by Paula Cerda A week ago, the APU students received an electronic survey aimed at identifying our university mascot. This brought back memory of a similar discussion that occurred in 2012, but unfortunately no clear conclusions were drawn that year. The Turnagain Currents reached out to Amber Peterson, ASAPU Chair, and asked her a few questions about the renewed discussion and what we can look forward to in the search for the APU mascot. Turnagain Currents: How did the APU Mascot debate of 2014 begin? Amber Peterson: ASAPU has discussed trying to figure out what APU’s mascot was for as long as I have been here (2012), and this year…
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Dr. Strangevote or: How I Learned to Stop Listening and Hate the Blurb
by Evan Nasse Election season is here, and appropriately it is coinciding with cold and flu season as well. Much like a cold, the political advertisements have made many of us sick to our stomachs and assaulted nearly all of the senses save for taste (only because so many of the advertisements tasteless by nature). Having been a registered voter for quite some time and participating in the civic duty that is the democratic process as often as I remember to, I have been exposed to a fair share of campaign commercials, radio advertisements, tacky billboards, excessive fliers, stupid stickers, pedestrian promoters, political platform cereal brands, presidentially endorsed bottled waters, and…
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Intro to Trad Climbing
by William Day The ground is flat beneath my inflated pad – no lumpy rocks or sticks or tussocks of tundra to disrupt my sleep. Compared to last fall, trekking through the Talkeetnas with Expedition Leadership, this feels luxurious. Alice Lake is a well-groomed campground just north of downtown Squamish, British Columbia. The roads are paved, the sites graded, trails regulated… there’s a shower house. You can even swim in the lake if you’d like. After spending last fall block camping here and there in the alpine tundra of Alaska, and all of May on the Chugach glaciers, it’s hard to believe this is an APU block course… Usually, during…
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The Deconstruction of a Hypochondriacal Ego
by Hillary Hafner Our world revolves around time and money. I believe a person’s moral standing is determined by how one chooses to spend one’s time and money, and that the most ethical way to spend time and money is benevolently. An individual’s responsibility is proportionate to their ability to affect. For example, corporations can influence multitudes of people and are now considered under law to be individuals. Thus, they ought to be affecting people positively and serving as examples of benevolence. However, we live in an egoist world and according to Hobbes, our egoism is innate. We are presented daily with choices-large and small- that give us the power…
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I.B.H.
You caught me honey-bee I always thought I was a wasp With a grin sting, turning green In the porch light, no, though. I turned out to be a moth with Soft wings, coming off on your fingertips I’m grateful for the bees, he says: You will hive me forever. On those movies It was only the words that turned me: each One an aphotic kelp forest, swirling otters Coming up and over the sweating sun. Antediluvian moments, he used to call them, The seven deluges you carved out in old Display cases, native beads, Asian threads. I realized the honey was mine all along. I swear on summer: the…
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Johnnie Tegstrom
by Mike Gordon Just because you’ve known someone your whole life doesn’t necessarily mean you’re friends with them. Never mind that you were raised in the same neighborhood, went through Boy Scouts together, played in the school band together, got drunk for the first time together, were in school classes together year after year; 7th grade through high school graduation. I remember more friction between Johnnie and me during all those years than anything else. Sure, there were some good times we enjoyed together, but Johnnie was the big kid and I was the little kid, though we were the same age. When I turned 16 and got my driver’s…
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Removing the Mask of Grief with Shelby Coleman and Connor Tindall
by Ryan Shofner The ephemeral nature of life dawns upon all beings. One day, the powers that be remove someone special from our lives and from that day forth, life is forever changed. It is what we do with the loss and how we handle the days to come that matters. February 21, 2014: I interview Shelby and Connor, facilitators of the Young-adult, Peer-supported, Greif Group, Co-sponsored and supervised by the Hospice of Anchorage and the University of Alaska Anchorage School of Nursing that caters to 18-30 year-old individuals. Christina, an intern of the Hospice of Anchorage and assistant of Shelby and Connor sums up the group: “We provide a…
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The Hired Gun
by Mike Gordon There was a motorcycle gang in Anchorage named The Brothers in the early ‘70s. Rumor had it that when one of them died the rest of them would cremate him, roll some of him into a marijuana joint and smoke him. Now that’s taking brotherly love to an all new high. In the early 1970’s someone in the gang got the bright idea of teaming up with the Hell’s Angels, which they did, so then we had The Brothers roaring around town in Hell’s Angels colors. If they decided to visit your bar they would typically hang in a group and intimidate everyone else in the place,…
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Drinking = Glamorous?
by Tara Bales Drinking is widely considered, and referred to in the entertainment industry as, cool. Whether it’s a teen house party scene in a movie where all partygoers are clinging to / chugging from red Solo cups, country songs whose sole purpose is the celebration of the aforementioned cups, or websites like Texts from Last Night that alternately mock and salute what is more often than not alcohol-fueled behavior, we as a society generally glorify and add an almost shiny luster to the antics of one who has consumed alcohol to excess. Professional athlete and celebrity “role models” convicted of DUIs are given a slap on the wrist and…
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Dream of Fish
By Jenn Baker We soared over great volcanoes in the Aleutian Range. From my peephole, I watched the land ripple off into grassy tundra. I took a breath. I could do this. I could live, survive, on my own. We landed on the runway in King Salmon. I walked out on the tarmac into a rough looking building, into a large white-walled room, its rows of orange vinyl chairs split to the foam, leading to large shabby check-in desks for the post-apocalypse. The commercial fishermen had followed the Salmon migration north to King Salmon, on the banks and flats of Bristol Bay. They stayed in town or flew out to…