The Black Forest Fire, surpassing the Waldo Canyon Fire as the most devastating in Colorado’s history, destroyed more than 500 homes and took two lives. By the time it was contained on June 20, 2013, nearly 14,500 acres were scorched. Charles Lamoreaux, jeweler at Sutton Hoo, lost his home in the fire and was kind enough to share some of his surviving possessions.
Closed Circuit Daoism
Cosmetic and Qualified
When training his residents, plastic surgeon Dr. Herluf Lund has a unique way of explaining why he thinks conversation with a patient is important before removing any clothing for the physical exam. He tells them, “It’s a bit like dating; you really should get to know the young lady before you ask her to take her clothes off.”
Still Here
Unlimitless
The Devil in the Details
My Fallen Bunion, My Fallen Comrade
We were friends for at least a decade, which is a long time for a 21-year-old to know someone at that level of intimacy. To the doctors who performed surgery in order to remove you this summer, you were known as hallux abducto valgus—but to me, you were simply known as the bunion on the side of my left big toe. And yet, you were so much more than that.
Flashbulb Memories
The term flashbulb memory, coined by psychologists Roger Brown and James Kulik, “is a memory that’s encoded during an emotionally dramatic event, something that’s highly significant…even if it’s [understood] after the fact,” says Lori Driscoll, a professor in the psychology department. “The context is encoded in much more detail than with regular memories.”
The Real Dr. Miami
A body lies on an operating table. Everything but the breasts is obscured by blue cloth. Fetty Wap croons over the speaker. A scalpel comes into focus, smoothly cutting clockwise around the nipple to expose the fat beneath. Skin is sliced away from the areola. Fat is removed, a cavity is formed and a gloved hand slides a clear saline pouch into the cavity. The image jostles as the iPhone presumably changes hands. A needle plunges into the skin and out again, tugging at the skin to pull it around the nipple, sealing the cavity.
This is an image that the average person usually never sees. Michael Salzhauer, a plastic surgeon from Bal Harbour, Florida, Snapchats this reality to the masses. He uploads two to four surgeries per day to his snap story, enabling his followers to see what plastic surgery looks like in real time.
Thicker Than Water
Your Nalgene (I’m safely assuming you have a Nalgene or Camelbak) is, as you know, made of plastic. But beyond that one word, you likely don’t know what your water bottle is made of. In one sense, your Nalgene’s journey begins about 160 million years ago, when countless microscopic plankton died and fell to the seafloor.
Birds of Prey
On the evening of Oct. 18, 2011, a retired Zanesville, Ohio resident, Sam Kopchak, went to check on his new horse. Reaching the small paddock behind the house, Kopchak noticed that something was wrong. His neighbor’s horses were more skittish than usual, running in circles around a dark mass. Squinting, Kopchak recognized the figure as a small black bear, rare, but not unheard of in Muskingum County.
Lions on Leashes
On the evening of Oct. 18, 2011, a retired Zanesville, Ohio resident, Sam Kopchak, went to check on his new horse. Reaching the small paddock behind the house, Kopchak noticed that something was wrong. His neighbor’s horses were more skittish than usual, running in circles around a dark mass. Squinting, Kopchak recognized the figure as a small black bear, rare, but not unheard of in Muskingum County.
Uncivilization
Would You Rather
Toby-Ann reapplied her cheap jelly lip gloss every minute. She was unhappy as usual. Her husband Dennis trudged alongside her, huffing and keeping his head down with his hands in his pockets as his long legs carried him. Behind them, their daughter, Ingrid, had her arm around her boyfriend, Kevin. They were two liberal arts grads that hadn’t learned the tact of curbing PDA. The four traversed blocks whose sidewalks hadn’t been cleaned since 1995, curbs above the rain gutters falling off in chunks. They passed tattoo parlors and lively Mexican restaurants where bare-midriffed waitresses served 10-ounce margaritas.
The Dismal Science
Bill Clinton tends to avoid the lectern when he campaigns. As he took the stage on February 21 at an event for Hillary, he pulled his mic from the stand and walked across the platform. With a single, subtle movement, he had gone from 42nd President of the United States to Uncle Bill. He oozed familiarity, and as he strolled the stage, each and every student who filled the rafters of Cornerstone Arts Center was one of “us,” and a part of “we.”
Friends or Food
Lonely Business
In November of 1990, in an Alaskan strip club called Sands North, Sandy was sexually assaulted in a corner of the dark room. She was 17 years old, and it was her first day working as a dancer. She was good at dancing. Once, in 1989, she had performed with the Minnesota Vikings cheerleaders. But, as she puts it, she was “shaking like a little leaf” on her first day in the club.
Tongue Tied
Ask someone at CC what they think of the racist Yik Yak posts made last year and the consequent punishments and you will get one of three general responses. 1: “I’m glad those racist students are gone.” 2: “The punishment was way too harsh.” Or, what we’ve most often heard, 3: “I don’t even want to talk about it.” We’ve learned that in spite of countless Butler Center sessions and a schoolwide assembly, most students and professors would much rather stay silent than go on record for a magazine.
It's In Our Bones
Four and a half billion years ago, a camera began recording. It captured images of faces, footprints, fingernails. It saw the first proteins strung out piece-by-piece; it saw microscopic, single-celled masses absorbed by their neighboring blobs of life; it saw families trekking across grasslands in search of food. This camera ran for billions of years, from angles all over the planet, capturing the sky, the trees, predators, prey, insects and bacteria. And after each frame, the film was discarded on the ground, where it would be covered in mud, land and vegetation, maybe for the rest of time.