It’s a bright morning, the end of my first week at work. I am still getting used to living on my own in New York. Along the sidewalk outside my station entrance there is always a line of construction workers. … Read More
Few people know the story of how four Princetonians—Francis Lane, Herbert Jamison, Robert Garrett, and Albert Tyler—competed in the first modern Olympic Games, except perhaps the archivists at Mudd Library where Lane’s scrapbooks are kept.
You shall fall asleep at your desk, wake up to frantically finish your essay, and then post a Snapchat with a filter hiding your under-eye bags and communally sharing your sleepless angst — all before the onset of the second sleep.
There is a certain passivity and convenience embodied both in the physical experience of train riding and in the indifferent machines themselves. Suspended between origin and destination: mandated leisure.
