Washed Weekly: Replacement Friends at The Redneck Night Club
You ever watch Saving Silverman, hoss?
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I Think Will is Saving Silverman-ing Dave and Me
by Dillon Cheverere
For those of you who haven’t seen the movie Saving Silverman, I recommend it because it’s really funny. Jack Black, Jason Biggs, and Steve Zahn are a hilarious trio and it’s peak Amanda Peet hotness, if you’re into that.
It’s about a guy named Darren Silverman, played by Jason Biggs, who’s going to marry a stone cold [mean lady], played by Amanda Peet, and his best friends are trying to save him from her and stop the wedding by bringing his ex-flame back into his life.
To get out in front of this, that key plot point is NOT what the title of this column is inferring. No one is trying to save Will from his wife Sally. Nor is Will trying to save me from my girlfriend, nor Dave from his wife. I’ll expand on this in a bit.
Most of you know who my friend Will deFries is. He’s my business partner and my co-host, but above all, he’s my friend. A great friend. I hesitate to call him my best friend on account of what you’re about to read, but I attended his wedding, he attended mine, we share real life shit with each other, and we’ve been close for years.
We’re so close, actually, that we share our locations with each other on Find My Friends, in perpetuity. After work yesterday, my son was being dropped off at my home by a friend’s parent. He wears an Apple Watch so I am able to track his location on the same app.
Around the time I was expecting him, I fired up the Find My Friends app to see where the little guy was. He was close by, but something else was amiss. Much to my surprise, Will wasn’t where I would expect him to be around 5:30 in the evening on a school night, which is at home. Instead, he was at Kelly’s Irish Pub. A bar I love. A bar Will knows I love. A bar at which we’ve shared laughs, stories, and a million Guinnesses together.
I checked my messages and call log, assuming I missed a crucial message or phone call. Nothing. Hm, weird. Something is not right. I check my cell coverage. Full bars. I check my phone battery. 72%. Airplane mode on? Nah.
My heart began racing and my breathing began to labor as I realized he didn’t invite me. Maybe he has a work meeting over beers that I don’t know about, I hopelessly pleaded to myself. He deserves the benefit of the doubt here, doesn’t he? Perhaps Sally got thirsty and wanted to take down a couple frosty boys with her husband before returning home and resuming parent duty.
Both possible scenarios to which it would make sense that I wouldn’t be invited.
After a restless night of sleep and with numerous possibilities running through my head, I returned to the office the next morning and asked Will a question about a subject that he clearly was hoping he wouldn’t have to confront.
“Hey, bud, uh what’d you do after work yesterday?” I asked, knowing the answer would likely break me.
The worst possible truth hit me and it felt like an elephant sitting on my chest. He got after-work beers with some dude named Michael, or Eric, or Thomas, or something like that.
Hoping this was a one-time occasion, I tried to convince myself as such. It was probably a perfect storm of happenstance that resulted in these two getting impromptu beers together without me. Right?
I asked Dave if he knew that Will went to Kelly’s after work. If Dave was there with him and neither one had lobbed me a text, I’d have killed myself. Thankfully, he also had no idea that Will went there. “Actually, I haven’t hung out with Will in a long time,” he shared with me, unprompted.
Thinking this could be an isolated incident and I shouldn’t overreact, I began to think back on Will’s recent social whereabouts, as it’s a topic to which we dedicate a weekly segment on our podcast, Circling Back.
Listen, Will is OUT on the town pretty frequently. Mattle Rancho’s margs and patio beers and at-home friend hangs – the guy’s social obligations are not lacking. It’s just that these hangs used include Dave and me.
Okay, back to Saving Silverman like I promised. Below is maybe my favorite scene from the movie, and it’s not because it’s the best Amanda Peet has ever looked.
The idea of “new friends” has always made me laugh. In the scene, these “new friends” are also referred to as “replacement friends.” Peet’s character sought to replace her fiancé’s old, loser friends with suit-wearing country club types with finance jobs. It’s an image play.
Now, I don’t know who Will’s new friends are or if they work in finance or wear suits to their friends’ engagement parties, but it’s really starting to feel like they’re replacing Dave and me.
And for that, I am sad.
What’s The Deal With Music?
by Dave
I had just finished my nightly foam roll session when I received an Instagram notification on my phone. Someone decided to bless me with a Reel featuring a young woman playing a song called “Redneck Night Club.” It was one of dozens of songs that have been sent my way in the last few weeks, and all those songs have one thing in common: they suck. They all suck, but they’re in the unique position of sucking so bad that they’re doing very well, algorithmically speaking. We can’t just watch them once. With each new view, we notice something new that will stay in our heads for weeks. They’ve cracked the code. We feed the beast.
We’re in the golden era of terrible music. The barrier of entry is non-existent, and everyone has access to their own personal songwriter just by leveraging AI. I say this as someone who has a podcast. It’s the wild west, and the more terrible, the better. This isn’t about the tone deaf or rhythmically challenged. It’s about people who might only possess a scintilla of musical talent but little-to-no self-awareness. It’s a dangerous combination.
I currently have one group text whose primary function is to share the worst of the worst. It’s easily my most problematic text group, as we’re going to devote our valuable time to something that we all know is bad. We’re looking for the hallmarks of real coworker music:
A cover letter to grab your attention and get you into the door. Clichés. Poor production.
“Hey, ever wonder what a sober country artist who grew up on KoRn and George Strait would sound like!?”
No, not really, man.
But I will be helping you out by sharing your song with my friends so I can ruin their day too. We really don’t need you to tell us which artists you’ll be blatantly ripping off in your video. We’re already here. You’ve technically earned our business. Don’t tell me how to interpret your art, bud.
If it’s a country song, it’s going to lean entirely on being the most outlandish small town shit you can imagine. One stoplight, a Dairy Queen, zero infrastructure, and a truck with an 18 percent interest rate.
If it’s hip hop, it’s getting twisted, bro. The rapper made Heath Ledger’s Joker his entire personality, never deviated from the bit, and thought, “Umm what if that character made bad music?” Sure. We were all thinking that when we watched that movie, man. I love when art imitates art. This guy’s wild!
But guess what? It doesn’t matter. Nothing does. I’ve bumped “Tweaker” at least twenty times. It’s been in my head for a week. I wake up in the morning thinking about “busting my butt to try and get a little more pay.” Dammit, dude. If this is a psyop, and I think it very well could be, it’s working.
What I’m Watching, Cooking, And Drinking This Weekend
by
Yesterday felt like a Friday to me. Maybe it’s because it’s felt like a long week, perhaps it’s because we recorded Retail Therapy (which is normally recorded on Fridays), or it’s possible I’m just having the realization that time is a flat circle and days don’t actually matter outside of the social construct we find ourselves in.
This weekend, you can call my wife’s schedule “Herbie” because it’s fully loaded. But that doesn’t mean I can’t spread my wings within the confines of my home before this cold front blows in next week.
In a new column format I’m testing out, let’s find out how I’m spending the next few days.
What I’m Watching
Detroit Lions football? In mid-January? Is this heaven? No, it’s homefield advantage at Ford Field, baby.
For obvious reasons, my Detroit Football Lions have been appointment television since Week 1. Did I have to miss the Week 1 game because I started projectile vomiting half-way through the first quarter due to a stomach bug going around my son’s school? Yes. But was it playing while I was pretty much dead in bed? Also yes.
The entire weekend is centered around this one event. While I don’t have any ill will toward the ‘Ders and their squad, I do hope Tony P. in DC leaves the game wondering what went wrong.
Oh, look, what’s that — it’s a Sunday morning Manchester United match? Let’s absolutely COOK in that 15-hour stretch. Sprinkle in some Season 1 of Severance and I think I’m more locked in than Davis Clarke.
What I’m Cooking
My three-and-a-half-year-old is currently obsessed with hot dogs which is a good thing because Saturday night is Coney Night in honor of our Detroit brethren.
Over the last couple years, I’ve taken a step back in the kitchen after realizing I married someone who is a much better chef than I am. So good, in fact, that she doesn’t really even let me help anymore. It’s devastating stuff.
However, she’ll be at the Texas Stars minor league hockey game which means Chef deFreezy has entered the building. Don’t get too close to me during the second quarter because I will have onion breath from the aforementioned Coneys.
What I’m Drinking
So I’ve been doing this thing lately that I’ve been referring to as Saving Silverman’ing some of my ‘lutes. I have “new friends” that they think are “replacement friends,” but that’s only one side of the story. By getting “new friends,” it means my old friends will realize how chill I was and start asking me to get beers more. And considering I’m in the midst of Sopping Wet January with Dillon barking up my tree, I have to say, it’s working.
Is a Guinness in order tonight at the infamous Kelly’s Irish Pub? Only time will tell. But you best believe I’ll be drinking native Michigan beers all Saturday — it’s a badddddd day to be a Bell’s Two-Hearted Ale.
While I’m definitely considering inviting people over for the game last minute, I’m kind of enjoying making Dillon sweat. Lord knows he doesn’t do that on leg day.
Alright, let’s ride into the weekend, ladies and gentleman.
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A+ Dillon, I cackled 😂
I love it when you guys reference each other's posts in your own posts lol (being completely earnest here)