Dear Reader,

To give credit where credit is due, although last week’s page (March 28th) was mistakenly run under my name, it was actually written by Zeb Blackwell, the other Weekend Page guy. So pass on any praise or laughs you got from the page to Zeb, because he’s the one who made it happen. 

I hope you had a great Spring Break and a joyous Easter. When I was a kid, I used to go to my neighbor’s house for Easter, and all I can remember is that “doilies” seemed to play a big role in things, these little white lace doilies. I haven’t seen a doily since they moved away in 1997, and I don’t know where these people were from or if that was normal, and I mean, there’s certainly never been a doily on the Princeton campus, so if someone could tell me what that’s all about, that’d be great. Because I think a doily is nice, just a nice little touch, nice little accoutrement, if you will. “Doilies” is something I think I might be able to get into.

Speaking of religion, I’m feeling a little guilty about a karmic incident involving the Nassau Weekly and myself, and I just want to get it off my chest. A few weeks ago, the theme of my Weekend List was “Times you Remember When You Remember That Time.” One of entries on the list read, “That time you spent the summer in Nantucket and one night while out drinking G&T’s with your friends, you made out with who you thought was that cute townie who fetches sodas at the Yacht Club, but the next day Grover Norquist put up pictures of the night on Facebook and you realized that you hooked up with William F. Buckley Jr.”

A few days after the printing of this article, on February 27th, William F. Buckley Jr. died. Perhaps it was the shock of having read his name so lovingly mentioned in a sort of hip student publication. Maybe it was the surprise of realizing that the term “you” was obviously a reference to me and that we’d actually hooked up that night; listen, Buckley, this works both ways, I was faded too, man. Or maybe this was unrelated to my article; maybe he realized that the Wikipedia entry about him reads: “he spoke English with an idiosyncratic accent: something between an old-fashioned, upper class Mid Atlantic accent and British Received pronunciation” and he was just like “LoL wTf” and then died. Either way, I feel guilty about the connection, may his body rest in peace, and may the soul of William F. Buckley Jr. be released unto the Universe in a billion particles of light. Conservative light though, so less glimmering, less radiant, etc……

Yours in Weekend,

Rebecca Gold


*NOTE: All web-based content is the real deal!!


Found: Lost Watch

Location: CS 104

Poster: nwozny

Details: Analog watch found in large auditorium of computer science building.

An ANALOG watch found in the computer science building? I mean, I mean, th-that’s like a comp lit major posting “Details: Analog pen found on large floor of mighty sword factory” right? Pretty ironic – an irony clearly not lost on our helpful informant, who smugly offers “analog” as the sole detail describing the lost item, in a sentence where all articles (a, the) have been omitted with a robotic brevity meant to emphasize contrast with the digital. Very funny. When I read it I was laughing so hard I almost forgot it was my night as moderator of the Doctor Who memorabilia discussion group on Second Life. But would our finder have been so flippant if he knew the grave role that very watch had played in the COMPUTER SCIENCE MAJOR INITIATIONS 2008!? You see, when sophomores declare themselves COS majors, they are put through a top-secret initiation rite. These are the sorts of things you hear about when you use one of your two dining hall meals on a Saturday night dinner at Butler.

Anyway, it goes down like this: The kids walk into the lobby of the computer science building and are told to kneel. Then a bunch of Eastern European grad students walk in with cardboard boxes over their heads and walk around making high-pitched robot noises like “boop bloop beep bop boop boop” (Well, actually, more like, “deep-dop bloop bleep bop bloop beep,” if ya know what I mean…) This is the opening invocation of The Digital, and afterwards the students are led into the CS104 lecture hall where they see at the podium the Director of the Computer Science Department. He is completely covered in tin-foil, the material typically used to indicate “futuristic”, and delivers a speech about the magic of computers. The thing of it is, he gives the speech entirely in binary code. The ones who understand it are brought to tears, and the ones who don’t are still amazed at his tin foil suit. Then the rest of the professors run in and surround the majors, ordering them to “purge themselves of all analog.” The students oblige, quickly ripping off their watches, throwing them violently onto the stage of the lecture hall. Dean Malkiel comes in and stomps on all of the watches. And I mean she really stawmps on those watches, she really gets into it, legs thrusting in the same cadence as the clap-driven steppy show of a newly bipedal toddler. There is another round of grad students making robot sounds and then the sophomores are told to “don the COS uniform”. They are all handed non-ribbed turtlenecks and pants of awkward proportion. I am told that the Computer Science department spends something like ten percent of their annual budget on importing these clothes from Balkan and East Asian discount retail outlets. Where these kids find these outfits the rest of the year remains a mystery.

Found on the Princeton Point Homepage Wall:

Would anyone be interested in playing some music at the Greening Princeton Farmer’s market?

ehare, Mon March 10, 4:15 pm

I don’t know who’s worse at online communication, rabbits or the elderly. I mean, I’ve known Edgar Hare since my first time coming to one of Henrietta Owl’s enchanted tea parties in the spring of my freshman year (if you want to see the pictures, check out the album on my facebook or just look at a box of Junior Juice). Have any of you got a text message from this guy? Edgar is a great guy, but like I always say to him, “Just because you can use your ‘forest magic’ to turn an actual blackberry into an actual Blackberry, doesn’t mean you should.” But I joke with Edgar, I joke – he’s one of the good ones. Oh Edgar- this message clearly should read, “Would anyone be interested in playing some music at Farmer Greening’s Princeton Market?” Edgar, man, what are you talking about? And you have to give Edgar credit – he tries. “ehare” : he knows that we know he doesn’t have an email address, but can you blame him for wanting to fit in?

As it reads now, this message will probably attract the attention of every troupe of Andean pan-flute players ready for another summer of standing there playing that loud CD and depressing everybody on this year’s community fair & festival circuit (especially when they are the sonic backdrop of a fight with a loved one or frantically looking for your lost child.) The worst part of that is that when those guys get sad and disappointed, they work through their emotions by playing their flutes, and when those things are intentionally sad, that’ll send even the cheeriest into helpline territory.

The Weekend List. This Week: “Secrets I’ll Let You In On”

1. Psssssst. There is a small ramp pathway leading from the Music Building to Frist with a unique incline that’s not steep enough to require a full downhill walk, but just steep enough to make anyone walking down it look like a complete doofus (or is doofis a more apt spelling? More performative?). I’ve watched hundreds bumble down the thing, and I’ve sadly had the ill fortune of doing so myself. Something about that ramp renders the walker, for those few moments, a toe-walking nerdface fool. I was once crushing hard on this guy for something like three weeks. One day I saw him walk down the ramp and that was it, I saw the doofus-walk and was disgusted forever. Doofus… could it somehow be from a foreign language and be spelled “douphace”?

2. Pssssst. This should be part of the lyrics to a rap song, seriously:

“How many cents I got? Yo, I got only fiddy-yum!,

Like Amelia Bedelia, bitch, you misunderstand my idiom.”

3. Psssssst. The new “economic stimulus package” is going to try to sneak a pinky finger around to the supply-side.

4. Pssst. Stickin’ that tongue out won’t help you draw that picher of a giraffe any easier.

5. Pssssst. Philip Seymour Hoffman is a terrific actor.


Calling all doodlers! Here’s the deal: I give you this “concept” for a political cartoon that I haven’t been able to get out of my mind for the past few weeks, you make this concept an ink-drawn reality, and I print the best submission(s) in my next Weekend Page. Sort of like those ads that ask you to draw that turtle-in-a-baseball-cap to get a spot in their “art school,” but better.

Ok, so here’s the concept:

John McCain is lying in his childhood bedroom (adult version of John McCain, though) “curating” his childhood booger wall. He’s taking his boogers and sticking them on his wall, the thing of it is, this ain’t no ordinary childhood booger wall; rather, the boogers on his wall are each in the shape of states he’s won in the primaries.

Please email with your submissions. Get doodlin’!

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