Out of all the streets in the world stretching from Nevsky Prospekt in St. Petersburg to Lombard Street in San Francisco, I have spent the most time traversing Witherspoon and Nassau here in my hometown of Princeton, watching the dynamic of businesses, the ebb and flow of success and decline.

I have always had a penchant for falling in love with fictional men. Usually they were from books, sometimes from movies and, occasionally, they captured my affections in cartoon form (much could be said for the Beast from Beauty and the Beast, whom I always preferred to his disturbingly Aryan-looking ...

Go to www.trevorvanmeter.com/flyguy. Click anywhere to start, and you will soon find yourself immersed in the idyllic, monotone world of Fly Guy, a middle-aged balding man whose destiny you hold at your fingertips. The opening shot of Fly Guy’s universe finds our hero, dressed in high-waist ...

Everyone – myself included – has written pieces about the Oscars. I will certainly be watching, and I will certainly be rooting for the Disgruntled Shepherd movie this Sunday night. But this Saturday, there is another important awards show in Hollywood honoring notable movies of 2005. The Golden Raspberry Awards are not ...

Two nights before Fences opens, I saw director Roger Q. Mason ‘08 in rehearsal at Theater Intime. He stood onstage, reading and gesturing for a missing actor over the top of his script. The wooden set was unpainted, and the rehearsal was running late – usual last-week features of a show ...

“Killing the Angel in the House,” wrote Virginia Woolf, “is part of the occupation of a woman writer.” This particular epithet had come to encapsulate the Victorian stereotype of sexual frigidity, otherworldly purity, and picture-perfect domesticity which was the ego-ideal for a century of unhappy women. Joyce Carol Oates has taken Woolf’s literary dictum to the next level: her Angels are not themselves killed; they themselves kill.

A-Fiber Mannequins wasn’t very well marked. I guess it didn’t need to be; people don’t often go walking down the street looking for a mannequin warehouse. Especially not in that part of Brooklyn, which seemed to support a convenience store, a sub shop, two barbers and not much else.