Take off your underwire bra and your prison tattoos. Thank you. Put in these earplugs please. You’ll hear us; we’ll speak very loudly and with gestures.
You’re in America, you’re busy, you don’t have time to keep up with politics all over the world. There are a lot of parties, a lot of elections. Who can follow all of them?
Henrik Ibsen’s Hedda Gabler is a fitting play for Princeton University. It takes place within the well-furnished walls of a bourgeois apartment, and is concerned with comfort, or more accurately with the horror of comfort. Like many students on campus, Hedda enters the stage entirely provided for yet entirely hungry, perversely hungry.
When I was in eighth grade, a girl two grades up from me was writing a novel. I didn’t know much about her aside from her name, the fact that she was my classmate’s older sister, and that she was in the finishing stages of creating a work of fiction, but I wanted to become her, cut my hair short and type importantly on my laptop in my small school’s even smaller library.
Dear Reader, How’s our day going? Actually not that great, now that you ask. We’re still pretty hurt that you never wrote in to our how-was-*The Life of Pi*-not-a-hoax essay contest, and that hundred bucks is burning a whale of … Read More
They call it bumper car diplomacy in international relations–the idea of decisions made not because of an over-arching grand plan, but due to political exigency, the needs of the moment. These days it could seem our lives are practices in … Read More
Every suburb is defined by its city. At least, that’s what my southern California suburban experience was defined by, the glowing metropolis over the hills, alluring and enigmatic as Faye Dunaway in “Chinatown.” Los Angeles tells the story of itself … Read More