Why can’t we all just sing along? Upon closer inspection, it is clear that a performance groups such as a cappella are the first taste—and gateway—of a vice far more addictive to Princetonians than Beast or cocaine...

The word on the Street is that Princeton academics are as bland as Beast, and Dean Malkiel is a woman on a mission to institute some major diversity.

How many times have you heard a friend or acquaintance congratulate herself on her ability to bullshit?
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Funny thing: currently, the best-selling book at the U-Store is called On Bullshit.

Last Monday night, a sassy redhead wearing cat-eye glasses and glitter-and-fishnet stockings took the stage of McCosh 10 to give a talk about sex. While her appearance foreshadowed a Harper’s Bazaar-esque talk on steamy sex tips, Lauren Winner came to Princeton courtesy of a range of student groups from the Anscombe Society to University Health Services to speak about Real Sex, her recent book about…keep your pants on: chastity. Even stranger, this hired-gun-for-clean-living skirted one key issue: chastity.
Apart from her unique stage presence, Winner’s triumph as a Christian speaker seems to come from the life experiences under her belt: born of a Jewish father and a lapsed Southern Baptist mother, Winner entered Columbia University a practicing Jew from the South. She graduated an “evangelical Episcopalian,” with a pit-stop conversion to Orthodox Judaism along the way. This inspired her first Christian bestseller, Girl Meets God, a memoir about the experience. Winner’s second memoir, Real Sex: The naked truth about chastity, is a semi-academic exposition about abstinence, retelling to Christian audiences her life story as—you guessed it—a skank.

On Allie’s fourteenth birthday, Christopher felt his hard-won sanity begin its retreat—right there at the kitchen table. It started as he watched Allie, his step-daughter, try to tell Cyndi, her mother, stories about their day at Christopher’s parents’ ranch: the picnic, the piñata, the horseback riding—their ...

Bicker is an important rite of passage for people with a creeping suspicion that they might be cool. Champagne bubbles and dreams of Ivy League grandeur saturate even the most level of heads. Some even go so far as to pop their collars.