Bradezone

Battles came to Charlotte and executed a concert for the ages, replete with intense concentration, melodic whimsy, and maximum energy. Before the show John Stanier plopped down on the couch next to me, and for a few minutes we discussed matters such as the Helmet days (which apparently featured an acrimonious split) and the super-high cymbal of respect, among others. At this point I knew that I was in the process of experiencing some extreme radness, which was supplemented in overwhelming fashion by the performance of the band. These guys worked hard to deliver the goods and sounded absolutely incredible. Their precision and multi-layered sound is beyond unique, and the vibe between band and fans was strong all night. When they played Leyendecker and Race: In back to back, I felt I had reached the zenith of music itself and that there was nothing left to conquer. But then they just kept bringing the power, so I simply continued to soak it in.

I came away from this event with a green t-shirt and some deluxe memories. If Battles decides to pay your town a visit, don’t ask questions. Just go.

The inaugural Chuck Norris Memorial Hike in CA has been somewhat documented on its own blog, and photos have been placed on Facebook. I will write more later, but for now I’m stuck in the Atlanta airport whilst waiting for a severely late return flight to Charlotte. Basically you just need to know that this trip kicked butt.

We thought we were ready. Each of us had dared to tread the boundaries of culinary heat previously in our lives, or so we thought. Nothing could have prepared us for the most wretched, most disgusting, most reprehensible chicken wings ever concocted. Some friends and I decided to head to Shadow of the Valley in Clemson to take on the Plutonium wing challenge: eat six of these bad boys, and your meal is free. We were asked to sign a waiver before consuming them. This should have set off a red flag in our minds. We were warned by several staff not to proceed with our plan. The manager ordered a large trash can to be situated by our table. Little did we know how handy this can would prove to be. Three of us took the challenge, while one of us (very wisely) bowed out.

As we started our journey, we realized that we were consuming extreme heat, but it seemed manageable. I took a slow and steady approach while the other two victims hastened through three wings apiece. I caught a quick glance of their visages, and I was mortified. The two of them were quickly going down in flames and visibly losing their will to live. I personally began to feel the horrifying effects of the only wing I inserted into my esophagus. The whirlwind of pain and suffering that followed was unprecedented. The other two declared that they were finished, that the challenge was over. And soon enough—ohmygosh they are puking into the trash can! Their very essences fled from their bodies with haste along with the ill-begotten poultry they stupidly gorged. I had seen enough—bodies were falling to the enemy on all sides, and I surrendered. I felt a putrid, unacceptable heat engulf my mouth and digestive pipes and knew that I had made an incredible mistake.

We left soon enough and rode back home with pain and remorse, yet we gained invaluable experience and learned a deadly lesson. Our perspectives have been forever changed regarding the wretched possibilities of heat content in food. Our previous forays, whatever they were, only scratched the surface of what can be achieved by a demon-possessed alchemist who perpetrates his hellish creations on unsuspecting wayfarers. We will never be the same.

UPDATE: Check Sig’s recount for a more complete picture of this most heinous debacle.