Heavyweight - #23 Alex

Episode Date: December 13, 2018

16 years ago, Gimlet Media CEO and founder Alex Blumberg made a promise that he didn’t keep. And it’s been eating at him ever since. In this season finale, Jonathan sets out to clean up his boss��s mess. Credits Heavyweight is hosted and produced by Jonathan Goldstein. This episode was also produced by Peter Bresnan, Kalila Holt, and Stevie Lane. Editing by Jorge Just, with additional editing by Alex Blumberg. Special thanks to Emily Condon, Lynn Levy, Kimmie Regler, Amanda Melhuish, Mia Bloomfield, Phoebe Flanigan, Jasmine Romero, Matthew Boll, and Jackie Cohen. The show was mixed by Bobby Lord.  Music by Christine Fellows and Bobby Lord. Our theme song is by The Weakerthans courtesy of Epitaph Records, and our ad music is by Haley Shaw. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

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Call 1-866-531-2600 or visit connectsontario.ca. Please play responsibly. Hello? Jackie? Hi, how are you? Good, how are you? Good, good, good. I just got home. Can you give me just a sec? Lilliputians. Real or not real? Oh my God. Do you ever wish you could run like a cheetah got home. Can you give me just a sec? Oh, my God. Johnny.

Okay, can you let me ask some questions? Do you want to have me on your... What? What are you doing? This is why I... You're used to hanging up on me and saying, I have to go and blah, blah, blah. You actually don't listen. Gotta go, though. Oh, I gotta go. I gotta go. No, blah, blah. You actually don't listen. I got to go, though.

I got to go. I got to go. No, I got to go. Okay, bye. I got to go. Jackie? Rats. From Gimlet Media, I'm Jonathan Goldstein, and this is Heavyweight.

Today's episode, Alex. Uh, I wonder how long I could do that. Gimlet Media CEO Alex Bloomberg has asked that I meet him in the studio. He's late. Hello. Oh, hey, Alex. Hello. Oh, hey, Alex. Hi. Alex seats himself mournfully, checks his Fitbit glumly,

crosses his legs with woe, and uncrosses them with even more woe. Hello, hello, hello, hello. Can you turn me up a little teeny bit? Hello. There we go. In spite of his Gimlet Media stock options and buns of stainless steel, at the moment, Alex Bloomberg is the saddest CEO this Gimlet Media reporter has ever seen. And I am concerned, because not only is Bloomberg my boss, he's also one of my oldest friends. because not only is Bloomberg my boss,

he's also one of my oldest friends. In his hands, he holds a pile of audio cassettes, the old kind they had back in Shakespeare days. Yeah, so I had a Alicia, Margaret, one of our friends from back in the day, Ceremony, French... Alex reads the labels on the cassette boxes and stacks each one on the table. I hate

looking at them. I'm going to cover them up. Okay. Do you want to put a hanky on them or something? I'm going to put my hat over them. Put your hat. Why is looking at these audio cassettes causing you such

royals in the kishkas? Well, they represent sort of my longest standing broken promise in my life, I think. Alex leans back and recounts to me a story that begins in the roaring 90s. A carefree time when there wasn't a Juno Award Alanis Morissette couldn't win or a Lunchable George Foreman couldn't grill. Back then, when Alex and I first met, he wasn't a CEO nor even a founder.

He was just a producer, same as me. And the thing we produced was a program called This American Life. The program told the tales typical Americans tell, like how your dad raised you in a tree, or how your dad owned Hitler's yacht. When I, a Canadian, was first hired, Alex took me under his wing, mentoring me in the ways of America,

teaching me what kind of Speedo to wear, American flag kind, which parent to favor, mom, and what pie to eat, apple. He taught me small things, like how one does not pee in the office water fountain,

but rather drinks from it. And he taught me big things, like how to tell an American story. Whereas a Canadian story usually ended with the hero immigrating to America, an American story ended only once the hero underwent a transformation that totally nobody saw coming. At the end of a long day's work, while I would get together with a bag of Mexican takeout and a box of cable TV,

Alex would get together with friends. And we did all these things together. We would cook meals together. We would like play weekly basketball games together. And like that was my like, you know, like my post-collegiate early 20s friend family. And central to this friend family were two roommates, Lars and Kitty. They were just purely roommates, and like, in the beginning, you would never put them together. They seemed like complete opposites. But then they started dating, and that seemed like a horrible idea because they were roommates, and it seemed like it was just going to end, you know, just horribly for probably Lars.

Even Lars couldn't quite understand what exactly Kitty saw in him. She was put together, college-educated, and on a promising career path. Lars, on the other hand, was a high school dropout, a sort of bumbling genius who just couldn't find his way. Alex likes to tell the story of how Lars was smart enough to make it onto Jeopardy, but then once on the show, couldn't figure out how to get his buzzer to work.

Alex saw himself in Lars. He was also someone with a lot of potential who couldn't quite get it together. At the time that they'd met, Alex was a middle school teacher with dreams of making radio stories, and Lars was reading presidential biographies in the unheated attic in which he dwelled. So when Lars started dating Kitty, Alex worried for Lars' broken heart like he would have for his own. But to the surprise of Lars, Alex, and their whole friend family, the relationship didn't end horribly at all.

Lars and Kitty dated for four years, and then decided to get married. for four years, and then decided to get married. The plan was to throw a week-long party in the country, not just to celebrate their marriage, but to celebrate the friends themselves. Each member had a role to play. Shane, the one with all the CDs, would DJ. Dave, the one who had a way with words, would officiate. And since they didn't have a videographer friend to make a wedding video,

they approached their radio producer friend to make a wedding audio. They were like, we're not going to have a photographer out there, but what we'd love for you to do is, can you do like the sort of audio collage of our wedding for us? And I was like, absolutely. And I recorded the ceremony and everything, interviewed all these people. And then I never put it together. And thus, Alex Bloomberg sits before me, 16 years later, with six cassette tapes representing hours and hours of unedited,

unmixed, unlistened-to audio stacked beneath a Gimlet Media-branded woolen hat. It's like I took a whole photo album full of photographs of their wedding and then just never developed them and never gave them to them. Alex explains it this way. After a 12-hour day of editing tape recordings at This American Life, the last thing he felt like doing when he got home was editing more tape.

Alex had every intention of keeping his promise to Lars, but then he got married, had kids, started a company. Life got in the way. And so, Lars and Kitty have no record of their ceremony, their toasts, their I do's, their heroic transformation into a married couple. A transformation, by the way, that totally nobody saw coming. Lars was Alex's closest friend, always there for him. And Alex knew he had let him down. Neither Lars nor Kitty ever confronted Alex, but that only made things worse. You just get in this reciprocal echo chamber of emotion, right? Where I feel bad, they know I'm feeling bad, and then they feel bad because they put me in the position where I'm feeling bad. And so it's just this whole like,

it's this whole chain reaction of like feelings that nobody can talk about because talking about it doesn't do anything. Over the course of 16 years, Alex has moved six times, from city to city and apartment to apartment. But all the while, the wedding tapes remain in the same box,

in the same spot, right next to Alex's own wedding album. Every time I look at our photo album, which is fairly regularly, especially like you you know, every once in a while, on your anniversary sometimes you pull it out and then the kids come along and then you're like, this is me and mommy when we got married.

And it's sort of like, I bring out the photo album with some regularity, and every time I do, I bring out the photo album with some regularity, and every time I do, I think of Lars and Kitty and how they don't have this and how I was supposed to provide it and how I didn't. I keep telling myself, well, I am going to get to it one day, and that's why I cart them around. It's like, I'm going to get to it one day.

I'm going to, like, one day I'm going to sit down and actually make good. And what I realize is I don't think that's going to happen. Unless I have some help. That's where you come in. Oh, I see. And this is what has brought the great Alex Bloomberg, crawling on his metaphorical hands and his metaphorical knees,

into the studio. Lars and Kitty now live in Vermont, but it turns out that they're planning a visit to Gimlet in the spring to see what their old friend's been up to. Could you help me make this for them? I like the sound of that. Could you just say it again and get closer to the microphone so it feels like you're whispering in my ear?

Jonathan, do I need your help? Could you call me Godfather? Come on, don't make me play. All right, of course. Yes, do I need your help? Can you call me Godfather? Come on, don't make me play. All right, of course. Yes, I'm going to help you. Alex had really stepped in the oatmeal on this one, and it was now left to me to pry his fringe-tassel jogging shoe

loose from the bowl. For however many weeks it took, I would help the humbled CEO to mix, edit, and generally sculpt his ignominious tape recordings into a solid three-act narrative that really made you feel something, just like we did back when we were young producers working side by side.

Alex had done so much for me, job, health insurance, public platform to air my grievances Mostly about him I was grateful to finally offer something in return And best of all, for the first time in a long time It felt like we weren't simply relating as CEO and lackey But as actual friends And if I wasn't mistaken, Alex was feeling the vibe too

Are you crying? No. You're crying. I reach over and with the tip of my knuckle, tenderly smear away a single tear streaming down the proud CEO's cheek. I'm not crying. Could you cry? I'm hoping to get a Peabody out of this.

Some tears wouldn't hurt. Most importantly here, where are we going to put the mid-roll advertisement in the wedding audio? Like, I'm thinking between the vows. Will she say I do,

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They are. I don't know about that other stuff. Are those these your notes? They are. I don't know about that other stuff. Are those also my notes? You think people have been looking at my notes? I've assembled a crack production team consisting of me and my producer, Stevie Lane, who, fun fact, was still in grade school when Alex's wedding tapes were recorded. I've asked Stevie to manage the production of the wedding documentary, the listening and transcribing, the splicing anecdotes together, the adding of emotionally

manipulative music, thus freeing me up to handle more pressing matters, like subtweeting my dry cleaner. As we await Alex's arrival, I impart to Stevie lessons gleaned from my decades of living, and loving, a lifetime lived in radio. Okay, first of all, sound travels in waves. Did they teach you that at radio school? At radio school? Sound travels in waves. Do you know I once would to an incoherently death-gurgling moribundity, has converted Alex's cassette tapes of shame into digital audio files of shame. Progress. All that's missing is Alex, who's agreed to listen to, and opine on, our first rough draft.

Should I slack him? We send Alex an inter-office communique. It turns out he's stuck in a board members meeting. As we wait, I tell Stevie what Alex was like when he was a young producer like her. Every day, he rollerbladed to work, I say. And instead of a desk chair, he sat on a yoga ball I was getting excited

Alex and I hadn't spent time together on a creative project since the olden days Before he became my dungeon master Do you know that song about eating cake by the lake? No We're gonna eat cake by the lake. Oh, it's a scrumptious... Hey, Alex. Hello.

Alex is here. Welcome to my editing day. Thank you. Alex takes a seat, and we get down to business. Hello. Hello. One, two, one, two, one, two, one, two, one, two. The tapes begin with a young, squeaky-voiced Alex Bloomberg

at Lars and Kitty's wedding. Hello, hello, hello, hello, hello, hello. Let's get a little closer. Once he checks his equipment, Alex sets off to ask all the friends for their most classic Lars stories. You know that as a kid he looked through the Guinness Book of World Records and decided that the only category he could ever compete in would be to become the fattest man in the world because he could just eat and eat and eat.

Their buddy Dave explains how Lars used to drive without brakes, arguing that it forced him to sharpen his focus and thus make him a safer driver. William explains how, in preparation for playing Capture the Flag in Central Park, Lars went to the Parks Department in order to research topographical maps. Eventually, Alex turns the microphone on himself and, in an excited, barely pubescent voice, tells a tale of rollerblading with Lars, very slowly, down a steep hill. At a certain point, I'm going down, and then I turn around,

and he zooms by me straight down with his arms out in front of him. And so Lars is going down, and I'm just watching him go, and he's getting smaller and smaller and smaller and heading straight towards his house. And it's faster and faster and faster. As old man Bloomberg listens to young man Bloomberg,

his face takes on a faraway look. And then he comes and he goes, boom! Right into the garage door with his hands and his face. And so I sort of skate down faster, and I get to the bottom and he turns around. And he's like, I know that looked really painful, but that's how I stop all the time. Alex sits quietly, the distance between the past and present

hitting him in the face like a garage door. It's so interesting just hearing, like I, my friends were such a huge part of my life back then in a way that they're not now. You don't have a family and like it's a lot of

there's just a lot of hanging out and a lot of talk and planning and it feels like now that feels like such a and a lot of talk and planning. It feels like now, that feels like such a... In my mind, I'm just like, oh, we sound so happy and carefree. The sound emanating from Alex's laptop is a message requesting sales figures.

Sorry, hold on one second. I just have to... Do you remember that you used to sit on a yoga ball? Pretty soon, Alex's absorbed in spreadsheets open across his desktop. Stevie puts on her headphones and gets back to editing the tape while I sidle up closer

to Alex. You used to sit on a yoga ball. Yeah, uh-huh. I wanted Alex to remember the old times. How much sitting in an editing bay like this once meant to him. A yoga ball. Yeah, a yoga ball. You remember that, right? Yeah.

That yoga ball is his rosebud. I believe that if I could just get Alex to remember his yoga ball, he'd regain his focus. You know the thing about a yoga ball is, it's one of the few objects that you would find that has had buttocks touch every single inch of its entire surface. Uh-huh. Right?

There's nothing else like that in the world. Hmm. You're not even paying attention to me. Alex is lost in a world of cumulative download numbers. He gets up and, without even saying goodbye, runs off to see Jim in finance. Hello. I have you right here. A few weeks later, the team reconvenes

to listen to the next draft of the wedding audio. Now that Stevie's chosen the sounds and stories we wanted, we needed to strategize on how to string it all together. For inspiration, I've asked Stevie to queue up various documentaries, mockumentaries, rockumentaries, and shockumentaries. We begin with the slice-of-life, fly-on-the-wall, arguably boring work of acclaimed American documentarian,

Frederick Wiseman. What do you mean you can't take gin? You get dressed in the morning? Yeah. Do you get undressed? Yeah. Well, you can get into a gym outfit. Yeah, I know.

I prefer a more verite style. I don't know about you. Uh-huh. I come from the, like, the Wiseman school. I'm thinking, like, no scoring music, no narration. Wait, don't you have narration on the show Heavyweight? Yeah, I do, but this is going to be a little bit of, yeah, I guess I do. That is true.

That doesn't seem very Wiseman school. While I'm happy to learn that Alex actually listens to my podcast, I'm not so sure I like his tone. It's pretty heavily narrated, actually. There's pretty much nothing verite about it. While narration can be a helpful way to convey information economically, it can also potentially eclipse the voice of the subject him or herself. You call yourself a wise man, sir.

But in some situations, a little eclipsing isn't so bad. I want to show that to Al. I want to show that to Al. I want to show it to Al. That's what you made me do. As Stevie continues to work on the mix, Alex and I watch the Maisley's Brothers' Grey Gardens and argue over who our favorite Maisley's brother is. Alex, Albert, me, David. Just as things are getting heated, Alex's phone rings.

It's his wife, Nazanin. Shoot, sorry. Hold on. Hello. Hey. I'm going to leave right after. Hey, can I take that? Oh, hold on one second. Hey, Naz. Hey, Nas? Yeah, Alex is going to be home late tonight.

We've got a lot to do here. But no, no, it's totally cool that you're calling. Maybe you should just text or something because he gets distracted easily. Alex grabs the phone back and apologizes for my interruption. He says he's on his way home for the kids' bedtime. And with that, Alex Bloomberg has left the studio. In the weeks to follow, Alex can hardly find time to work on the wedding audio.

And when we do get together, his mind is elsewhere. Okay, sorry. The irony is that Alex loved radio production so much, he built a whole company out of that passion. But now, the time it takes to actually run the company makes doing the thing he loved most almost impossible. One of the drags of being a CEO, Alex tells me, is there's always so much to get done. What does a CEO do? You know, run shit. Just as I thought, nothing. All right. Let's get to work.

Dr. Goldstein begins to operate, carefully executing an extremely tricky edit that involves cutting out an errant burp between the words but and then. But then, we're interrupted yet again, this time by Alex's executive assistant. You have your editor's meeting in the third floor conference. Yeah, you're going to have to tell him that he's going to be late. I got to go. It's very rhythmic. It sounds like techno music.

But then... But then... But then... But then... But then... But then... But then... But then...

But then... In the weeks to follow, Stevie and I spend a lot of time waiting for Alex. Sometimes he makes an appearance, but mostly he doesn't. All the while, the work continues, by which I mean Stevie's work and my editorial oversight. You all know that Kitty and Lars had an accelerated

and some would say... Do you know when I was younger, I always wanted to have a rat tail? Oh, like the hairstyle? Yeah. Terrible. Didn't have the stick-to-it-ness. Yeah.

Together, Stevie and I tirelessly pour over the tape, day after day. You know, I've always related to Charlie Brown in a lot of ways. Mm-hmm. Did you know that his dad was a barber? I didn't know that. Do you see why that would be ironic?

Stevie proves to be just as attentive as Alex ever was It feels just like old times Think about it His son's bald Charlie Brown is bald, he has no hair Right Or you might have read something into the fact that Lars found himself getting up early in the morning There's only two weeks to go before Lars and Kitty's visit And we've barely started on the will-yous,

much less the I-doos. If we hope to produce one of the greatest documentaries of all time, something to make March of the Penguins look like March of the Garbage, we're going to have to work twice as fast, three times as fast, possibly four times as fast. Possibly four times as fast. The results after the break.

Your break. Because Stevie and I, we don't get a break. We have a lot of work to get done. Okay. So, here we go. After weeks of Stevie's hard work editing audio and avoiding my editorial guidance, the day is finally here. In spite of Alex's busy schedule, and in spite of my enthusiastic but generally unhelpful brand of helpfulness, Stevie has managed to turn hours and hours of drunk people sharing anecdotes from before she was born into an audio documentary.

Lars and Kitty are scheduled to arrive at Gimlet any moment, and they haven't a clue that when they do, they'll be presented with the wedding audio they've been waiting 16 years to hear. Alex paces the halls of Gimlet Media. I'm really nervous. Weirdly. And then...

Wait, is this them? I don't know. Hello? Hi, I'm here to see Alex Bloomberg. It's Lars. Lars and Kitty arrive with their two kids, Nora and Oscar. Hey, how's it going?

How was the Yankees? It was good. What happened, Oscar? Well, Yankees were losing three... Alex says that one of the things that makes him happiest about hanging out with Lars nowadays is seeing the transition he's made from ne'er-do-well to wonderful dad. In fact, just earlier, in anticipation of Lars' arrival,

Alex told me about this one Lars parenting moment that's always stuck with him. It took place at Alex's outdoor wedding. Four-year-old Nora was standing by a swimming pool that had a no-jumping sign. But when a large bearded man jumped in anyway, Nora asked Lars if she could jump in too. And Lars was like, well, some people make the choice to break the rules. Some people think that rules don't apply to them. And do you know what we call those people?

And she was like, no. And he was like, we call them anarchists. And then Lars was like, who else do we know that's an anarchist? And Nora thought for a little bit and she was like, Grandma! And I was like, that was so perfect because it took this moment that was inherently a

power struggle and it made it into both a learning moment and a choice that she was now capable of making. Like, do you want to be in this camp or this camp? Learn some stuff about boats. It's pretty cool. Nora was just a toddler back then. She's now 16, and her younger brother Oscar is 10.

Alex proceeds to show them around the office. So this is like, that's sales. That's like the development team. Oh, that's Jorge. You guys, yeah, yeah, do you know Jorge? You want to go say hi? Yeah. The tour makes a pit stop to introduce Gimlet Media editor Jorge Just, who, at the moment, is seated atop my desk, touching all my things. I'm Jorge. I know. I recognize you. Yeah. It turns out that Lars has already met Jorge, and so has Nora. You guys met when you were four and you were an infant at Alex's wedding.

Oh, yeah. Lars explains how his daughter might best remember the podcast editor. Turning to Jorge, Lars says... You jumped in the pool, that was the... The large, bearded, cannonballing anarchist in Alex's favorite parenting story was none other than America's favorite role model, Jorge Just. Was he the one?

Yeah. Who broke all the rules? This is a very good life lesson. Break all the rules at somebody's wedding, and they'll hire you and give you a job. And with that, Jorge resumes his job of manhandling my stress ball with extremely sticky hands. And Alex resumes his tour,

which Lars and Kitty think is just one of your standard garden variety office tours, but is actually a semi-carefully choreographed ruse to get them into a studio for the surprise. These are all the various shows. I've been listening to a bunch of your shows. Oh, really? Yeah.

Which ones do you listen to? Crimetown I really liked. Uh-huh. Homecoming I liked. Do you like heavyweight? Liking heavyweight is a key part of the plan. I listen to heavyweight. Eh, close enough.

Alex points to the glass door of the studio in which I'm seated. That's Jonathan Gold. Should we, you want to go say hi? This is the most crucial part of the plan. Alex must lure the family into the studio with the promise of meeting your humble host. Jonathan. Kitty. Yeah, we met many, many years ago.

Hi. Hey, Lars. This is Nora. Oh, it's nice to see you. Hi, nice to meet you. Hi. I remember Lars. This is Nora. This is Lars. Oh, it's nice to see you. Hello. Nice to meet you. Hi. I remember Lars and Kitty from back in the day picking up Alex at work to do

cool young people things that I don't recall being invited to. They're now middle-aged. Like Alex. Like me. Now that we're all in the studio, Stevie sets the final piece of the plan in motion, cool and casual-like.

We should play them the thing we're working on. Yeah, do you guys want... That'd be fun. Do you want to join us? Yeah. Lars, Kitty, Nora, and Oscar all settle in. Okay, you ready? Welcome, everybody.

Welcome to the wedding of Kitty Wade Bartlett and Lars Christian Jacobson. Lars and Kitty's faces light up. That's crazy. It's actually happening? I'm not surprised that Lars and Kitty quickly recognized the promised wedding audio. But at just a few seconds in, I'm amazed at how quickly they recognize it. Every time I come to see you, I'll visit New York every couple of years a year and hang out with Alex. And Kitty will say, you know, and ask him for the fucking tape.

So, yeah, we definitely always remembered. Even their daughter Nora knows about Alex and the tapes. I never really thought it was really going to happen either. What did you hear about it? Well, I heard that, yeah, that you came to the wedding and interviewed all of your drunk family members and that you were terrified. And then I said, well, I don't know if I want to hear it.

I've seen your family drunk. Well, you're going to hear it now. Yeah, I'm excited. It gives me great pleasure to finally deliver the thing I promised you 17 years ago. That's amazing. This is really exciting. So should we? Let's do it.

Let's get on with it. Okay, here we go. Yeah, this is exciting. Okay. Stevie presses play. Welcome, everybody. Welcome to the wedding of Kitty Wade Bartlett and Lars Christian Jacobson. This is going to be a somewhat unconventional ceremony.

For the next hour, we all sit and listen. The friends tell stories about Lars. Lars and I had decided after a night of drinking at four in the morning, we had decided we were going to do a triathlon together. And every time we would meet to work out, get in shape for the triathlon, we would end up drinking for eight or ten hours straight. And the friends tell stories about Kitty.

When I was ten, she convinced me to wash the cat. It's a bad, bad, bad idea, but it seemed like the best idea. And when I was 14... There's a lot of just hanging out. That was perfect. You have to use that. But I remember one time... And then there are the toasts.

And Lars has an amazing amount of love to give, and I've always known that. And Kitty, I'm just so enthralled with the way that he has been able to give this to you, and he does. And I can't tell you how happy I am and how proud I am of my brother. As we all listen, Lars looks down at his lap.

Kitty listens with her eyes closed tight. Kitty and I had this plan that we were just going to grow old and have rocking chairs next to each other. we were just going to grow old and have rocking chairs next to each other. And we were going to grow old together and cook wonderful meals and share a house and just be old biddies and sit on our rocking chairs and criticize everybody. As we grow up, the friends we once sat around plotting our futures with

become the friends who, once that future comes, we only end up seeing once a year. The friend we saw Patch Adams with becomes the friend who picks us up from the hospital. The couple who introduced us to our girlfriend become the ones who weren't there for us after the divorce. Disappointment and self-recrimination pile up. But so does shared history.

And love. And so the friend who broke his promise becomes the friend who makes it right. When we first sat down, everyone was focused on the gesture. After 16 years, Lars and Kitty were finally getting their wedding audio. But once the gesture had been made, and the excitement had faded, they were left with something else altogether. A time machine.

Kitty, do you wish to take this man as your husband, to have, hold, and bear, for all times, and all things great and small, for all the days of your life? I do. Lars, do you wish to take this woman as your wife, to have, hold, and bear, for all times and all things great and small, for all the days of your life?

I do. Can I have the rings? At the end of the ceremony, the officiant issues a final request. Lars and Kitty have organized this ceremony today because they want this to be a shared moment, a page in our communal memory with the corner folded over. I'd actually like to pause here for a few seconds so that everyone can fix this time in their minds

and maybe offer whatever silent blessings they want. We listen to the silence in silence. For Kitty and Lars, the silence back then was meant to keep them in the present. Two people suspended in a singular moment, just having made a promise to each other, but before spending the rest of their lives trying to keep it. The silence as Lars and Kitty sit in the room today with their two children and their old friend is taking them back to the past, reminding them of who they were

and who was with them. Lars rests his hand against his face. Kitty has a quiet smile. I love you. I love you. I love you. The wedding audio comes to a close. No one really knows what to say. A situation that's never stopped this guy.

That's the wedding. I do have a lot of love to give. He's right. And, yeah, that's what... But it made perfect sense. Like, yeah, that's what... But it made perfect sense. Like, yeah, that's why Kitty loves me. Like, oh, that's what I have to offer Kitty. I'm so glad that we...

Well, I mean, from the outside, like, you can see what, you know, she brings to me, what I bring to her. But I sincerely have a lot of love to give. I always knew it was good for me. It was nice to know that it was good for you, too. Yeah. Those friends and that time, it was such a great time.

And it just kind of, I don't know, waiting for it 17 years makes it that much sweeter. Yeah. That's the other thing though um retaking so long is that I knew when we did hear it it would mean longer because it's surprising, you know. What was surprising? Well, just

it's nice how how things really haven't changed that much. Have things not changed? This catches Alex. Everything that surrounds him, the equipment, the employees, the studio we're packed into and the building we're in, it all serves to remind him of just how much has changed. But Lars is talking about something else.

Not to sound corny, but I still feel the same way. I feel like the emotions are still completely familiar. Right. Do you still feel the same way about Lars as you did back then? I actually do. I mean, I still love him for all the same reasons. Lars says that he and Kitty always somehow knew that Alex would never abandon the project completely. It just wasn't in keeping with Alex's character

or his capacity for guilt. I kind of felt once you started Gimlet, like there's no way. Right. Because it's hard for me to see you have free time. Well, see, now actually what happened is the entire thing is all leading to this. Well, if I hadn't started Gimlet, it never would have happened. If Alex hadn't started Gimlet, he wouldn't have had me to delegate to, and I wouldn't have had Stevie.

So is it not possible that the hand that signed the papers incorporating Gimlet Media was subconsciously guided by a years-old promise seeking its fulfillment? Possibly. Or maybe Alex just had a passion for boxed meals and mattresses delivered directly to your doorstep. Of which, no matter what your purchase,

please remember to use the offer code HEAVYWEIGHT. That's really sweet. Thank you. I know. It's short. Thanks, Alex. No, I mean, thank you, Stevie. Yeah, thank you, Stevie. It's a pleasure to meet you. I know. Thank you, Stevie.

I feel like you guys are my oldest friends. Well, I was going to say, I feel like I need to know more about you because you know so much about us. Here we go. After leaving the studio, Alex pops open a bottle of champagne. Unlike how he might usually drink bubbly, from a trophy cup or billionaire shoe, he drinks it from a Gimlet Media-branded coffee cup.

After all, he's among friends. Cheers. Cheers. Cheers. To getting the job done. To getting the job done. After champagne, the heroes are complete. Alex heads to dinner with his friends.

And although I'm not invited, nor even thanked, I can tell Alex is grateful. Something in the way that he doesn't say goodbye, or even look at me, that speaks of our friendship. A friendship with roots that extend through the floorboards, creep into the insulating asbestos, and down deep into the polluted earth of the Gowanus Canal. The very foundational sludge upon which Gimlet Media was founded. Later, Alex will tell me how it was the first time

he'd been able to properly digest a meal with Lars and Kitty in years. He'll tell me how they all went crazy and had two drinks with dinner, like they were celebrating. How they all lingered longer than usual, just hanging out, like they used to. guitar solo Now that the furniture's returning To its goodwill home now that the last month's rent is scheming with the damage deposit take this moment to decide if we meant it if we tried tried or felt around for far too much

from things that accidentally touched Heavyweight is hosted and produced by me, Jonathan Goldstein, along with Peter Bresnan, Kalila Holt, and Stevie Lane, who, if you do want to know more about, enjoys eating pears, chewing on ice,

and making jewelry that can be viewed at Stevievielanejewelry.com. The show is edited by Jorge Just with additional editing by Alex Bloomberg, who, on his show without fail, this week interviews our mentor from way back in Shakespeare days, Ira Glass. And Ira confronts Mr. Bloomberg in a way I could only dream of.

Are you so far down the road of your venture capital that if somebody leaves you, you have to crush them like Mr. Burns? Special thanks to Emily Condon, Lynn Levy, Kimmy Regler, Amanda Mel Hewish, Mia Bloomfield, Phoebe Flanagan, Jasmine Romero, Matthew Boll, and Jackie Cohen. Bobby Lord mixed the episode with music by Christine Fellows, Michael Hurst, Blue Dot Sessions, and he himself, Bobby Lord. Additional music credits can be found on our website,

gimletmedia.com slash heavyweight. Our theme song is by The Weaker Thans, courtesy of Epitaph Records, and our ad music is by Haley Shaw. Follow us on Twitter at heavyweight. This is our last episode of the season, but we're already starting to look for stories for season 4

so if you have one email us at heavyweight at gimletmedia.com and if you see fit why not punch in some stars for us on Apple Podcasts

thanks for listening Now we're rolling. Okay, hello, hello. If we hope to produce one of the greatest documentaries of all time, something to make March of the Penguins look like March of the Garbage, we're going to have to work twice as fast. Okay, sounds good. Actually, wait, here, let me just try a few other ideas that I had, and you could just pick whichever one you like best, okay?

Okay. Okay, here we go. That'll make Fog of War look like Fog of Garbage, makes Gimme Shelter look like Gimme Garbage, makes Stop Making Sense look like Stop Making Garbage, makes Jodorowsky Gimme Shelter look like Gimme Garbage. Makes Stop Making Sense look like Stop Making Garbage. Makes Jodorowsky's Dune look like Dune. Makes Harlan County, USA look like Garbage County, USA. Makes Nanooka the North look like Nanooka the Garbage. Makes Kayana Squatzy look like Garbage Squatzy. Makes Bowling for Columbine look like Bowling for Garbage. Makes the Queen of Rezai look like the Queen of Garbage.

Makes Winged Migration look like Winged Garbage. Makes Touching the Void look like Touching the Garbage. Makes Searching for Sugarman look like Searching for Garbageman. Makes an Inconvenient Sequel, Truth to Power, look like an Inconvenient Sequel, Truth for Garbagemen, makes an inconvenient sequel Truth to Power look like an inconvenient sequel Truth to Garbage, makes Gyro Dreams of Sushi look like Gyro Dreams of Garbage, makes Paris is Burning look like Garbage is Burning, makes American Movie like American Garbage, makes When We Were Kings look like When We Were Garbage. That's a good one.