After reexamining my near-two years of motley New Jersey life, I can write with some assurance that my most traumatic Princetonian experience took place in transit, one December at seven-thirty in the company of a bike named Jen. I had been buying books at Micawber and, feeling a need for ...

We demand the most from musicians who are also drug addicts. We expect them to give all of themselves to us, to emote fully, to express their vulnerability through their music in the starkest of terms. All this is true, of course, until their final freak-out, their final overdose, when ...

Well, he’s done it again. On Wednesday, April 5, Eminem filed to divorce his wife, Kim Mathers, after only three months of marriage. This is a recurring pattern in Eminem’s career. The couple first married in 1999 and split in 2001. Of course career repetition isn’t anything ...

On a clear, warm day in late April, a dusty blue bus bearing the logo “Equality Ride 2006” drove toward the main gates of the United States Military Academy in West Point, New York. Overhead, a cloudless sky arched above the red-gray limestone campus, its Gothic towers perched on stony cliffs high above the Hudson River. Not far from the gates, the bus parked and discharged about 40 protesters in windbreakers or T-shirts.

Many of you chose to avoid United 93 for various reasons. The trailer, some suggested, was manipulative. The lack of concrete information, it was said, means that no one should try to tell an incomplete story. The movie, my friends whined, will undoubtedly exploit the men and women who died that day, and should be shunned because of it. Now, there are indeed legitimate reasons not to see United 93. It is perhaps more difficult to watch than any recent American release – not due to the violence, which is sparse and effective, but due to the intense dread that settles into your stomach as you watch dozens of people prepare for what will most certainly not be an ordinary Tuesday

The Daily Princetonian is bad. We all know that. Their machinations have caused a great deal of trouble for those of us who enjoy spending time at various eating clubs, and, to put it bluntly, their staff either doesn’t know how to write, or is robbed of any talent by the publication itself. Accordingly, simply listing terrible stories of theirs would be redundant, so I have given this semester’s most uniquely awful articles their own awards. Without further ado, this is… The Worst of the Prince.

We met at a nightclub called Doblón on March 11, fewer than 12 hours after an international terrorist organization bombed four train stations in Madrid. That afternoon we had each joined thousands of Spanish protestors in the plazas with white-painted palms raising their hands in uproar and then silence, chanting ...