Washed Weekly: Pod News, 11 Things, & Our Twisted Coworker
“I don’t think that bird’s gonna make it.”
Welcome to Washed Weekly — a weekly newsletter that will feature original columns, quick reads, exclusive product drops, and an offering of some of the best content we’ve created throughout the week that was. Read it, enjoy it, and pass it on to anyone you think will enjoy it, too. You can also check out the Washed network of podcasts.
Is My Coworker Randy a Bad Guy?
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The following is based on a true story.
Randy, our podcast producer and all-around video guy with a default demeanor best described as jovial, sauntered carelessly through the front door of the Washed Media office and dryly, matter-of-factly informed the bullpen of content creators diligently clacking away on their laptops:
“I don’t think that bird’s gonna make it.”
A mere seven paces behind him, on the hot May sidewalk adjacent to our office complex parking lot, lay a mourning dove. Standing about 12 inches in length and less than half a pound in weight, the aptly named mourning dove is a beautiful brown-feathered member of the Zenaida genus with black spots on its wings and black-bordered white tail feather tips, and just minutes prior, it was living its best life.
The warm and unseasonably humid air of south-central Austin beneath its wings, it would fly freely from one small-to-midsize office complex to the next, looking for food scraps or perhaps settle on the abundance of fruit seeds or legumes the bustling neighborhood’s bosom had to offer.
No more. Its time on this earth was nigh.
The window dividing the grand Washed foyer from the aforementioned sidewalk was the scene of the beginning of the end for our feathered friend, as it flew headfirst into the recently cleaned glass panel at a seemingly 400 miles per hour, bearing the full brunt of the hypersonic impact with only its face. And beak.
A thunderous thud jolted everyone to attention, wondering if perhaps a heavyset bicyclist lost control and veered into our building at top speed. It was no portly human being, though. It was the tiny dove. Randy’s dove.
Flat on his little back, twitching and gasping for a few final breaths of central Texas air, it looked up at Randy and locked eyes with him for what felt like hours in what was clearly a cry for help. Only birds can’t cry, or even speak. All it had at its disposal to communicate and gain the favor of our cold-hearted coworker was the universal look of utter panic. And fear. So much fear.
As life was leaving its tiny body and the light in his little dove eyes began to dim, Randy was faced with a few choices. A) He could have picked up the helpless creature of God and provide emergency care to hopefully jumpstart its road to recovery, and subsequently nurse it back to health. Option B) He could end its life swiftly and mercifully. Without so much as an ounce of hesitation, he chose option C. He remorselessly left it there. To die. Alone.
It did die, but he wasn’t alone.
You see, a healthy feline patrols these streets. Stocky in build and well-fed, but surprisingly swift afoot, this collared pussycat is no stranger to our office. He’s well known around here in fact, mostly for defecating at our doorstep, but also for his unquenchable thirst for the blood of the many friendly lizards that scale our brick facade and peek out from our lush shrubbery.
But reptilian flesh would not appease his appetite on this fateful Tuesday afternoon. A bountiful harvest from the breast of a dove was the only menu item for today, and a bountiful harvest he would have.
With arms crossed, hair coiffed, feet cockily spread just past shoulder width, and a sly grin subtly overtaking his admittedly handsome face, Randy stood in the bullpen debriefing his four concerned coworkers on the gruesome goings on just outside from whence we sat. But the scene outside would soon turn from dark to downright diabolical.
The bloodthirsty cat was seen gleefully bouncing past our glass front door with a certain spirit about him, one that would suggest he would soon experience unbridled joy for the first time in his short, twisted life. He approached our wounded, winged compadre and assessed his vulnerable state. After a few curious but gentle swats of the paw and sniffs of his wet little cat nose, he knew he’d be eating good that day.
We began pleading with Randy to step in and put a stop to the inevitably torturous demise that awaited our likely paralyzed dove friend. As tears claimed Brett’s eyes and Will all but dropped to his knees to beg, Randy’s heart impossibly began to warm.
Like pleading with a child to brush his teeth before bedtime, Randy finally relented and made his way to the scene with a noticeably lackadaisical gait. His mission was to rescue the dove, one that he didn’t undertake with the necessary gumption to carry out the objective.
He failed this mission.
Removing the massive chaw embedded in his gum line, Dave gazed worriedly past the bird-shaped smudge on the window. The rest of us, not having the stomach for the darker side of nature, retreated to the office kitchenette to comfort each other as we waited with excruciating anticipation for Randy’s return. We wanted some good news. No, we needed some good news.
Good news, we did not receive.
Randy approached the villainous feline atop the dying mourning dove, but it was for naught. After a less than half-hearted attempt to dissuade the helpless dove from the cat’s grasp, the cat sped off with its prized catch in its mouth — like a lioness carrying a gazelle to her den on which her young would feed — perhaps to show it off to his other cat friends, but more likely to devour our friend from beak to tail feather.
It was a sad day. An awful day. The four of us, sans Randy of course, embraced each other and we wept. We wept for hours. Even Dave’s emotional threshold was breached as he shed a single tear and simultaneously situated yet another hog firmly in his top gum.
Each morning I pull into the parking lot, which will forever remain a crime scene to me, I will remember the heinous, yet avoidable, act that occurred there that day. And my mind immediately goes to Randy, my coworker who impossibly squeezes into 32x32 straight-leg Levis from Kohl’s, and I keep asking him why? Why did you let this happen?!
I look at that window, at that pavement below, hoping to see our feathered friend as if it were a nightmare instead of stark reality. But I see no bird. Only a trail of feathers remain.
11 Things I Consumed This Week
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I noted on this week’s Circling Back listener voicemails that I’ve been staying up past midnight every night this week for no apparent reason. Because my normal bedtime is normally pre-10 o’clock, I’ve had a surplus of time on my hands to go down some roads I haven’t traveled in a while.
Here, my friends, is everything I’ve consumed this week.
Gordie Howe’s “My Hockey Life” — My mom visited last weekend and brought me a coffee table book from my childhood that I had largely forgotten about. While the nostalgia of the book brought me back to the years when the Red Wings actually made the playoffs, the more interesting thing to me was the realization that the book used the same font as I use for most Sunday Scaries marketing. Funny how that works, eh?
Two-Bite Brownies from Central Market — Recently I kicked a bad habit. That bad habit was shoving chocolate caramels with sea salt down my gullet every night. But just a few nights ago, my wife brought home “two-bite brownies” that taste way too close to my Aunt’s brownies for comfort. May have to fire up the Peloton again.
Dillon’s Golden Tee Resurgence — “Locked in.” I know it’s been a hot term lately, but that’s the only way I can truly describe it. If I stepped up to the machine right now, I can’t guarantee I’d fire anything better than a +20 while Dillon is angry at his first score of -21. I haven’t been excited for anything in a while as I am for him to start streaming it. Make sure to subscribe here if you’re interested.
Pulled chicken sandwich with fennel and lemon vinaigrette — Lou’s restaurant on Barton Springs in Austin, Texas. While I don’t love paying $15 for a pulled chicken sandwich, I simply can’t help myself lately. I love it. I don’t even know what fennel tastes like and now I need it on every sandwich ever. Some lemon aioli too? Have mercy.
Exactly two (2) Earlybirds — Because sometimes one isn’t enough but three is too many, just like the margaritas at Matt’s El Rancho. Promo code BACKER for 20% off, by the way. But why did I do that on Wednesday night, you ask?
Grateful Dead’s October 1974 Winterland “Full Set” — Because I’m officially in straight-up Sphere mode with Dead and Company playing there next week, so I tossed on my favorite YouTube performance from their forefathers. While the music itself is great in the video, the fact that it’s professionally shot in 1974 sets it apart from the others. A must-watch if they’re something you’re interested in.
Three (3) Beers with BroBible’s Brandon Wenerd — What a guy. We talked everything from content to advertising to grilling to Phish at The Sphere (but not grilling fish at The Sphere). The nectar of choice on my end of the table? Pinthouse’s Burro’s Breakfast Lager. Highly recommend if you’re looking for something that tastes light but is above 5% in the Austin, Texas area.
More fajitas than anyone should eat in a single day — On the heels of a kickback I threw last Saturday, we had some leftover fajitas. And to say that I may have overdid the leftovers would be an understatement. I had to shower off because natural fajita smoke was emanating from my body late Sunday night.
Medik8 Liquid Peptides — Wow, your boy is finally on his liquid peptides grind? The opps are furious. While I don’t really know much about the science behind this stuff, I’m trying to test out various skincare methodologies in a last-ditch effort to reverse some aging. I’m told that Medik8 is the current “if you know, you know” skincare brand, so I feel cooler than everyone else still using Rhode.
The smell of old men at the Austin Record Convention — In between handfuls of fajitas last Sunday, I spent some time at the Austin Record Convention where I mulled around for two hours talking to old men about their records. While that is truly the best part, I did leave with some records I’d been searching for since last year. Major shoutout to Verne, though, I appreciate you knocking ten bucks off those two vinyl for a player.
This tweet (and replies) about 90s foods — I love this tweet and I can’t fully explain why. Is it because I’m incredibly nostalgic for my childhood now that I have children of my own? Probably. But any time you get to list out foods like angel hair pasta, smoothies, portobello mushrooms, and tuna tartare… well, I begin to feel like this:
Only now realizing that may not be a good thing. Either way, see you at Dorsia this weekend.
Shameless Promotions of the Week
Introducing: Cold Call
We’re now two episodes into Cold Call — a show where we call listeners on Tuesday morning and chop it up with them on their topics of choice — and it’s going phenomenally. Not only did we get to grill a dentist this week about tossing fat-ass dips in, we’ve even gotten golf trip invites, people accusing Dorn of not being D1 athlete material, and more. Here are both of the episodes as they’re found on Spotify (which does require an Optimized Patreon subscription).
On Your Radar: Dorn’s Golden Tee Streams
Here’s what we know:
Currently, we still don’t have a name.
Dillon is still really good at Golden Tee.
Will has committed to drinking a Gonster should we add 100 subscribers before the first stream, which we’ve almost hit at this point (subscribe here, though).
We’ve got graphics, theme music, and branding in progress.
Pencil in next week, should be a blast.
Dave’s Breaking Podcast News
by Dave
You may already be aware, but we had a major shakeup in the midsize podcast industry yesterday. Yes, The Dumb Zone has officially joined the Washed Media network. What does this mean for you? Well, you have a very unique opportunity:
Give them a shot to earn your business. All they’re asking for is a shot.
Jake has been a frequent guest on Circling Back and Too Much Dip over the years, and I’m also happy to call him a friend. An internet friend who became a real-life face-to-face friend. He introduced us to KJ and was definitely the first media personality to reach out and compliment our show back in the day. Remember Touching Base? Me too. That extremely vocal group of Texas Tech fans who listen to the show? Jake made that happen. So please direct any issues to him.
And his cohost, Dan? Dan McDowell. Well, he’s a media hero of mine from his days at The Ticket in Dallas. If you’re unfamiliar with that station, it’s okay. But if you know someone who’s lived in that area, they’ll know what’s up. Not to glaze too hard, but it’s quite surreal to be working with him now. I still haven’t met Dan in person, but I look forward to making it weird when I do.
So what does this mean for both parties? Well, you’ll probably see some crossover content. I can’t wait to get Dan and Jake in a studio with the three of us to push the limits of acceptable awkwardness on a show. Hell, you might see a joint Dallas meetup at some point this year. I think I’ve only seen one person from The Dumb Zone’s subreddit call us douchebags, and that’s far too few. I bet if they had a chance to meet us they’d really understand what kind of Austin scum Dan and Jake are now in bed with.
We’re really excited to have these guys on board. Go ahead and give our friends a sub:
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Dillon. That was so beautifully written. I hate to be that guy, but…
Randy’s *gait instead of gate.
The spelling and grammar police finally nabbed the big guy.
Dillion, this was a masterpiece.