Heidi interviews the outdoors entrepreneur of Dharamsala, India, Raja Sahota.
Rashad McCants played possessed. In high school, he ripped through the competition, earning state MVP honors in New Hampshire while taking his team to the state championship. College was no different. At Air Jordan’s alma mater, University of North Carolina, McCants scorched opposing defenses with his silky smooth skills, earning All-Conference and second team All-American status as a sophomore while leading his storied conference in scoring; he went on to help the Tar Heels cut down the nets as the 2005 NCAAnational champions. The 6’4” guard also became one of the most controversial college basketball players in history. The press latched on to McCant’s lone wolf personality and his inflammatory ...
The lone joy of traffic is admiring craftsmanship.
With the rise in popularity of tattoo removal for employment purposes, it’s nice to see that a big company like Red Bull hasn’t jumped on the bandwagon. The Director of On Premise Marketing at Red Bull, Todd Palmerton, sports ink that is often visible during work hours.
If you're into neon signs and lots of flash on the walls, then there are plenty of tattoo shops to choose from on the streets of Florida. But when Phil Holt opened RedLetter1 in 2003, he wanted something different for both his customers and himself. "When I first opened, I had just gotten back from Mick's shop in Zurich, Switzerland," Holt explains from Skull & Sword in San Francisco, where he is finishing up a stint. "He didn't have street shop flash all over the walls and not everything was tattoo-oriented. He had a library and a place to chill out, too, so it was really comfortable. That's how I wanted to set up." Holt found his comfortable space on the second floor of an old factory in Tampa, FL, ...
Like its undead subjects, the zombie craze refuses to die.
Hot damn if the Reverend Horton Heat didn’t lay down some wide-open guitar licks in his day. The good Rev has slowed with age, and on his first new album in five years it’s obvious that he’s more content observing from his La-Z-Boy than a bar stool—a fact he addresses on “Beer Holder,” an ode to growing beer guts. The closest the trio comes to the open-throttle sound of their early days is the gambler’s lament “Oh God! Doesn’t Work in Vegas.” It’s a counter to the country blues of “Just Let Me Hold My Paycheck,” where the Rev whines about his wife’s spending and croons, “My days of wheeling and dealing are gone, I have to admit.” Even the Rev isn’t recession-proof.