It’s Tuesday night. And CARVE American Grille™ is absolutely packed.

Two things - one, it’s no secret I love CARVE (I’m not yelling, it’s just their thing I promise). It’s a driver/wedge from my front door and the food and drinks are phenomenal. Solid happy hour where they give you a wine pour that invokes a 30-something-year-old going through a breakup she was sure was destined for a ring at the price of a domestic draft beer.

Two, I’ve mentioned I’m a huge fan of working from a bar. It’s the perfect mix of energy and focus. Adjacent conversations govern a quiet-enough-to-be-productive, but lively enough atmosphere to leave the confines of your own head. Reveled din. A laptop on the bar doesn’t get a reaction at a place like CARVE like it would Applebee’s. It begets something curious - like what is HE up to?

Nothing really. I came here to knock a few things out and head home to make a whole wheat pasta dish with some lemon glazed chicken. I’m cutting out processed foods but haven’t committed to chick pea yet. It’s a journey. I worked out this morning so the rest of the day was my oyster. If I could consistently find the motivation to do that I’m convinced my life would be 10000% better.

Anyway, it’s famously nearing September which in the podcast world means 2023 is upon us. That’s the root of me visiting CARVE on a Tuesday - building a slide deck that paints the Washed network in a flattering light heading into next year for brands, clients, and prospective partners alike. We want people to buy us, and they want shiny new toys to buy. Crank out a few slides and wrap it up. Get some granite on the elbows, make a little conversation, and bail. If only.

That and micro-dosing Italian dressing. They do a ridiculous smoked wedge salad that cannot be anywhere near good for you. I house it regularly. They’re also home to the current best banana pudding in Austin - my favorite dessert.

Me, at an oyster bar, definitely NOT on shrooms about to cry at the sunset I’m staring dangerously into. Rugbys are back, btw.

Speaking of micro-dosing, I did shrooms for the first time in DC with my buddy last week and cried at a sunset because the colors were so vibrant.

To be fair, it was an incredible vista and something about the classical European architecture of DC in the waning hours of the day broke me down. Sue me. You throw a waterfront in on top of that and it’s game over. Highly recommend.

Back to tonight - CARVE knocked me off my game. I was too nosy, hyper-astute to the neighborhood parley. The vigor of a Tuesday night here intoxicating in its own right. I became consultant, therapist, gossiper.

Inquisitive, deferent, reverential.

And that’s where this column is derived. Like Darwin in the Galapagos, I felt responsibility to surveil, to document. Like creatures in the wild this clientele congregated and dispersed like waves on sand. An episode of Planet Earth incarnate. I’m not on shrooms tonight, guys.

A few observations:

To my immediate right - these two guys just met. They knew each OF each other, but something like a dating app or zoom meeting brought them together. Lot of Rogan talk to break the ice. I’d imagine 50% of new-guy conversations start over podcasts at this point. And why shouldn’t they.

They’re supplement guys and I’m on my own supplement journey. A little NMN to boost the NAD in the morning, some Pterostilbene at night. Aging is a disease, man.

Last thing - one of them wants to “reinvent strategy”. I swear to God. It is not going well for their startup.

The couple to my left is either on a terrible first date or they’ve been married for 30 years. Sort of an indictment on the latter. There’s disagreement in appetizer choices and a lot of silence.

The two guys at the end of the bar are definitely talking crypto. His skin hasn’t seen sun in a decade and his partner has memorized 80% of the Fast & Furious franchise.

There are two couples across from me. They are definitely swingers. You know how I can tell? The order goes guy-girl-girl-guy. You’d think in this arrangement, the girls would constitute the majority of the conversation and the guys pitch in here and there. Wrong. Guy 1 will NOT break eye contact with girl 2 and girl 1 has had her hand on guy 2’s back for 20 minutes. They’re also at CARVE in Westlake on a Tuesday.

I should mention the average age at this place is give or take 50 in a relatively affluent part of town. So add that to the ol’ visualization.

Ope, spinach artichoke dip is here. I think it’s kinda healthy, right?

Hey, another solo guy. Let’s go solo guy. Upon further review, no laptop and he’s in a hoodie at CARVE on a Tuesday. He’s been through it. Pull up a chair, hoodie guy. We can talk it out if you need to.

Two guys across from me definitely work together but were relying on the third guy (who they’re both better friends with) to be their happy hour crutch. Since he left it’s gotten quiet pretty quick.

A recent photo of Chris Harrison looking remarkable

Chris Harrison is here and he looks remarkable. We’re (sort of) neighbors and pretty much on a first name basis - like he knows he’s seen me, he knows I’ve seen him. Fun little dance we do. He’s with a guy who’s a billionaire. With a B. I only know this because last time I saw Chris, Parker McCollum’s dad was sitting between us and told me. True story and apologies for the name drop - it was just an absolutely insane turn of events. In my delusional mind this will eventually evolve into Chris purchasing Washed Media or at least coming on the pod again.

Work trip guy just pulled up a chair to replace the couple next to me who had a dinner rez they’ll definitely regret. In the 20 minutes he’s been here, he’s sent back a glass of wine not for being corked but for “tasting like a Washington when it was branded Paso Robles”, sent back and was subsequently comped a burger for being “so rare it’s literally fucking bleeding” (it wasn’t), and regaled me in a story of how he knew Whitey Bulger and got his start running narcotics in Boston organized crime rings. Now he’s buying his daughters a few condos in Austin “as a graduation present”. He sounds like an extra in The Town.

Just-finished-18 golf guys sat a few stools down. I count 9 logos total on two people. They’re adjacent to crypto guys and I’d imagine they strike up a conversation on how they’ve both lost money today.

Real estate cougar, Lori from Westlake, has replaced the guys to my right. I may be in love. She’s a divorced go-getter with a radiant smile and her own agency who’s been ripping Austin commissions for 30+ years. Her first husband now dates a girl who graduated from SMU in 2016 and she made out well in the split. We laugh, we cry, we discuss my dreams of owning a dive bar in a small ski town, bartending 4 nights a week and shredding the days away. She’s more intent on developing an oceanfront wellness retreat where she leads vinyasa flow classes at sunrise. I propose a solution - we summer in Hawaii, winter in Big Sky, and host holidays with her kids at a rotating locale. She obliges.

A guy and a girl slide in to my left. They’re “just friends” but definitely having far too deep a conversation for a bar. Like we’re talking probably once-divorced folks getting REAL in the weeds on kids, religion, politics, etc. I’m now relatively sure he agrees with the theory that Putin is liberating Ukraine from Nazis. He goes to the bathroom and I trade barbs with her on the Biden Administration. She claims she is paying for student loan debt forgiveness out of pocket.

He comes back and mentioned a house in Steamboat. And that he can fly her there without her husband knowing. So this went from “just friends” to oh, she’s definitely not divorced yet. Scandalous.

Rounding out the end of the bar, we have a few Oakley wraparound travel baseball coaches. You know the ones wearing nothing nothing but tech material and fitted hats with a logo they googled? They’re convinced Brayden, Bryson, and Brickley are three tournaments from a D-I scholarship and I’m relatively sure they just wrote a lineup on a bar napkin. I cannot wait to be this dad.

Group of 5-6 guys just started crowding the bar waiting for their rez. It’s Jason’s 10th work anniversary dinner, we’ve surmised from the yelling. Jason, if you’re getting the Tuesday work anniversary dinner nod it might be time to switch things up.

Three girls have seized a corner and this isn’t even a colorful interpretation. I can hear literally every word they say. Middle blonde is as unhappy as anyone has ever been in their job but can’t give it up because “she just can’t”. Right brunette is sympathetic but has been telling her “literally forever” that it’s a toxic environment and “they don’t value you enough.” Left brunette is somewhat in agreement but has definitely asked “what if you just suck it up for a bit?”. The conversation proceeded to go in circles with each one delivering their point in a marginally different way until middle blonde had to pee.

Relatively sure this dude across from me runs in Elon’s crew. Graying tastefully, a $400 oxford with three buttons undone and impeccable jaw line. He puts off accent vibes. His wife couldn’t care less. It’s either Tesla BD or he produces documentaries.

Another two couple situation. Same formation as before, but this time it’s different. The girls are clearly super tight. The guys have met a few times and haven’t hit it off attttt all. Been there, brother. They trade sips of house margs and stare at the two TVs showing the US Open and a replay of Bucs/Colts preseason football. A tacit acknowledgement of silence that both of them are comfortable with.

Not bad, right? One take. Don’t steal this.

And finally, the soundtrack ties this whole thing together. It’s not Hans Zimmer or John Williams conducting this symphony. It’s The Strokes and Scotty McCreery radio. Who knew I was a Snow Patrol fan? Not me.

I sign my check like I’ve done thousands of times practicing for Topps or Panini. I strive for the clarity of a steakhouse logo. What a night.

Have Yourself A Tuesday