New York can't leave Austin alone.

And more tasty tidbits from Austin news and culture this week.

Welcome to the Austin Dispatch.

This is a weekly newsletter sent on Fridays. The Dispatch provides interesting news bits you may have missed and short cultural context to better understand the Capital City. Our goal is to keep you informed enough to get through a dinner party.

Hello!

My name is Katie, and I’m a journalist and editor based in Austin, Texas. For more than a decade, I’ve covered local culture, news, and politics for magazines and digital news organizations. Over the past few years, I’ve grown disenchanted with fast media. The Dispatch is the first step in reshaping it, in creating space to be less reactionary and more thoughtful.

The Dispatch is designed for a town on the cusp of becoming a big city. We examine stories that affect Austin culture, while also giving you enough newsy tidbits (and the occasional piece of gossip) to be informed without feeling overwhelmed. Our goal is to be in your inbox every week with a fresh perspective and a few things you probably didn’t know. Let’s have some fun.

New York just can’t get enough of us.

Both the New Yorker and New York magazine published pieces about our fair city this week. The New Yorker’s lengthy feature covered the death of cycling star Moriah Wilson, who was found dead from three gunshot wounds in East Austin back in May. The suspect is local Kaitlin Armstrong, a former Kuper Sotheby’s realtor, yoga teacher, and girlfriend of Colin Strickland, an Austin native and gravel cycling star the New Yorker described as “lean and good-looking, [with] the deliberate enunciation of someone who’s a little more stoned than he’d planned to be.”

Those looking for gruesome details will be disappointed (Dateline’s sensational episode covered most of those anyway), but what the piece does do is attempt to set up the psychological dynamic between Strickland and Armstrong (and Strickland and every other woman he encounters it seems).

Other things we learned:

• There’s an “abandoned subdivision” in Austin where cyclists meet up.

• Dying to know who this realtor is, obviously: “A rider waiting for the next race walked up, confirmed that I was a reporter, and angrily told me to leave. When I asked him who he was, he said, ‘My name is Fuck You, Bro.’ Later, it was easy to identify him—a real-estate agent who is a friend of Strickland’s.”