The Daily Princetonian is bad. We all know that. Their machinations have caused a great deal of trouble for those of us who enjoy spending time at various eating clubs, and, to put it bluntly, their staff either doesn’t know how to write, or is robbed of any talent by the publication itself. Accordingly, simply listing terrible stories of theirs would be redundant, so I have given this semester’s most uniquely awful articles their own awards. Without further ado, this is… The Worst of the Prince.
My mission, since I chose to accept it, was to see whether or not there was a way to survive comfortably in the town of Princeton – eat two meals and maybe go on one interesting excursion – while spending … Read More
Looking back at my week out of the country, I realize that, of all the uppers and downers that passed through my body, the most effective drug I took during my spring break was the Snake’s Nest itself, a place … Read More
Recently, feeling a sudden burst of wistfulness, I decided to see if some of shows I had once adored had in fact been worth my time. Some of them were, in fact, good, while others made me feel stupid for ever having watched them. The following is a list of the shows I reevaluated, in the order of the ages when I originally enjoyed and outgrew them.
Since Amazon failed to deliver the Jack Abramoff-penned action catastrophe “Red Scorpion” on Friday, as they had promised, I needed to pass some time before going out. After careful deliberation, I decided I would see if those rapscallions at “Dateline” … Read More
Good Night, and Good Luck This film begins, and ends, with Edward R. Murrow making a speech after being given an award at a ceremony in his honor. But instead of accepting the award graciously, he challenges his audience not … Read More
If you were fortunate enough to see or hear one of Mitch Hedberg’s routines, a few things automatically stick with you. First, you notice how much of a space cadet he was. Then, you might realize that his jokes are completely disjointed and that the subjects he ridicules are so far beyond obvious that he made Jerry Seinfeld look like Noam Chomsky. And finally, you see that you just can’t stop laughing.
When I was five years old, I loved to think. Other kids had G.I. Joes, Barbie dolls, and cartoons, but I absolutely loved to stimulate my imagination. The way I usually did this was to skip in circles on my living room rug while listening to Michael Jackson. And so for years I associated happiness with listening to MJ.