The morning of the Colin Powell lecture, I stood in line outside of Richardson Auditorium with my friend Beth. Beth takes Arabic. Last summer, she worked for a senator in Washington. She just applied to Woody Woo. She knows her … Read More
“Most plays have this rule imbedded in them,” said Khalil Sullivan two days before opening night of “Playing in the Dark,” which he wrote and directs for his senior thesis. “A play has an action, a desire that characters want, and obstacles in the way of completing that action.”
I walked into the University chapel with a group of white-haired men in blue suits. I paused in front of an usher who wore a nametag with an orange and black ribbon pinned to it: Somers K. Steelman ’54. I extended my hand for a program. He looked at my unbrushed hair, sweatshirt, jeans, and flip flops.
“It’s hard to know what the Booker means in America. Americans aren’t eligible. Does that make them lose interest, or does it give the prize a mystique?” Alan Hollinghurst wondered aloud during an interview last week in his office at 185 Nassau.
Last November, Josh Blaine was traveling down the coast of California, with the vague intention of reaching Mexico, when he stopped in Santa Barbara. Outside the city’s art museum, he caught sight of a man sitting next to a bike … Read More
Being an outsider—or at least portraying yourself as one—pays in a Princeton USG presidential race. For the past three presidential elections, the USG Vice President has run and lost to a candidate that promised to be a breath of fresh air in the stale world of Princeton student government.
“Tangled Up in Blue” is not Bob Dylan’s most convoluted song; “Subterranean Homesick Blues,” with its references to eleven-dollar bills and hanging around in ink wells, probably wins that title. It is not even the most confusing ballad on Blood on the Tracks; Wendy Lesser is right on in her analysis of “Lily, Rosemary, and the Jack of Hearts”: “There are these huge gaps…what [Dylan] leaves out is more interesting in some ways than what he puts in.”
A few weeks ago, I was plugging away at my JP in the Mendel Music Library when I heard the unusual sound of shouting and pounding feet. I looked out the window and saw a small, male redhead running past Prospect House naked, yelling into a bullhorn.
Nearly every object in the Princeton University Chapel has been given in someone’s memory. Names of dead Princetonians are etched on the backs of pews, on plaques at the bases of statues, on the very stones that form the Chapel … Read More