Until it goes batshit crazy, Edgar Wright’s Hot Fuzz is a slightly underwhelming, if occasionally hilarious, film. [Cormac: The way of the world is to bloom and to flower and die but in the affairs of men there is no … Read More
It’s an odd thing being a young black man in this country, and a particularly strange experience being one here at Princeton. We are provided with several useful organizations that succeed at promoting unity and connections among us, while we … Read More
I haven’t really paid attention to professional basketball since the last time Patrick Ewing sweated all over the Garden’s courtside seats. I used to love the NBA, and almost everything about it, but my fandom lapsed several years ago; as I write this, the All-Star Game is going on, and I’m watching “Patch Adams.” (I love it when Robin Williams cries.) Yet in the last week or so, my attention has returned to roundball, and specifically, to the story of John Amaechi.