salads topped with roast chicken. The toddler loves salad, but our preschooler proclaims “I don’t like green leaves – I’m not a caterpillar!”. Well, okay then.
8:30: We do the girls’ bedtime routine, and then I continue prepping for tomorrow’s meeting. I wrap up around 1:00 am. While I’m working, husband preps two meals that just need to be reheated sometime later in the week. Good night!
Day 3 Total: $307
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Day 4 (Tuesday):
7:30: Kids and I sleep in a bit this morning. My husband left home around 5:45 since he’s going into the office, so the three of us are on our own. For breakfast, the toddler has toast and berries. The preschooler has bran cereal and a frozen waffle. I eat their scraps, washed down with coffee.
9:15: I drop the kids off at daycare a little late this morning. Then I get working and practice the presentation I’m giving at 11:00
12:05: Call is over and I think it went as well as could be expected. I make myself a turkey sandwich for lunch. Then I go to the post office to mail a birth certificate request for our youngest daughter’s passport application. The cost for the birth certificate is $50. I also spend $15 at the post office to mail the envelope and buy stamps. Then it’s back to work.
5:10: Pick the girls up from school. My husband gets home around 6:45. Dinner tonight is a tofu and broccoli stir fry with rice. I don’t cook much, but I make this meal weekly and it’s everyone’s favorite. The secret is using soy sauce that is seasoned for seafood. It has a much deeper, richer flavor than standard soy sauce.
7:30: Bathtime and bed for the girls. I text with a mom from daycare whose kids are the same age as ours. We arrange a playdate for an upcoming weekend. She seems sweet and easygoing, and I’m hopeful that she and I will develop a friendship – making friends is hard when you’re an adult!
9:10: I debate doing schoolwork or “work work.” Schoolwork wins tonight…I spend about two hours prepping a case study.
Day 4 Total: $65
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Day 5 (Wednesday):
5:30: Wake up and start working. I still have a lot of deliverables to catch up on. Husband leaves as usual to commute into the city.
7:00: I get an email and text message that daycare had to close today due to unforeseen circumstances. There was an issue with their plumbing that impacts the whole building. Oh no – I immediately feel a pit in my stomach. I really can’t afford this today, especially because I am out this Friday for another day of class. Although our preschooler is pretty independent, our toddler needs constant supervision. She’s always a moment away from jumping off a couch, climbing on a table, or otherwise causing herself bodily harm. My husband has multiple meetings with his division president today so he can’t realistically come home to help. Argh. I feed us all breakfast and prepare myself for a difficult day. I send my boss an email to let him know the situation, but promise to stay on top of my work after hours as needed. I also log a half day of PTO in the payroll system…I figure I can probably be about 50% productive today.
10:00: Our toddler falls asleep for a nap, so I frantically send out emails and run reports. Our preschooler watches shows on her tablet.
12:15: Toddler is up from her nap. Our poor preschooler has been on her tablet for too long and her eyes are glazed over. I decide to take the girls out for lunch to break up the day. We go to Jersey Mikes since it’s nearby and fast. The girls each have a kids meal and the toddler is delighted that it includes a kids cup. I have an Italian sub ($29). We eat outside and the preschooler hums and loudly proclaims "I love Jersey Mike's!"
1:30: We get back home and I jump on an internal call. Thankfully the girls are well behaved and don’t cause any disruptions, beyond waving hello at the start of the call.
3:00 I have another call and the girls are again on their best behavior. PTL. Maybe I’m just lucky, or maybe it’s that I bribed them with cookies.
4:45: I wrap up the workday a little early. I take the girls on a walk since the weather is nice. When we get back inside, they immediately melt down. The toddler wants to be held constantly, which is a challenge because she weighs 24 pounds. The preschooler is thrashing, spitting at me, and throwing toys. I resist a really strong urge to scream or cry or break something or hide in the bathroom – maybe all at once. Instead, I heat up one of the meals my husband made earlier this week. When our preschooler calms down, she asks if I still love her when she’s bad. She’s been asking this question a lot recently, and it makes me wonder if it’s just a phase, or if she needs more reassurance from us. Either way, it's heartbreaking to know she worries about this.
7:30: Husband had a late meeting, so he gets home later than normal. We do the girls bedtime and bathtime routines. We get another note from daycare saying that the plumbing issue is, unfortunately, still unresolved. We’ll get a tuition credit, but they will be closed another day. Husband and I talk through logistics. We agree that he’ll go into the city again tomorrow and I’ll handle the kids. His company is in the middle of a major reorg and it’s important for him to be there in person. We decide to ask his parents if they are available to help tomorrow. Between work, the kids, and my grad program, sometimes I feel like the only thing we talk about is logistics. It’s been at least 6 months since we’ve been on a date.
10:00: I catch up on work, and also prep for school this coming weekend. I go to bed a little after 1:00.
Day 5 Total: $29
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Day 6 (Thursday):
5:45: Husband is up and out of the house at his normal time. I wake up and run some financial reports while I have the chance.
7:30: Kids are awake. While they eat breakfast I pack their activity bags and snacks since we’re going to my in-laws today. They are semi-retired and often help when we have childcare hiccups. They are truly a godsend. They live about an hour away and we arrive at their house a little after 10:00. On the way, I fill my car up with gas ($52).
12:30: The girls are having a blast with my in-laws. We take a break for lunch, which is chicken nuggets and hummus for the girls. I eat their scraps and also have some Greek yogurt.
4:15: I have a full afternoon of calls, but it goes smoothly thanks to the grandparents. We leave a few minutes after 5:00 and both girls fall asleep before we reach the first traffic light. This makes for a peaceful drive home. Traffic is heavy so we get home around 6:30. I open the mail, and find a surprise medical bill for $572. This is for the toddler’s trip to the ER…14 months ago! This is the first bill we are getting and honestly it had completely slipped my mind. She had a triple infection and ended up severely dehydrated. Seeing this bill dredges up all sorts of unpleasant memories. I’m grateful we have the means to pay this without issue, and I’m grateful she is healthy. I understand it's a privilege to pay a bill like this without thinking twice.
6:45: Husband arrives home. We reheat a pasta dish he made earlier this week and have a salad on the side. The girls are beat today, so we skip bathtime and let them go straight to bed. Thankfully, daycare can reopen tomorrow. I feel like a weight’s been lifted from my shoulders, especially since I have class tomorrow.
9:00: I have a call with my school study team to work on our group project. It lasts for about an hour.
10:30: Husband and I discuss buying a swing set for our backyard. He’s narrowed it down to two choices, and they’re both awesome: three swings, a rock wall, slide, and clubhouse area. I think they both look great, so I leave the final decision in his hands. The total with shipping and tax ends up being $1760. We considered buying a pre-assembled swing set to save time, but similar models cost nearly $6K. He’s handy, so he said he’d prefer to assemble it himself.
Day 6 Total: $2,384
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Day 7 (Friday):
6:15: I have class today so I eat breakfast and get dressed early. I tend to wear a lot of athleisure when working from home. Today I put on a structured ponte dress and hastily apply Tarte makeup to give my skin some color. Every time I make the effort to get dressed, I'm reminded that I really do feel more confident when I look put together. Before I leave home, I set out outfits for the kids and put their backpacks by the front door; my husband will get them ready for daycare today. I get to school around 9:00 for my first class.
12:00: Break in my schedule for lunch. I eat a salad and some kind of chicken dish, while catching up with classmates (covered by tuition). For dessert, I have a huge bowl of berries. Lots more coffee to keep me awake and engaged during class. During breaks, I check the daycare app and the girls seem to be having a good day. My husband will pick them up around 5:00.
7:00: Classes are over for the day. I pay parking ($17) and am on my way. I get home at 8:30, in time to do bedtime with my girls. Husband made veggie quesadillas with black beans and guacamole, which I eat once the girls are asleep. I check my work email to make sure nothing is on fire. Then my husband and I watch an episode of “What We Do In the Shadows” and turn in for the night.
Day 7 Total: $17
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WEEKLY TOTALS
Food + Drink: $371.50
Fun / Entertainment: $2,106
Home + Health: $572
Clothes + Beauty: $0
Transport: $333
Other: $155
Weekly Total: $3,537.5
Reflections: Some of this week’s expenditures were unusual: the swing set, my travel expenses, and that old ER bill are not part of our normal recurring expenses. However, the rest of this week's spending was pretty typical. I realize a lot of this diary revolved around sorting out childcare disruptions…honestly, that takes so much mental and logistical energy on a weekly basis. Writing this diary also made me realize how little time my husband and I spend together. Often we feel like we’re in survival mode, but we need to be more intentional about prioritizing our relationship.

i wanna say sorry for my bad grammar. English isn't my first language
I am writing this so no one can go through what I went through at pactiv/evergreen corp. It is a good job but it has its issues of how this company is run. there is no communication, lack of training, stressful manual labor, management isn't their or not doing the rightful things that a manager supposed to do, injuries that could been prevented, too many favoritism and sexual favoritism, lying about pay and bonuses, and last rudeful and disrespectful of race and homosexuality behavior.
I have worked here at pactiv/evergreen for sixteen years and stayed at a OP-B+ position for the last ten years and was trying to step up another job position (OP-C). I was lied to and cheated when they posted a listing for a job I tried to apply for but lied too and was given to another employee who didn't fit or have the skill set for that position. It also goes to apply for vacation. I have applied for vacation two to three months ahead of their 24-36 hour applying period to be approved by team leaders. and once it does get approved, a few days before i start getting ready for my vacation. i got a notice from my team leader that my vacation has been removed due to someone "already submitting" before me which is a lie. while that person who apply that same day i request for vacation would be approve the day before then it 24-36 hours approved period which they scratch me off the list even if i had a form that been written and document. and when going to H.R. I still can't get my vacation even if I show them the paper that my team leaders sign off for. they would say to me "WE WILL TALK ABOUT THIS SOON WITH YOUR TEAM LEADER AND TRY TO FIX THIS ISSUE". By the time they do that I am forced to idle call in or cancel my plans for vacation which half of the time i had to call my hotel to cancel my room or idle cancel my plane tickets because of this.
As far as the training process that we do at my job when we get a new hire, we are supposed to train them until they're finished and recognize their duties and package sign off of the position they will be doing. and the training would last about three to four weeks on their first package, but! We are not able to do that because once they know the basics they would get pulled off from me or anybody else that isn't finished with their training and get thrown on a line without being told what to do. expecting them to learn fast as they go, which at the end of the day or middle of the day they would idle or quit or we will be faced with a recall of the product that is being made (which is the team leader's fault not the new hire). and this happens most of the time. and that is how injuries happen too.
Team Leaders and Management do and do not work on the duties that they are supposed to do. most of the time they would disrespect you because in their eyes, you're only a number then a person. I was called and judged about my abilities when working on my line. they would tell me to pick up the pace, why are you slow, quit messing around and work, you don't need a break yet, you can't do this or that kinda crap. yet if i do good at my job it isn't enough. It breaks my heart when you do the job duties you are supposed to do yet with someone else who isn't on the team leader or manager hate list would get a better response and let them do light or small work duties. and never get questioned about their abilities because half of the time it is a flavosexual flavor with the team leader or manager which isn't right. and they are the ones who get the pay rise to upper job positions benefits then the person who deserves it more then them but you're fighting against a group then one person. I had the opportunity to move up because of the skill set I have learned and earned from the years I work here but when someone does a flavor for that team leader or manager. I get put aside and give an excuse why I can't move up or the position is filled by someone who is fit for the job then you. All the while that person who took that job position doesn't know what they are doing and i also be told to "help" (which is another way to say i am doing their job but you won't get paid for it), all while they take a hour long break or be on their cell phone. And they get all the credit then me who did their job for them.
Back in march of 2023, when the company had to cut staff down due to over staffing of employees in my group and the issue of the drawback of companies dropping pactiv/evergreen due to demand being slow and inflation, we lost three companies due to that issue. I was pick out and i knew why. The years and the things I did and do was going to be an issue for me. Also I was the only one who was reporting stuff like this not to management, team leaders, safety guy, and H.R. personal. But the big headquarters. They would respond to my emails and tell me
what was wrong and what wasn’t right. And they will be the ones to fix this issue which they did.
So instead of sending them an email to the headquarters of pactiv/evergreen corp of why i left before they can fix what is already too late. I am going to post it online on social media so everyone knows how bad this company is and how they treat temp workers and full time employees in the hands of who they put in charge of that company. They are the ones who are getting higher pay, time to be at home with family, exotic vacation trips, bonuses pay that we earn but they are taken away from us employees. All while they sit in their office do nothing but complain of how those lines are not running full time when the workers are tired and hurt while being verbally abused by their own team leaders who are in the same scam with the managers. And that is why I am leaving that place.
I know I am starting all over again since I am working with a different company. But I hope I do well with them. Funny things about it, the company I am working for already knows how bad that place is when they took a tour of pactiv/evergreen. And told me that place is a huge OSHA nightmare waiting to be called on if something bad ever happens and get shut down for it. What I am going to miss is the people who I used to work with. I feel kinda bad leaving but i had too since my heart isn’t in the right place. And they knew it too since that was what we were going through from this shit hole of a company. I gotta start over on my pay, benefits, and 401k. (which i was close to my twenty year mark which woulda been good on my retirement). But my goal is to work at this new place and get hired on and be pushed to do better than what pactiv/evergreen didn’t see in me. And in the year 2024 of spring time I will go to school for solar technician and have a great career path in that field. I hope I meet my goals and be happy again with my life. And now since ya see what i have to go through with pactiv/evergreen in temple,tx. At least ya know what to expect if you get hired on as a temp with them.

Does anyone have any clue what they mean? Or who’s numbers they are?

The Future is Officially Canceled.
Dee had read articles like this before. He couldn’t remember if the future had ever been officially canceled. But it had been canceled. Unofficially, perhaps. Hence the need to do it officially.
He skimmed the first few paragraphs …the slow cancellation of the future… …pop culture is eating itself… …imitators are imitating an imitation… The ‘slow cancellation’ theory was first flung around in the early twenty first century, on the hypothesis that if you played 1970s music to someone in the 1950s, it would blow their freaking mind. And if you played music from the 1990s to someone in the 1970s, their mind would be equally blown. But if you played music from the ‘10s to someone in the 1990s it wouldn’t be that much of a stretch. In fact, that person may even think they had heard some of it before. The same thing with music from the ‘30s to someone in the ‘10s or music from now to someone in the ‘30s. That person might conceivably think they were even listening to music from a previous decade. Pop culture had referenced itself so many times over, it was now just a copy of a copy of a copy. Degrading every time.
Dee looked down at the article's credit, Dennis Bagley, Editorial AI Operator. He knew it, AI. No wonder it read so familiar. He looked up at the various awards on his top shelf. Dee knew he was different. Better. His AI operating skills were the thing of accolades. The thing of applause. Just last week he and his AI processor picked up Gold in Effectology for their Just Poo It campaign for Charmin. And Silver in Originology for their The Ketchup In The Rye commercial for Pepsi-Heinz, about a young guy who gets kicked out of school and stays out all night trying to find a bottle of ketchup. He looked down at his processor and beamed. Its glowing red light beamed back at him.
They didn’t just stumble into that kind of effectiveness. Campaigns didn’t even get greenlit unless they scored ninety or above on the Effectology meter. He and his AI were usually hitting ninety twos or ninety threes, even a ninety five for Here’s To The Lazy Ones for Caspar mattresses. That campaign killed.
But Dee held himself to that higher calling, Originology. The metrics of original ideas. Sure, the AI did most of the work but Dee was able to tweak his processor to go way beyond the requisite twenty five percent Originology score. Together they were nailing figures in the forties, sometimes even peaking into the fifties. Scores that were head and shoulders above the rest of the department.
That’s how he could afford the sweet ‘18 Jordans Reissues on his feet. He curled his luxe Loewe headphone cable through his fingers and wrapped it around his neck like a scarf. He scoffed at a time when people didn’t think they needed a headphone cable. And imagined having nothing to twirl while listening to reinterpreted rock, nothing to wind around his fingers while he fed the processor. How many headphones must have been lost forever, just because they weren’t plugged in? Like everything else in pop culture, what went around came around, and, relatively recently, headphone cables had come back hard as the status symbol. Today, you didn’t just have to have a cable to be considered cool, you had to have the cable. It had to be thick as a rope, plated with rare metals, and covered in a fancy leather sheath from a chic brand like Gucci or Loewe.
Dee beamed as he thought of all the cool historical cultural knowledge he had amassed. Not just advertising history like the dweebs in the cubicles around him, but film history, fashion history, art history, music history. If it happened in culture, he knew about it. And he used it. That’s how he scored so high on the Originology meter. It made him feel almost like a real writer. Though he would never say that out loud. He imagined being like the old timers, upstairs. The un.ai.ded human writers, that clients would pay a serious premium for. Then he wouldn’t have to work on ketchup and toilet roll. He could have a crack at the big dogs, like Googlesoft, United American Airlines or DoritosLocosTacoBell. For now though, he’d have to stick with clients more becoming of his position. This morning’s task was to create a campaign for Pepsi-Crest. A toothpaste. Not super interesting. But he knew how to spice it up. Instead of letting his AI go back through decades of toothpaste ads just to pump out tired old crap like the It Cleans Your Face While it Cleans Your Teeth campaign that Mike Bey pitched last week, Dee mixed in a little fast food inspo from one of his favorite eras and found himself at the highly original and equally effective Where’s the Teeth? campaign. He was stunned by his own brilliance. He patted his processor and imagined it congratulating him back, then he programmed it to write an epic fifteen second anthem film and a suite of six second pre-roll spots, then sent it off to the CG department to render in time to air that night. Dee’s colleagues often asked him how he and his processor were so good at what they did. How their campaigns always scored so highly in both Effectology and Originology. They all used the same machine learning. It’s what the agency sold itself on. Never wanting to sound aloof; even though he was, or like he was tooting his own horn; even though he often did, he would merely say, “I like to pepper a bit of non advertising data in there. A little hint of me.” It was enough to provoke gasps and even make his colleagues take a step back or two, they had all been programmed to do just one task, feed the machine with advertising data. They couldn’t fathom diverging. “The AI should be enough,” was the general understanding. “The machine has better knowledge of advertising history than we do,” and “knows the ins and outs of Effectology better than we ever could.” It’s even been “scientifically programmed to exceed all expectation of Originology.” Dee couldn’t be swayed by any of the standard reactions. He would just smile, and casually amble off. Knowing full well he was beating the machine. He was a rebel in his own right. That afternoon, his section boss leaned over his cubicle. “Hullo Tara.” “Keep it formal please, colleague,” she scolded, “call me Antino. What do you look so ruddy chuffed about anyway?” “I just came up with a brilliant campaign for a very dull toothpaste. You’ll see it on The Comedy Central Reruns Channel tonight.” “Yes, well, an upstairs project is running behind and they’re calling on us down here to pull together some inspo decks, help jostle something loose in those tired old brains.” “Wouldn’t that make them not human-made? What are their clients paying all that money for?” “Loopholes, colleague, loopholes. As long as one of them humans writes the final line, it doesn’t matter how much AI they used to get there. “ “I could do that. I could do better than that. Did I tell you about my toothpaste campaign?” “Yes you did. Twice now. Must be good.” “It is.” “Well, here’s your chance for a peek into the real writer life. I’m deprioritizing your regular workload and prioritizing this inspo creation.” “Yeahhh!” Dee punched the air and freeze framed like he saw in an old movie. “The brief is for Fiat Maserati Jeep Dodge RAM. It’s a car. The Fiat Maserati Jeep Dodge RAM Unica. Like a fancy off-roader, you know what I mean? They wanna sell it to people in cities who don’t drive. More of a status symbol, you know what I mean? Like park it in front of your house so people will know you could go off-roading if you wanted to. Audience archetype is Moms. You getting this?” Dee finally broke his freeze frame but his mind was already whirring. “Yeah, I got it.” “Alright then. Bon chance.” Dee jumped into action, flipped up his AI processor’s screen and started cross referencing old Land Rover ads with The Rock movies, some Nora Ephron classics, Michelle Rodriguez’s character from all twenty eight Fast & Furious movies; even the fully CGI’d ones, the scene from Mrs Doubtfire when she’s playing the broomstick like a guitar, some Bikini Kill records, a memory of his own Mom making him wait in the car while she went shopping at Bergdorfs, a bunch of cool off-roading stuff from Top Gear and a painting of a car he’d always loved by Robert Bechtle. The machine spat out fifteen possible campaign inspo starters and Dee ran-walked them to the inspo courier in the office atrium. Before the day ended, a synthetic orchestra sounded through the building, \Pah pahhh, pah pa pah pa pah pahhh** and the employees were called into the atrium. Office meeting. As Dee strolled in, he caught the rare sight of the last few human copywriters lined up around the balcony above them. They applauded the downstairs employees, theatrically, motioning with their claps as they walked in and took seats, stood awkwardly or otherwise congregated.
There was a dramatic hush before one of the last true human copywriters finally spoke. “Great inspo. Thanks.” Wow. Each word, each letter, worth its weight in gold. That's probably why they used so few, thought Dee. “Yeah, really really good stuff.” Said another. “AI did this?” Said a third as she held the sheets of inspo out. “Some of the best inspo I’ve ever seen in all of my career.” Coughed the oldest and most regal sounding.
Dee squinted and peered up at them. Was that his inspo deck they were flashing around? Was this whole elaborate ceremony all to celebrate his AI operating? He didn’t know whether to be chuffed or anxious. Did they know he was cheating the system? Did they care? These are some of the last true human copywriters in history. They have, and are encouraged to have, the unique thought. Their work isn’t judged on how similar-without-being-exactly-the-same it is to existing campaigns. It’s judged on how different, how breakthrough, how stand out it is.
“It was me!” Dee blurted out. Quite uncharacteristically. He was usually so cool with the compliments. So coy with the recognition. His whole angle required it.
The other AI operators standing around him took their requisite step back, though this time it was less in awe, more in disgust. The air in the room stiffened. AI had ruled his department, and most of the industry, for so long that people didn’t speak up anymore. They just quietly fed the machine. And the machine took all the glory. Dee felt instant ostracism from the colleagues he had worked alongside for most of his career. He immediately questioned his outburst and retracted his ownership claim, knowing that his inspo deck would have been one of many.
“Some of it, at least. My AI, I mean. Processor.” He said. Sheepish this time. Back in his place.
The last few human copywriters smiled, nodded, bowed, gave final congratulations to all from high up on their balcony and then shuffled away in single file. All but one, Sir Coughing-Most-Regal. He slowly made his way down the grand staircase, into the atrium. A man leaving behind his usual pomp and circumstance, bringing his rare ability of unique thought into a crowd of imitation suppliers. As he reached the bottom step, he lost all of his royal air and seemed suddenly so vulnerable, walking among the regular folk. Most of Dee’s colleagues had already left, gone back to their metal masters, but Dee stayed. He knew this old man was coming to see him. He thought he might be in for a dressing down but he hoped it would be the opposite. He manifested that this titan of singular thought, the rare, unique idea, was coming to congratulate him.
“Freedkin.” The old man shoved out his hand. “Pleasure.” Dee shook it. “You say you programmed this inspo deck, yes?” He flapped the pages around. “Yes.” “Ruddy good work, let me tell you.” “Thank you.” “In all my years, since this artificial thinking thing came in, I’ve never read anything so good. Inspired me all over. I’ve been positively bursting with ideas since.” “Thank… you.” “AI wrote this you say?” “Yes.” “Ruddy good for AI. Never read anything so ruddy good. And you processed it?” “Yes.” “What’s your name son?” “Dee.” “Dee what?” “Palmer.” “Pleasure to meet you, Palmer. How much did you… influence it, the AI?” “How do you mean, sir?” “Call me Freedkin.” “How do you mean, Freedkin?” “I mean… how much of it is yours and how much is the machine’s?” Dee didn’t answer. He was looking for the angle. This old man surely didn’t value what AI does. He’s one of the last bastions of actual human creation. What was he getting at? Freedkin reoriented his question. “Mostly the machine or mostly you?” Dee thought he might have a kindred spirit here, in front of him, for the first time. He was going to take a risk. Recognizing a willingness to open up, Freedkin leaned in and spoke quietly. “Did you write this inspo or did the machine?” “I wrote it.” Dee postured. “All.” “Thought so. Good job. Our secret.” Freedkin winked. “Jolly good.” The next day, as he fed his AI little snippets of unexpected data, Dee noticed a hush come over his floor. The usual keyboard click, clack and grumble of inter-colleague banter were dead silent. All that was left was the processors’ harmonic hum. He lifted himself from his expensive ergonomic office chair and peered over his cubicle wall, spying across the sea of operators that made up the AI.ded Creativity department. A hunched figure at the opposite end of the bullpen sauntered from operator to operator, swilling a cup of coffee, looking in at each workstation. Giving a “hello” here, a nod there, even the odd salute. It was Freedkin. A real writer. Down here with the machine feeders. The other operators seemed afraid to go near him. Worried they might infect him with their inability. Dee had never seen a real writer in the operators’ bullpen. Freedkin, already old by industry standards, looked positively ancient in these surroundings. A sepia photograph in a technicolor world. Dee watched him, wondering if he should call out. He felt bound by social etiquette to not foist another outburst onto his peers. So he just watched, for a number of minutes, until Freedkin was close enough that his old eyes could make out Dee’s visage.
“Palmer!” Bingo. The two sat in Dee’s cubicle. Freedkin in the expensive office chair, as was fitting, and Dee on the wooden footstool. “For a short time we all worked from home. At the start of my career. For a short time.” “Everyone?” “Most. Not everyone, I suppose. But it was the thing to do. Was deemed more productive. Until it wasn’t. Then when this thing became the norm,” he tapped on Dee’s tiny AI processor, its red light glowed, “there was a sort of an office renaissance. I remember the bigwigs back then didn’t really want us using AI for ideas. Like it was giving in to the machine. We slowly got called back to the agency so they could keep an eye on our output. Keep it human, I suppose. That’s when the separation happened. In the end, the agency had to start using artificial thinking to keep up with demand. What are you lot churning out these days? Three campaigns a day? Four? We used to get a whole week to come up with one idea. After a while, of course, it got squeezed down to a couple of days. To the point where we needed the machine to keep up. Not long after, the bigwigs realized they could actually charge more off of the ‘human’ written stuff. Anyway, enough of the history lesson, what.” “It’s very interesting.” “Yes well, what I really came down here for,” Freedkin paused and looked around, “was some of that… good… inspo.” “I hear ya.” Dee poised his fingers over his keyboard and looked into the air like he was about to write something un.ai.ded, cocksure in his posture. “What’s this one about then?” “Watches. For Googlesoft. ‘Time,’ I was thinking, means so much, yet so little. Where does it all go? You know? How do we make more of it? Watches are time machines. See?” Dee’s posture sank. He thought of all that, by himself? No machine? He suddenly felt very ineffective. Unoriginal. He saw only the red glow from his little AI processor, staring back at him. Taking all the credit. He imagined it laughing with his colleagues in a bar while he sat at the other end of the table, ignored. He imagined it accepting awards by itself. He felt weak. He felt useless without it. It just glowed. “It kind of flows better… when I’m alone.” Dee nervously mumbled. “Right. Don’t say another word. Right you are. ‘Time.’ Remember. Where does it all go? Ok, I go. Ta-ta for now.
Dee looked down at his processor, apologetically. He quietly admonished himself before it until he felt forgiven. Then he typed in a weak initial prompt, all he could muster, write an advertising campaign about time.
The AI spat back a perfectly crafted campaign idea, line and film execution almost faster than Dee hit enter. The Best Things Come To Bros Who Wait. Dee immediately recognized it as a Guinness Surfers imitation. Tick followed tock followed tick followed tock. Its Effectology score clocked in well into the nineties. But its Originology score barely scraped by, just making it into ‘passable.’ Dee silently sneered at his surrounding coworkers. Any one of them would submit this as is and call it a day. It’d be rendered in minutes, deals made with celebrities’ CG likenesses under the hour, a revered AI voiceover and stunning synthetic music that would leave audiences lining up for these passively useful timepieces. But that wasn’t enough for Dee. That’s why he was who he was, goddamnit. Why Freedkin came to him. Him! Not Buton or Deytoro or Heckering. Him!
He added more detail to his prompt. Meaning of time. How to get time back. Time Machine. Back in time. Michael J Fox. Einstein (dog). Time Bandits. Timecop. Van Damme. Kyle Reece. Time displacement. Uhhh huhhh this felt good again. This was working. Dee and his processor were back in sync. As though they were one. Of course, as far as Freedkin knew, they were one. As Dee typed away, he imagined him and his AI coming together. Two heads. Better than one. He lost himself in his prompting and pictured his processor sitting on his shoulder, a second head, right there, next to his own. A tiny, metal appendage. Sleek, gray, with its glowing red light. And, for some reason, it was growing a little mustache. Dee and the mustached machine were completely lost in their work over the next few days. They hardly wrote any of their own campaigns. It was all inspo, inspo, inspo for Freedkin. The good stuff though, Viking Space Cruises, 1900 Tequila, Acne Studios. Each time, Dee and his processor were pretty much writing the entire thing. Freedkin hardly needed to change them at all. Just put his old world tone all over it. Add all of his extra words and ‘personality.’ Dee’s two heads were coming up with the best campaigns in the agency. And no one knew it. Except Freedkin. By now, his second head felt almost as big as his first. He could see it in his periphery. When he looked to the left, it looked back at him. It smiled sometimes. And that little freaking mustache was starting to freak Dee out. That night, Freedkin invited Dee for a couple of drinks with the other real human writers at the fanciest DoritosLocosTacoBell on the Westside. They didn’t even have to wait in line. Dee marveled at the size of the place, the expansiveness. It was packed. They were led through by the greeter to a private table at the back with a leather rope around it. He sat on the edge of the booth as the others ordered various flavors of Gatorade-aritas. When it got to Dee, he said he would have the same as Freedkin, which turned out to be a Frost Glacier Cherry-arita, the classiest -arita of all.
The writers’ conversation was mesmerizing. Every word that came out of their mouths was a unique thought. An opinion. A point of view. Dee tried to join in by recounting the narrative of various movies he had seen. The more obscure the better, attempting to interact at their level. While telling the story of Mick Jackson’s Threads to Bigelo, he could feel her searching for a point of view or an opinion in what he was saying, but he couldn’t stir one. If only he had his processor right now. Its red light glowed comfortingly in his mind. He missed it. Slowly, the other writers left. Dee couldn’t help but think he had something to do with it. He was feeling so inadequate by the time everyone but Freedkin had gone that he just sat quietly and half-smiled at him. Both of them were five or six Gatorade-aritas deep, slumped in their private booth. “Do you like what you do?” Asked Freedkin. “I love it.” “Do you really?” “I don’t know.” “I hate what I do. But I’m good at it. Do you want to know the secret, Palmer? The secret to what we do?” Dee couldn’t do anything but smile a little bigger to communicate his response. Freedkin paused for dramatic effect. “If you love advertising, you shouldn’t work in advertising.” Did Dee love advertising? He didn’t even know. He knew he knew advertising. “You think your audience loves advertising? You think they want to see your tribute to that Googlesoft spot that was an imitation of an Apple spot that was inspired by a Brett Morgen film? No! They just want to see the Brett Morgen film! They don’t want to see your thing at all!” Dee slumped further down. “But if you’re lucky,” Freedkin continued, “if you’re really lucky, and you show them something they’ve never seen before, because you hate advertising too and you just wanted to make something that made you feel something, if they feel that same feeling, you’ve got gold. But you can only get to gold by summoning all of your experiences outside of advertising. You can’t just try to make the Nike of pimple commercials. You have to make the Palmer of pimple commercials. Do you see? That’s the problem with your AI. Your machine.”
The red light flashed again in Dee’s mind. Awakened by Freedkin’s heresy.
“The best AI will ever do is just show you a better version of something you’ve seen before. They call that effective? The numbers can say whatever they want them to, all they’re really doing is pasting wallpaper on top of wallpaper on top of wallpaper. Until eventually the audience ignores it completely. But you’re different Palmer. You and I are different. Different is what sells. I had a word with Simmons up on six. She’s agreed to give you a trial period on the human floor. At my behest. Don’t worry, I didn’t tell her you were already thinking for yourself. I just told her you had the potential to. You start tomorrow. Trial period. Tonight was about the other humans meeting you. I can’t tell you that they’re not skeptical. But they’re open to it. For me. What do you think?” Dee was nervous. He got off the elevator at the operators’ bullpen without even thinking about it. He walked all the way to the atrium and up the grand staircase to the human writers’ floor, instead of getting back on the elevator. He took each step steadily, taking it all in. He felt like a tourist. Like he was borrowing an identity. He imagined he was a young Freedkin and tried to put a confident stride in his step. It didn’t work. He put his hand in his pocket and felt for his AI processor. His second head. Mustached. He couldn’t turn it on because, as everyone knew, AI wasn’t allowed upstairs, in case the agency got audited. The cost consultants would be all over a human writing department that used artificial ideation. They’d be shut down. At the very least, they would lose their Un.AI.ded AI.dvertising license. The only reason for charging such a premium. Dee ran his hand along the balcony rail. He’d only ever seen it from downstairs, from the non-human thinkers’ floor. He walked from the balcony to the human writer’s work area. It was the exact opposite of what he was used to. No sea of cubicles. No click clack. No mechanized productivity. No hum. Just couches, writing desks and quiet.
“Morning.” Whistled Freedkin. “How are we?” “We?” “You.” “Wish I hadn’t drunk so much.” “Ohh, I know. Think of it as an initiation. Nothing wrong with it. Takes your mind off the job. Stops you from thinking for a minute. You need that after everything you’ve been pumping out. All that gold, that is.” “Right.” “Right. Well. Set yourself up wherever you like. First brief is for Coca-Cola. A new water! The freshest water they’ve ever sold, so they say. Tap Clear” Dee wandered over to a small writing desk and put his touchscreen down. He unraveled his headphone cable and felt for his processor in his pocket. When he found it, he rubbed it like a lamp, wishing for a genie. A couple of human writers who’d been deep in concentration when he first walked in, had been disturbed by his arrival. He didn’t recognize them from last night. They glared at him as he set himself up. He smiled in their general direction. They continued to glare. “Big Jim.” Whispered Freedkin. “Him and his team have been here three days straight, on a pitch. Don’t worry about them. They’re just under tremendous stress. This human work really takes it out of you, you know? ” Dee turned and sat with his back to them. He powered up his touchscreen and put his headphones on, draping his Loewe headphone cable around his neck and shoulders. He hovered his fingers over his keyboard, expecting ideas to come. Nothing. He skimmed the brief. Still nothing. He read the brief. Not a thing. A few of the other writers strolled in. Dee watched them find a workspace, sit down, start writing. One of them even used a pen! Dee loved this whole lifestyle. Turn up for work whenever, spout genius, have lunch, sell some billion dollar ideas, have a cocktail. The thought of it all spurred him on. He hovered his fingers over his keyboard again and braced himself for the idea flow. Nothing came. Nothing. All morning. His mind was blank. It felt like it was getting blanker. He couldn’t believe it. Even half thoughts were swimming away from him. Impossible to catch. Even just individual words. Gone. By the afternoon Dee was starting to freak out. He felt like an imposter. “Freedkin,” he hissed, “I can’t think. I can’t come up with anything.” “It takes time, my boy. Days. I told you, before we used to even have weeks…” “But my brain’s not working at all. It won’t… generate… anything.” “Relax your brain. Relax yourself.” “But Freedkin… Freedkin,” he hissed again, “I didn’t write any of that stuff. It was AI. All of it. No… I mean… I helped… but it wasn’t all me.” “Ok… hold on… boy… be careful. That kind of talk will get you killed around here. Try and make it to the end of the day. Try just writing some things down. Some thoughts. Some words. And if you still feel the same tomorrow, I’ll let the brass know it wasn’t for you. No harm.” Dee’s eyes hardened. “Do you hear me, Palmer?” Dee rubbed his temples. “Listen, this affects both of us. Yes, you, but also me… for recommending you. I’ll be out… Think!” Freedkin distanced himself. Hoping it would quell the panic. Dee stared at nothing for as long as he could. An hour, at most. Just stared. No thoughts came. No words. A blank screen. So he slipped his hand in his pocket, held his AI processor warmly, and turned it on. Instantly, an alarm sounded. “What's going on here, Freedkin?” Skewered Big Jim. “Is this your kid? What’s the big idea? Is he working for the machines? What is he…trying to infiltrate us? I can’t have this. I’ve got a family. I can’t be out of a job.” “It’s just a misunderstanding, Jim. He’ll be leaving now.” “No he won’t. Get back here, kid.” Big Jim grabbed at Dee’s shirt. Dee squirmed and tried to push him away. Big Jim got a hand on his neck instead, as some of the other writers tried to grab his arms. Dee instinctively swung his fists around. He got one of the writers, Bigelo, square in the eye. She roared “He’s blinded me!” Big Jim picked him up by his neck. Dee choked. He grabbed his touchscreen and swung it. The edge caught Big Jim on the side of the head. Big Jim dropped him and screamed. Freedkin put a hand on Big Jim’s shoulder. Big Jim swung his fist around and slammed it into Freedkin’s nose. Dee tried to slip away but Big Jim, raging, grabbed his headphone cable and dragged him back, winding the cable around his neck to try and hold on to him with it. The other writers stepped back as Dee kicked around in a panic. He got one of the writers in the stomach and another in the back. The headphone cable slipped out of Big Jim’s hands. Dee reached out for anything he could grab onto. He found a desk leg and pulled himself away from the melee as the gang of writers got him by his feet. They pulled off his Jordans and he crawled away as fast as he could, out of the writers’ area and onto the balcony. The writers caught up with him. He swung the few punches he could muster. He cracked one writer on the cheekbone as another reached for his headphone cable, wrapping it around the balcony rail to stop him from getting even further away. Big Jim steamed in, bleeding from his head, and slammed into Dee, launching him into the air with his sheer force. Dee reached for the rail but it slipped under him as he toppled over into the open atrium, between the floors. He felt a snap as the headphone cable went taut around his neck. A colleague standing in the atrium shrieked. Dee kicked his legs and wriggled about, trying to slip out. He clawed his hands around the cable and tried to loosen it but it just got tighter and tighter. He looked up to see the human writers peering down. Not helping. He could feel his consciousness slipping away. He looked to his left to see his second head staring straight back at him. As he hung, he could feel the metal head growing, exponentially, until it popped off, hit the ground and shattered. Shiny gray liquid metal spilled all over the floor and splashed up the walls. Its red light glowing all over as the metal spread around the room. Once it had flooded the entire atrium it enveloped Dee’s mind. And he was gone. The agency left his body hanging there for two days. They blamed it on a lack of janitorial availability. Everything in the office was automated, and cutting down a dead body wasn’t something their sanitation robots had been programmed to do. But, deep down, everyone knew that it was a message. That they should stay in the roles they had been assigned. So they did. So they wouldn’t end up like Dee.

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                                                      The Transfer

    Adrenaline spikes travel through his limbs, dancing across his scales and down his arms, as he takes his first step onto the pristine concrete platform. As the boundary-line grows nearer he breaks out into a cold-sweat, shaking hands, tingling body. Can't get rid of that [Dangersense] whine, which has been blaring since he got to the Waystation a few hours ago. Screaming warnings for something it doesn't even understand. Annoying. After about fifteen minutes of waiting an announcement finally interrupts his thoughts with a jolt.
    "Transference to Pallass from Atlanta will begin in five minutes, please ensure you are standing within the boundary line and have all luggage secured."
    A few other passengers pass around a nervous look, packing themselves tighter like really eager sardines, trying to ensure minimum risk of injury. Drezill checks religiously to ensure his tail isn't sticking out of the boundary, but he's well within it, still pushing further into the crowd just in case.
    "Transference to Pallass from Atlanta will begin in 30 seconds. Please keep all limbs within the boundary line and secure your luggage."
    Closer to the Transfer. More adrenaline, faster heartrate. Lub dub, lub dub. Somewhere his heart is pounding, but he no longer feels it, clutching his suitcase tighter, rubbing against his scales. [Dangersense] is screaming at him, and he's compelled to let it scream. Oh, god-
    
    
    The change is instantaneous. Gone is one Transfer platform, with transparent ad-ridden hologram walls and blue mage-lit lines, replaced with another, almost identical. Probably designed by some evil [Architect] in a stroke of corporate genius to confuse dimwitted passengers into spending more money. It feels like the entire platform heaves a collective sigh of relief as they arrive unscathed, and then he picks up his suitcase and walks out into the Waystation proper.
    Lines of people are strewn throughout the terminal, a series of biological walls, giving up one sardine can for another. The species seen are more varied, less Humans, more Drakes and Gnolls. All either Transferred in or Teleported over from all over the world, all stuck here, placed into queues, surrounded by blue and grey walls, lit by dim MLED light. A [Guard] takes out a handheld device and scans his Chip, holding it in place to get an accurate read, and Drezill stands still, waiting in nervous silence, until he hears the mystical mental beep and the guard nods, directing him to a shorter line, the one that says "Incoming Transference".
    It surprises him that the first thing he feels is alienation. He was always different, being a Drake, but this is different. The [Guard] sits in front of a metal box that has a small flashing green light, information about his entire life being beamed directly into her brain. Her eyes glint in the dim red light, scanning lines of information he can't see.
    "What's your name?"
    He can count the number of times he's said his full name on one hand. It builds a feeling of uncomfortability within him, accompanying already high levels of distress.
    "Drezill Silverwing Williams."
    "Where are you coming from, Mr. Williams?"
    "Atlanta, Georgia, The United States of America."
    A bead of sweat rolls down his forehead, refracting the light, the green blinking pinpoint reflected inside. He knows he's done nothing wrong, but somehow the woman manages to pull any stress he has to the forefront.
    "How long are you planning on staying in Pallass, Mr. Williams?"
    "I plan on living here, I have a work-visa."
    There's a pause, purposefully planned. They sit in silence for a few seconds, no ambient noise, just the sound of him shuffling in his seat, cringing against the cold metal, tail wavering.
    "Purpose of visit?"
    As if he didn't already answer her question.
    "Work. Living here. I repair pseudo-sapients."
    The questioning stops. Fingers twitch, typing something on that invisible interface, then a pause. Door slides open, blinding. No smile.
    "Welcome to Pallass, Mr. Williams."
    
    
    There is no city in his sight, in its place is something else, different than any city he's ever seen. Dotting the horizon are endless lines of buildings and megastructures, surrounding a stone square, like a precious gem surrounded by a jewelry box. The sky is so high here, but still the skyscrapers push upwards, ever reaching hands searching for limit, and finding none. The amount of lights is overwhelming, all sorts of colours spilling out over the landscape below, looking more like stars than the ones that hang in the sky above.
    For a moment his breath catches, head involuntarily moving closer to the window, straining to pick out all the details. Far down below is a different world. Similar, yet so different than his own, his own? So different than any other. Millions of people living and working here in a world that 200 years ago hadn't even industrialized.
    The magilev cab skitters past a massive glowing purple-scaled Drake that raises a can of Coca-Cola™ to her lips, before taking a dignified sip. She smiles and speaks, the words captured and deposited into his brain via the Chip. "Mmm, you just can't beat the taste of Coca-Cola™! It's as fine as any gemstone found in Salazsar!" Her voice caresses his mind, making his throat feel a bit parched.
    "The city sure is something, huh?"
    The Gnoll [Driver] speaks and motions a hand at the window, illuminated by passing purple light, startling Drezill into conversation.
    "Huh? Oh. I've never seen any city like this, even on Earth. Everything is so... packed together."
    The Gnoll grunts ambiguously. "Drakes sure love their cities, no offense. They say Pallass is the most urbanized city in the Worlds, but it's something else to see it."
    A pause in the air, contemplative.
    "Are you not from here?" Drezill queries.
    "Me? No way. I'm from Oteslia. Lived here about 10 years, but I'm planning on moving back some day. Problem is so much more work is here."
    The [Driver] doesn't say another word, just shakes his head, and they continue on in silence, broken up only by the sputtering engine and dying rasp of distant advertisements.
    
    
    His form is dwarfed by the buildings around him, vision denied even a horizon-line, every space covered up by more things. Massive statues sit, watching over sections of the city, stoic. A new one is being constructed, carefully built and placed. Meant to last thousands of years. His Chip wants to speak up, proffering information on the origins of, and identities of, each looming figure. He ignores it.
    High above are a few blinking dots, more magilev cars heading to destinations. Beneath his feet a rumble, slithering trains snaking beneath the city to all parts, fast and efficient. He feels out of place, too many Drakes, less Humans. Ironic, but that's just how it is. Drezill hopes he'll get used to it, at least they speak the same language.
    Winding streets lead away from the city center, hotels fading away, more sparingly placed now. Like a good Drake, Drezill follows the line. Tracing it through backstreets, around corners, past herds of pedestrians, until the apartment complex appears. And complex is the right word for it. Skills give rise to odd building codes, structures that are safer than they should be, safer than they appear to be. The building seems to lean outwards, lots of concrete, tiny balconies. He sees the top of a few Drake's heads poking above the balconies, lazing about, a few Gnolls enjoying the evening.
    The front door opens, and he enters, sneaking through the closing gap left by a departing Human. The lobby is tiny, probably to leave room for more apartments, just staffed by a pseudo-sapient, anyone with a Class and a Skill working somewhere better. He gets on an elevator and rides it up, 14th floor, room 8. It glides up stopping at the 14th floor, doors open with a ding, nobody outside. Drezill steps off furtively, glancing down the hallways, still clutching the suitcase, it rolls conspicuously.
    When he closes the door he breathes a sigh of relief. Finally that's over with. He plops the suitcase down and opens it, not a normal suitcase in actuality, but a cleverly disguised suitcase of holding. He heaves and pulls out a body, a Drake looking very much like himself, the spitting image, in fact. It looks real, and with a few Skills, it will become real. He takes a second to unpack everything else, before copying his relevant Chip data and inserting it into the pseudo-sapient. With any luck it will last a few months, and a few months is all he needs. After a moment, he leaves the room and rides the elevator down, passing by identical floors and identical rooms.
    Ding. Once again in the quiet lobby, soon replaced by bustling crowds, magilev cars, and rumbling trains. A few Drakes and Gnolls grab kebabs from a stall sitting on the side of the street, laughing and eating, timeless. Everywhere he looks are buildings and people. Drezill picks a direction, then calls a cab and gets on. The [Driver] doesn't even look up, just asks:
    "Where to?"
    The door slides shut, cab hovering in place, for a moment cut off from the outside world, as if separated by time and not just place.
    "To Liscor, please."

The 3 basic parameters of hashtag #Valzubiriagenda:

1. We artists and everyone else can write and self-publish art- and artist-related books: memoirs, biographies, art books and art catalogs. Books are forever. Pamphlets and brochures are not books.
2. We announce a schedule of increasing prices of our art pieces, which includes quantities (scarcity numbers) per price point and overall (the total quantity of art pieces we might ever make). This helps art traders, art investors and art collectors speculate or even stop speculating and instead join a community of investors working together to hopefully skyrocket to the higher announced prices in a shorter span of time.
3. We can use the NFT world, because NFTs provide the tracking (who owns what) and trading.

We can also not be involved with NFTs. Stores and individuals can help sell art using online presence and our catalogs in the stores. If this trends, or once this trends, even expensive art can be sold by neighboring businesses, without exclusivity. Commission systems do not have to be standardized. Art investors can produce their own catalogs to leave at the cafés. Even the cafés can produce their own catalogs.
Valzubiriagenda NFTs
NFTs only came about a few years ago. But I had been working on this since the 1990s. I wrote a book, Valzubiriagenda, along with fellow artist Silverio Perez, and released it in 2018 (Amazon and elsewhere), tackling everything related to #1 & #2. We'll come up with #3 in a later book/ memoi marketing book.
Any artist, including tangible artists can release 10,000 NFTs if the artist chooses to do so. For tangible artists, the NFT first becomes an Art Commission Contract for sight unseen, yet-to-be made art. Once the art is made, the NFT becomes proof of ownership that the actual, tangible art is theirs.
Warehousing our tangible art
Another related idea is that the tangible art may be warehoused by the artist so that the NFT traders continue to trade. This means that even 10-ton 10-foot tall sculptures can be owned and traded by anyone without worrying about shipping, reshipping, scratches, smudges, parts breaking off, etc. The newness of the pieces remain because they are stored by the artist, source, gallery, etc. The art piece gets shipped to the art collector, the ultimate owner.
An artist who makes ceramic coffee mugs - smaller art pieces, can release 10,000 NFTs with a schedule of increasing prices so that NFT traders can trade immediately. The 10,000 coffee mugs can get damaged, so as they are made, they continue to be stored by the artist, until the time when art collectors decide to have the art pieces shipped to them.
Why only now?
I decided to write as many book-length memoirs as I can before I came out to promote this.
I'm an artist and an author. Both need time to "master." I would not even fully use "master" on myself, because there's always something new, even to my own art, my own writing and publishing.

I am now claiming that I'm the visual artist who has produced the most artist memoirs in the world. I have 5 on Amazon. I count Valzubiriagenda as both a marketing book and a memoir-of-sorts, because it has a lot of my own life lessons on writing and publishing. I would not care to contest my claim of having the most memoirs. I will release 5 more over the next 3 years.

BARTER! Get help to write, photograph art and publish your books!
Anyone can hire 11 ghostwriters for 11 memoirs. If you can make art, but you cannot write, then barter your forever art with those who can help you produce forever books.
I don't feel the pressure of writing and publishing because I feel my focus should be on art students and art experts who would study my art and my books 100 years from now. Don't expect relatives and friends to read your books.
I call myself the Dollman
For my NFTs, I am proposing to make dioramas - my original, costumed, bejeweled porcelain dolls in backdrops that will also have precious metals and gemstones. This way I can incorporate precious metals and gemstones in my work, to make sure that people perceive my art as expensive, just in case I myself don't become "famous" - there's no need to get world famous. We are artists and all we need to do is to satisfy the art niche.
Use your laptop now!
I will encourage you to start writing your book-length memoir. Write, Edit and then Self-publish it. Get help. Why wait a hundred years for someone to write about you when all you need is a laptop and a nearby coffee shop.
Don't start counting chickens before the eggs hatch. I have encountered a lot of would-be writers who immediately see themselves as bestselling. world famous assets to society. Two even wanted me to sign NDAs (Nondisclosure agreements), because they did not want me to steal their book ideas.
Here's a suggestion. I would not personally do it. From one manuscript can come 2 books: The Original Draft (unedited, with misspellings, considered to be an art piece, scanned pages(?) of your handwritten original effort), and The Final Edition (edited).
PROVENANCE!
Another way to enhance our investability, tradability and collectability is PROVENANCE - how art ownership proceeds through time. The way this can be done is also through publishing books. Everyone can write their memoirs, biographies, art books and art catalogs, including traders, investors and art collectors. In effect, we artists can continue to be included or mentioned in even more books, without any additional effort by us.
You as an investor, reseller, trader, art collector should be able to publish a catalog with 250 works by 250 different artists, but they need to agree to this right from the start - it's your money, you should require them to follow your version of the hashtag #valzubiriagenda parameters, which preferably should include permission for you to publish their art. Why would you track down 250 artists later?
No exclusive contracts
If you're a café, you can call for artists, and come up with a book with for example, 30 artists, with a chapter devoted to each artist's profile and images of the artist's art.
You can distribute your catalogs to businesses and individuals near and far and online.
The book Valzubiriagenda even cites that funeral homes and janitors closets can sell art, with or without exclusivity. Airline catalogs can include million dollar art pieces. Car manufacturers, showrooms and even car repair shops can sell art as well. Everyone should be able to do this, anywhere in the world, especially not just because of the pandemic, but right now, we are in really bad economies.
What's with the name #Valzubiriagenda
I was into conspiracy theories in 2018, and this term, "The Mandela Effect," was popular. I had read many times that an artist coined the term, but I had to research online, for her name, many times, before remembering it. I'm not good at remembering names. It took me a year and a half to finally tell you that Fiona Broome coined "The Mandela Effect."
I also thought I might have to research trademarks and copyrights just to come up with a generic name. So I decided on "Valzubiriagenda." I was not really sure at first, but I decided to use it as the title for my book (with co-authoartist Silverio Perez) so that there would be no turning back and I can move on.
Am I a FUTURIST?
Someone I recently met this May 2022 just called me a futurist.
In the 1990s, I proposed to a pension fund that they can raise billions of dollars, especially for emergencies, or as needed, or out of desperation, if the pension fund purchases a quantity of art from an artist who not only has a current, reasonable price, but an announced future price that the artist wants to reach.
That future price would obviously be higher than the current price. The art commission contract for multiple art pieces can be taken to the fund's financial lender for a loan. The higher future price can be used for financing purposes.
The pension fund's treasurer, a publicly elected official, said this idea might work, but we had to keep this a secret and discuss this some more, because other pension funds might copy and do this prematurely. This idea had to come from the two of us. The treasurer needed his votes and I needed credentials.
Added into the pot was my idea that I, as the artist, will also write one book-length artist memoir. This was and still is a strong factor, because the leadership and marketing books I had read then mentioned a strong tip. If you want to advance in your field, write a full-length book that is related to the field.
Unfortunately, the elected official, the treasurer of the pension fund, who was also a friend, passed away - he was old and had ailments. At that point in time, I cannot just approach another pension fund treasurer to share this idea with.
I realized I had to write a few memoirs. I needed to set an example for other artists, so I needed to write more than one memoir. Then I felt I should also make ready another book - the how-to of what I'm up to. I wrote Valzubiriagenda, which was a memoir of sorts. I knew how long it would take me to write a book, so I had to make sure I can also consider this book a memoir.
In 2008, I imagined that someone like Bernie Madoff, or a fund like Lehman Brothers, would be desperate enough to use this to save themselves and their companies. I was not ready. I had only written 1 manuscript for a memoir.
In 2012, I released Dollman the Musical, A Memoir of an Artist as a Dollmaker. Once again, I was not ready because writing it depressed me a little, and I knew I had to write more.
In 2014, I released 3 memoirs, and re-released Dollman the Musical. Besides releasing regular books, I released special editions of the 4 books, which had a "Special Secret Insert for Bankers," which explains my ideas of an announced schedule of exponentially increasing prices, to satisfy investors, and the publication of artist memoirs, to satisfy art collectors.
In 2014, I also issued out a press release. Google "Can Billion Dollar Artist Save Investors and World Economy Valentino Zubiri PRWeb August 19 2014" and you will see the press release.
What I did was stake a claim on my ideas. I did not promote my books and the press release. I just wanted them to stay online, like a sleeping giant or a dormant volcano. I even designed 3 of the book covers to look like indie books from the 1980s. I was planting the seeds, thinking they will eventually grow and bear fruit in the future.
In 2015, I was interviewed by Richard Syrett, about one of my memoirs, Hocus Pocus Lately. This book is my memoir with paranormal stories. I could have pursued promoting my paranormal stories, but I wanted to be known first as a visual artist and memoirist, so I allowed myself one interview related to Hocus Pocus Lately. Richard Syrett has(had?) his own syndicated radio show, The Conspiracy Show with Richard Syrett, about the paranormal. He also guest hosts on Coast to Coast AM, another internationally syndicated show about the paranormal.
In 2018, I released Valzubiriagenda (co-authored by artist Silverio Perez, a fellow artist). Finally, this book is "the how-to of what I'm to."
I'm going to end this with some strangeness. In 1986, a lady at a religious gathering went into a trance and left a good number of messages. Supposedly, anyone who got into a trance would have messages, but once the trance was over, the person would not remember what was said.
I was not part of the group, but the lady turned her head to face me. She "foretold" that whatever I would decide to do in the future, it will take time, but it will be the right thing. This is one of my stories in one of my memoirs, Hocus Pocus Lately.
The Tulipmania of 1634-37
I discovered that there was this incident of rare tulips becoming collectible during the Dutch Golden Age. There were tulips so rare and so well-desired that their prices equaled to that of a house. You can read more about this online (Wikipedia) or watch a few YouTube videos about it.
Here is the most useful idea that I gleaned from the Tulipmania. The tulip bulbs remained safe inside nurseries. The traders were carrying the deeds of ownership to the tulip bulbs.
Then NFTs came to the forefront
I started learning PHP, an HTML scripting language, and MySQL, the database that PHP can connect to in the background, in 1999, when there were only 3 books about PHP and MySQL at the bookstores.
By 2014, I was trying to figure out how to make the "ledger," or database that can be used to update ownership and who can be contacted. If we are trading art, then the art ownership should be updated.
Then NFTs came about. This can be used as our ledger. Everyone can immediately trade NFTs of future, yet-to-be made art pieces, especially because it takes time to make tangible art.
NFTs actually went a step ahead, by allowing digital art to be traded.
The only setback with NFTs, in my opinion, is that it still lacks a commission system for resellers and representatives.
For example, if a café wants to represent me, then they can promote me at their café and on their online pages. If I make one piece of art that will be exclusively represented by a gallery, then that commission will be different and more specific. As ownership is transferred, the subsequent owners should be able to reset the commission. We should also have the option of giving commissions to hundreds of representatives at one time with different percentages if need be.
The recent crypto crash
Lately, we have observed that NFTs and cryptocurrencies have been behaving like the stock market and other markets. They have been fluctuating.
I believe that it is time for a trend which discourages fluctuation of prices.
I have also seen YouTube videos where social influencers are encouraging us to be on the lookout for exponentially profitable ventures, because we have all seen this happen with the exponential increase of Bitcoin and Ethereum.
Let's see if #Valzubiriagenda trends
We can announce present and future art prices. The galleries won't do this (yet?) because they follow a more traditional approach to the business of art.
We have a choice of using incrementally or exponentially increasing prices. We still reserve the right to change things in the future, so everyone should know to follow the latest update.
If this trends, if you as an artist simply announces that you will write an artist memoir, or that you will include the future works in future art books, you might have more art traders, investors and collectors approaching you.
Get your pen, paper and calculator
Imagine yourself as an artist, where you are right now. Let's just say you still do not have a book about yourself and your art yet. Imagine now that you have a memoir out there. Don't you think it makes sense to charge more than what you are charging now? Writing and publishing books is just the beginning. I'm just standardizing this approach. The books also say to do other related projects. In my case, getting Dollman the Musical onstage is one idea. You will have other related projects, but the publication of memoirs, biographies, art books and art catalogs will help all of us.
You can also imagine that a law firm that has meeting rooms, with someone who wants to form a local #valzubiriagenda group, can have meetings. A local café can do the same. Local photographers for your art, writers, editors, book designers, proofreaders and others can join in.
I suggest have printed books to share. 15 copies of your memoir or art books will be better than an e-reader or laptop or your phone to show. These gadgets can be stolen, sabotaged, broken, have coffee spilled on them, etc. 15 printed books means simultaneously showing to 15 people. You can even give them away to potential resellers, investors, traders and collectors.
When it rains, it pours, as in the days of Noah
There's a saying, "When it rains, it pours." There is a negative interpretation and a positive interpretation.
Negative: When trouble comes, they cascade to even more.
Positive: When opportunity comes knocking, more follow suit. We can assume that if one gets our art because of #valzubiriagenda, more want to do it now, because of the rising prices, and FOMO - fear of missing out. What will they lose if they miss the boat?
As I have said earlier, if the #valzubiriagenda trends, if you announce a future memoir or art catalog, you might have an increase of investors, traders and art collectors who would want to check you out. You might encourage more sales. Just remember to write and publish that memoir and art catalog.
There's this saying, "As in the days of Noah." Imagine Noah, building his ark, with members of his own family, putting all his time and effort into it. Noah was a nice guy. I'm sure every once in a while a neighbor offered him coffee, or chai latte, or whatever refreshing drink they might have back then.
Here's the lesson to be learned. Just because they offered him some type of bubble tea drink, or coca cola, they still didn't make it to the ark. Rubbing shoulders with actors does not make you an actor. I have told my artist friends to write their memoirs. They told me that once they see me succeed, after all these many years of seeing my seemingly useless efforts, then they will write their memoirs and follow the road that I had paved for them.
Good luck to them, but if I were you, act now, get my art or make art. Support the 5-year old artist whose parent promised to release a comprehensive art catalog. If you get that 5-year old's art, and mine, I would be honored to be in the same art catalog that you will produce. I'm already successful at that point. You have gotten the mission just right.
I have already claimed to have written the most book-length artist memoirs in the world. Dethrone that claim. Barter. Use ghostwriters. Success to me means facing God one day and saying, I wrote my memoirs and left the world a legacy of books and art. I will not tell God, smiling and proudly, that I encouraged a run for my art by announcing a schedule of exponentially increasing prices that reached 9 figures. I'm sure God knows we had fun.

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If you want to try out #valzubiriagenda, in any capacity, join this group. Let others know about this group as well.
If you are an artist, you can let everyone know here that you will produce your memoir, art catalogs, etc. It's okay if you don't know how to go about publishing yet, I will discuss this. Please be honorable enough to produce what you promise to produce.
If you want to meet fellow artists, investors, resellers, etc., join us here.
If you are a book writer, editor, proofreader; if you can photograph art pieces; if you are a book designer, etc., join us here. Let us know if you charge, barter for art, or both.
If you have your own tips and knowledge to share, join us here.
If you have underaged artists you are managing (parents, etc.) join us here.
Join this group if you want to sell works. Post your works. You web links. I'm sure I will.
You can announce meetings in your area. You might have meeting rooms, a café, restaurant, etc. where people can meet. In the future, you can have the regular show and tell, where books can be shown and shared.
​
Thanks for reading. Please let me know if I need to edit some parts. Please share and join this group. - Valentino Zubiri, Dollman, Artist, Memoirist
Underaged artists are welcome here, so please be mindful of your language. We cannot post your adult-oriented art pieces, but you can direct us to a separate page or community. There will be limits to your posts, and there will be adult-oriented art that we cannot allow to be posted.
Thanks for reading. Please let me know if I need to edit some parts. Please share and join this group. - Valentino Zubiri, Dollman, artist & memoirist

Don't forget! Come join us from 6-9pm every Sunday for a chill and fun night of board and card games at Madness Games & Comics in Plano: 3000 Custer Road - Suite 310 - Plano, TX - 75075 (their phone number is 972-943-8135).
This event is hosted by the Meetup.com group Queer Tribe. Any event updates/cancellation will be posted on the event page there.
We hope to see you soon!

00:20:02:25 - 00:20:19:29
Unknown
Because I always considered myself a bit of a Hufflepuff. Oh, you're huffing and puffing. All right. Need to get your ass on a fucking ventilator, Joe. You're just mad They're about to take your ass off to Azkaban. Donald, be careful out there. I hear the weather is a bit stormy. Oh, shit. Joe. With the fucking rumble combo, man's a straight G, no question.
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00:20:20:01 - 00:20:32:22
Unknown
Appreciate you swinging some love my way B dog. They should swing you from a fucking news, Joe, you crispy turd. How many years you think Donny gets? Oh, I know how we can figure that out. Pick a number between one and ten. Ten?
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00:20:32:22 - 00:20:49:07
Unknown
Guys, I need your help. I forgot my password. Your password to what, Joe? My password to everything. How the fuck do you forget your password to everything? Well, because I use the same password for everything. Well, why would you use the same password for everything, Joe? Because it's easier to remember. Yeah, well, how's that working out for you, Joe?
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00:20:49:08 - 00:21:04:29
Unknown
For Christ's sake, I thought I'd be able to remember it. Yeah, that's some damn good remembering you're doing there, my friend. Keep it up. Just reset your password, pimp It ain't that deep, but I don't want to reset my password. Why not, Joe? Because then I have to remember a new password. But you don't even fucking remember the old password.
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00:21:05:00 - 00:21:21:21
Unknown
Jesus Christ. It's. It's like reasoning with Putin. All right, all right. Well, what was the last password You remember, Joe? It was Biden rocks, lol. Of course it was. Okay, then change it to Biden rocks. LOL one. Does that work? It says I need a special character. Oh, you are a special fucking character, Joe. Don't you worry about that.
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00:21:21:22 - 00:21:40:14
Unknown
Donnie with the font size 42 wing ding ding bong. Keep it pushin bush. I bet your password is I underscore did 911. Now it's actually I underscore plead the fucking fifth hacked that bill you old bitch both great passwords guys but I really need my own one fucking Joe. Just add an exclamation point or an asterisk. Wasn't asterisk a concentration camp?
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00:21:40:17 - 00:21:56:16
Unknown
Holy shit, you guys. Little Joe Sleep has lost his fucking sheep. An asterisk is a star, Joe. It's just the proper term for it. It's still not working. Barack. All right, well, then, I don't know. Joe Why don't you just make it? I'm to Biden later. 2023. That's actually fire to me. Next, your password exceeds the character limit.
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00:21:56:17 - 00:22:14:22
Unknown
Oh, for God's sake. Why is this so hard? That's what she said. No, she didn't. Maybe not to you, flaccid Florence. Hey, that's my gamertag. Why don't you just make your password the launch codes to our nuclear weapons? Oh, yeah. Great idea. Until Joe thinks he's logging into onlyfans and accidentally launches a fucking nuke. I don't even remember the launch codes, guys.
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00:22:14:22 - 00:22:32:19
Unknown
Phew. Glad you aren't in charge of protecting the country or anything. Oh, wait. All right, Joe, Just make your password pres Game 2023. But I want it to be specific to me. Fine. Then how about Big Bad Biden? 2023. I just. I don't know. Why don't you make it? I'm a fucking moron, and we'll never remember this password anyway.
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00:22:32:22 - 00:22:36:21
Unknown
New password cannot be old password. You've got to be shitting me.
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00:22:36:21 - 00:22:51:28
Unknown
All right. Now that I've had the time to cool off, I. I just wanted to take the time to apologize to you. Oh, O'Donnell, you don't have to. No, no. See, I was out of line yesterday, and it was not okay. I see that now. Good man. Donald, I hope you can accept my apology from the bottom of my fucking heart, man.
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00:22:51:28 - 00:23:09:17
Unknown
Truly. I'm sorry. Well, thank you, Donny. That's mighty big of you. Apology accepted. Appreciated, Joe. You're a good man. And even though we've had our differences, I consider you a friend. Even if you are a freaky little fucking gargoyle. And we're back. Hey. Hey. Fuck you. My eggs are most certainly not hardboiled. Oh, for the love of God.
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00:23:09:18 - 00:23:25:07
Unknown
No, no, you're right, Joe. They're scrambled just like your fucking brains. Oh, come on. I'm surprised you were even let out of palliative fucking care long enough to connect to the server today. Joe Oh, fuck off, John. Only a walking, talking fucking miracle, my man. Kudos to you. You know what, Donnie? I've heard just about a fucking nuff out of you.
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00:23:25:13 - 00:23:41:06
Unknown
I say we settle this like men. Oh, yeah? And how would men settle this, Joe? Well, I'll tell you, the scrawny little bitch of a man that you are would probably disintegrate into a pile of fucking sand if I so much as laid a hand on you, you skeletal looking. Fuck, yeah, yeah, whatever. Donnie, Keep running your fucking mouth.
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00:23:41:08 - 00:23:56:27
Unknown
Hey, be money. How would they settle this beef in the hood, player? Okay, first of all, that's enormously fucking offensive, Joe. You should know better. Yeah. Aren't I supposed to be the racist, Joe? Secondly, a rap battle ought to settle this shit up good and proper. My dog. I'm sorry. Did you just say a fucking rap battle? What's the matter, Donnie?
​
00:23:56:27 - 00:24:15:16
Unknown
Don't want the smoke. Smoke? The only smoke you're capable of. Joe would be linked to a short fucking circuit. You wrinkly android bitch. Sounds like you're down for the cause than Donnie. Or are you bitchin? Hell, no, I ain't fucking bitch. And I'm far superior than Joe in all aspects of our adult lives. And I sure as fuck ain't scared of vanilla life over there.
​
00:24:15:18 - 00:24:32:28
Unknown
Okay, 30 seconds on you then, you punk ass bitch. Okay, let's see then. Hey, sleepy Joe, Peep the show. Your time is up. You need to go. You're a Democrat. You're shit is hell a wack? You're about to get attacked. So step it back. Remember that? Yeah. Trump zilla in the Hill, boys. Fuck with me. That shit was.
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00:24:32:28 - 00:24:47:07
Unknown
Ask Donnie. No, Kap, don't quit your day job, homie. Your kids will go hungry. All right, all right, all right. It's my fucking turn now. Well, this ought to be good. Can't wait to see what sort of heat Mr. N.W. Alzheimer's brings to the fucking table. Yo, I've been waiting for a chance to show I'm tight with the rhymes.
​
00:24:47:07 - 00:25:02:05
Unknown
Oval Office got the splits and see, I'm lighting up mine. Oh, we got bars. Big Donnie stepping up to put his life on the line. That's why the homies call me Joe. Because I've been Biden my time. I'm about to end this motherfucker. Run it back, Prez. Run it back. I'm about to end this. Donald Trump. Oh, fucking please.
​
00:25:02:05 - 00:25:19:12
Unknown
He said I'm wack, but played the grandpa in the Munsters. He's sweating bad because his career is in the dumpster. Look at Donny Yo. He's flustered. I'm a Democrat. Boy, I keep it real. Yo, I'm a never cat boy. Donald Trump. You gonna remember that boy? Oval Office where the men are at? Boy, you ain't ever that boy.
​
00:25:19:14 - 00:25:39:08
Unknown
You're done now. Holy fucking shit, Joe. That shit was tight, my brother. You got bars on bars on bars with compound fucking interest. Good shit, dog. That was unreal. Now, where the fuck did that come from? This motherfucker can barely remember his own name and spits this shit off the fly like he's slim. Fucking shady. I don't buy it, but fuck, man, you're in the wrong fucking profession, Joe.
​
00:25:39:15 - 00:25:56:24
Unknown
You should get the fuck out of the White House and into a recording studio. My guy. Hottest album 2023. No question. We making it out the fucking hood with this one. Facts. All facts. That shit was straight heat, Joe. They've been sleeping on Sleepy Joe. For real. For real. Hey, wait. What? Sorry, I. I just blacked out for a second.
​
00:25:56:24 - 00:26:12:22
Unknown
What's going on? Where am I? You're in eight mile from the fucking sounds of a Joe word. He is eight mile. What the fuck is that? You know, eight mile. Eminem. Oh, no. I'm really more of a Skittles kind of guy myself. Donny should probably try tasting a few less rainbows and some more of your medication there. Joe.
​
00:26:12:22 - 00:26:16:25
Unknown
You're brain dead. Laura. Kit And we're back.
​
00:26:16:25 - 00:26:33:05
Unknown
All right, gentlemen. It looks like Tick Tock removed our first video, so we've got to kill the fuck out with the slurs for a minute. That means you. Me? Oh, come on. What in the holy hell did I fucking do? You know damn well what you did, Donny. Making fun of my. My. You know, the whole Jumanji thing.
​
00:26:33:08 - 00:26:48:25
Unknown
Barack said it best. That was a low blow. Oh, come on, now, Joe. You and I have said far fucking worse to each other in the confines of our own homes, and you know it. But if I can't get away with being my fucking self on Tik-Tok, then I got a friend I can call who just might. What the fuck's that supposed to mean, Donny?
​
00:26:48:28 - 00:27:06:02
Unknown
You see, the problem is, Joe, I've been playing. You fucked knuckles at a decent fucking advantage this entire time. And it's time to even out the playing field, if you catch my fucking drift. Wait. So who are you going to call? Donnie? Fucking Ghostbusters, Barack. Who the fuck do you think? No way. Really? Oh, my God, Boy. Shit's about to get spooky.
​
00:27:06:05 - 00:27:23:17
Unknown
Shit's already spooky, Joe. Doesn't get much spookier when we've got Barack Obama. Another nursery in Casper. The friendly fucking ghost in the same damn Discord server. Now, what the fuck did I just say about the slurs, Donnie? Yeah, Donnie, don't make me hop back on the mic again and rip you a new asshole, because I. I went easy on you yesterday.
​
00:27:23:17 - 00:27:44:00
Unknown
But today I'll end your life. You know what, Joe? Your family should do You and the rest of the country a favor and end your fucking life as a mercy killing. Look up euthanasia and find your closest clinic you decomposed corpse. Donnie, please quit flaming the fucking guy. You're going to get us banned from Tik-Tok. I'm sorry, but Joe's life clock is the only thing that's going fucking ticktock around here.
​
00:27:44:00 - 00:28:01:11
Unknown
Obama. Oh, fuck you, Donnie. I hate you so goddamn much, you pussy ass bitch. I'm just saying what we're all fucking thinking, Joe. Quite fitting that you rap so well and call yourself AMC because you look like an extra from an episode of The Walking Fucking Dead, my friend. And it ain't fucking pretty. Fuck you, Donnie. You don't deserve my bars.
​
00:28:01:12 - 00:28:19:17
Unknown
Oh, well, thank fucking God for that. Because you might rap like 50 Cent, but you got $0.00 in that puddle of piss you call a brain, you sentient fucking vegetable. Oh, we're getting fucking banned for sure today, fellas. Whatever, Donnie, you can bring whoever the fuck you like to the table and you'll both be served some knuckle fucking sandwiches.
​
00:28:19:24 - 00:28:38:29
Unknown
Knuckle sandwiches? Yeah, that's right. What are you, a fucking supervillain from the fifties? You belong in a Batman comic, Joe. You know, considering you're absolutely batshit fucking crazy. Fuck you. Jesus fucking Christ, my man. Get it together. This is exactly the type of shit that gets our videos pulled from the platform. Donnie. Yeah, Donnie, Give it a fucking rest, my guy.
​
00:28:38:29 - 00:28:57:19
Unknown
For the love of God, I'm begging you. You know what, Obama? You and Joe seem to share the same fucking sentiments so much that I could almost call you twins. Twins? Yeah. And it's a good thing, too, because in case you haven't figured it out yet, I got a good fucking pal who's got some history with twins. And I know that he's just itching to send a fucking plane your way.
​
00:28:57:23 - 00:29:09:19
Unknown
Oh, no, you don't fucking mean who I think you mean, do you, Donnie? Well, how fucking do you want to be motherfuckers? Georgie, Babes in the fucking house, you dig? Oh, for the love of fucking God, Donnie.
​
00:29:09:19 - 00:29:30:11
Unknown
Hello, 911. Yes, I'd like to report a hostage situation. A hostage litigation. Oh, God. Someone call the president. You are the fucking president, Joe. Oh, yeah, I. Well, I guess I kind of forgot about that. Yes, gentlemen, it's true. There's a hostage situation. President Sleepy Joe sleep in. Is being held captive by his own fucking Alzheimer's. Oh, fuck off, Donnie.
​
00:29:30:17 - 00:29:45:29
Unknown
The only person who's being held captive around here is your fucking wife. Hey, now, never go after a man's wife, Joseph. That's just un-Christian. Yeah, but his towers are fair. Fucking game, right, Georgie boy? I plead the Fifth. Look, Yvonne is a prisoner of fucking war. There's no two ways about it. Oh, give me a fucking break, Joe.
​
00:29:46:00 - 00:30:04:19
Unknown
I hear the Czech Republic are trying to negotiate her safe passage home as we fucking speak, you guys. Hot damn, Joe, that one was stone cold. Yeah, he's right, Joe. You are stone cold. Stone cold. Steve Austin. So fucking ferocious. Fuck you, Donnie. You look like what you'd get if an open loompa had sex with Mrs. Fucking PA from SpongeBob, you freak of fucking nature.
​
00:30:04:19 - 00:30:20:15
Unknown
Oh, I'm the freak of nature. I don't know why I expect anything less any more. I swear to God. You all be mad. Mad? Yeah. Joe is mad. Mad Brock. He's got a brain like a half melted fucking ice cream cone. Vanilla for me, please. I don't like chocolate. And yet, Camilla Harris is your second in command. How's that fucking work?
​
00:30:20:16 - 00:30:43:29
Unknown
Oh, you bugging for that one? Donald Trump can pumpkin looking ass straight, goofy. Are we still getting ice cream or not? You know what, Bush? I'm glad you're here. For a minute there, I almost forgot you existed. Oh. Ha, ha. Joseph, where have you been living? Somewhere with the rest of al Qaeda, Right. At least he hasn't been living in whatever fucking broom closet they stuff you in when you aren't mumbling your way through a presidential fucking address, Joe.
​
00:30:44:00 - 00:31:03:19
Unknown
Oh, back off, Donnie. No, he's right, Barack. I have been in the broom closet. That's how I swept the fucking floor with you during the last fucking election. Donna, you fucking hairless looking orangutan. Well, it's too bad that since then you seem to have fallen a few ballots short of a rigged fucking election. Joe and I ain't talking about the polls if you catch my fucking meaning.
​
00:31:03:23 - 00:31:23:24
Unknown
How about you catch these fucking hands instead, Donnie? Oh, I'd like to see you try, Joe, you brittle fucking bitch. You'd have better luck cracking the fucking Da Vinci Code, my man. Honestly, you look like you're made entirely out of paper fucking mush. It's a wonder they haven't accidentally recycled your ass by now. You mean like, how you recycle the same shit house fucking jokes?
​
00:31:23:24 - 00:31:41:16
Unknown
Donny, You're the gift that keeps on giving. Well, it's a good thing you've got about one more sleep till Christmas, then. Joe, you nocturnal fucking zebra. You. Oh, quit your fucking bitch. And Donna, you were the worst president in this server. Allegedly. Yeah, for real. Joe has had fucking dementia episodes that have lasted longer than you did in office.
​
00:31:41:16 - 00:32:01:13
Unknown
Donald. Whoa, whoa, whoa. Friendly fire. Friendly fire. My bad. Gee, I didn't mean for you to catch the strays. I got carried away. That's on me. Mighty noble of you to come to the defense of your ex fucking butler, Obama. I'm sure he served you and Michelle well back in 28. 28. God, those were the days. That was some damn good Coca-Cola, son.
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00:32:01:17 - 00:32:20:12
Unknown
More like cuckoo fucking cola, Joe, you dilapidated fucking pigeon. You're one more insult away from getting all the smoke, Donnie. Keep it. Push it, pimp. You don't want none, homie. Yeah. Donnie Because I'm six foot of pure Pennsylvania fucking pussy slayer. Don't make me take your bitch now you're here for God fucking sake. Doesn't anyone know how to shut this guy up?
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00:32:20:14 - 00:32:38:08
Unknown
Someone please get this fucking puppy a new chew toy, for crying out loud. Keep running your fucking mouth, Donnie. And I might just have to fucking throw a punch. You nobody says throw punch anymore. Joe. What? Have you been living under a rock? Wait, wait, wait. I thought we finally fucking left a rock. Oh, dear God, Joe. All of my hard work fucking wasted.
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00:32:38:13 - 00:32:55:19
Unknown
I can't even keep up with you, Joe. You nimble little hamster. You. Honestly, this guy blows my mind harder than Lee Harvey Oswald blew JFK and he blew that shit right off. I ain't got fucking time for this, Donnie. I'm having the Clintons over for dinner, so I'm out. But if you run your mouth again, you have my word.
​
00:32:55:21 - 00:33:02:19
Unknown
I'll send you Collapsing harder than Bush collapsed the World Trade Center back in 2001, allegedly.
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00:33:02:19 - 00:33:21:00
Unknown
All right, fellas. Enough of the fucking flame wars. Can we please play the fucking objective today? We're zero in six and games of Sandy this year and have a higher KD against each other than we do against any other team. Now, now, that's not entirely true, Barak. Last I checked, Bush has a CD of 2996 that dates back to September 2001.
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00:33:21:07 - 00:33:39:07
Unknown
Just plant the fucking bomb, would you, Joseph? Oh, yeah. You know all about planting bombs, right, Georgie boy? Under the advice of my attorney, I invoke my Fifth Amendment privilege against self incineration. It's self-incrimination, George. Incineration is what you did to collapse the fucking towers, my guy. Wait, wait, guys. Is that an AC 130? Who the fuck is Tracy Van?
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00:33:39:07 - 00:33:59:22
Unknown
Ernie? Wait. Where? Donnie. I can't see Shit. Oh, wait. Never mind, you guys. It's just Barack Obama, the orphan bomber flying overhead. Looks like our citizens are safe. This is exactly why they keep censoring our fucking talks. Donnie. First they removed our video. Now they're muting our sounds. We need to tone it down. Oh, fuck that, Barack. Let's give the people what they want.
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00:33:59:25 - 00:34:23:04
Unknown
If Tick Tock won't let us give the people an all out fucking demolition derby, then I say we find a platform that will. I'm with Trump on this one. What have you got in mind, Donny? Three words, gentlemen. Presidential fucking YouTube. Oh, no. Does that mean another fucking password? I'm running out of numbers to put after Biden rocks lol.

A few weeks ago I was in San Marcos, TX and I got rear ended while trying to exit a Walmart parking lot. It was at very low speeds so no one was hurt but I drive a Prius and the other guy drives a Jeep Liberty so there was damage to my car. We pulled into a nearby parking lot and exchanged info, he gave me his insurance and I gave him mine and he gave me his phone number. I did not call the cops because I was in a hurry to get somewhere and no one was injured. I called my insurance and gave them im his info and they opened a claim with his insurance. Over the next 3 weeks I keep trying to get in touch with his insurance company, but they keep dodging my calls. Eventually I get a hold of them just for them to tell me that this guy’s policy expired 5 months ago and that there is nothing they can do. I text the guy, wanting to give him the benefit of the doubt (maybe in the heat of the moment he accidentally gave me the wrong paper), but he hasn’t responded in several days now. I am now out of state for another month and even when I go back to Texas, I live ~3 hours away from where the accident occurred so it’s not like I can just easily show up at his house or something. What do I do from here? How do I get my car fixed ideally without having to pay for it out of pocket. Do I call the cops? Do I take him to small claims? Any advice is greatly appreciated