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Author: Dayton Martindale

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Eis Man Cometh

They were all gathered behind Nassau Hall, ready for their big moment: dozens of the most influential figures in higher education ready to shepherd a new brother into their ranks, all while dressed in just the silliest dangnabbed robes and hats. I know it’s not particularly clever or original to joke about the unconventional wardrobe associated with pomp and circumstance, but I really think it’s important to remember just how funky everyone looked while all this was going on. In academia, we eschew the slick suit and tie for the eccentric cap and gown, and I love it.

by Dayton Martindale on October 3, 2013October 13, 2013

Collection As Art

Included among the objects displayed in “Myself, I Think We Should Keep Collecting Titles,” the Lewis Center for the Arts’ sharp new exhibition of work by Dean of the Faculty and professor of computer science David Dobkin, are: snow globes, popsicle sticks, water bottle caps, Snapple lids, compact discs, keyboards, mother boards, paper tubes, credit cards, safety rings, fasteners, postcards, and pennies.

by Alex Costin on October 3, 2013October 4, 2013

Kiss Land

I have a confession to make: I’m not a hipster, especially when it comes to music. If anything, I’m a reverse hipster; I only hear about things that are popular way, way after they actually are. That’s why I have a Backstreet Boys poster in my room.

by Chithra Marti on October 3, 2013October 5, 2013

Eisgruber Excess

As I stood in a fifteen-minute line for Nomad Pizza last Sunday at the installation celebration for President Eisgruber, I felt more like I was at Chris’s personal episode of “My Super Sweet Sixteen” than his inauguration. There was a famous band whose booking agent lists their price at over $100,000, free pizza and ice cream, bubble tea, and tons of Princeton swag.

by Eliza Mott on October 3, 2013October 4, 2013

Jared Garland

Call me Moses Goldstein. You won’t be wrong. Say it and I’ll turn around, look back at you out of the corner of my eye, smile a bit and raise an eyebrow at you coyly, because I’m a coy guy, and—of course—that is my name.

by Jared Garland on October 3, 2013October 4, 2013

My Month of Meat

I grew up with a brother who, since age four, abstained from eating animals and shouted things like “Meat is murder!” when he saw a plate of chicken nuggets. To this day, when I sit on a leather couch, I hear his voice, whispering, “Is that carcass comfortable?” This is not to say that I don’t enjoy eating meat, or indulge in leather accessories, but I feel a certain guilt in doing so.

by Hadley Newton on October 3, 2013October 5, 2013

Intimacy

Jeremy and Linda lay in bed. Jeremy was shirtless, and Linda had her head nestled against his left nipple. His arm reached around her back, stroking her shoulder affectionately.

by Will Pinke on October 3, 2013October 5, 2013

The Trials of Princeton

It was the first night without my parents in some hotel on US Route 1. I was alone and somewhere near East Pyne, brimming with the feeling of being lost and alone in a new city, juggling the oversized, color-coded freshman orientation specialty map that a volunteer organizer had gravely slipped into my purse.

by Rachel Stone on September 28, 2013September 28, 2013

Alexandria Herr

When I tell people my name, people often ask if I’m named after the city, or, if they’re particularly bookish, the library. I’m actually named after neither. For a long time before I was born, my mother couldn’t figure out what to name me. She really liked Caitlin as a middle name, but had no idea what would be good for my actual name.

by Alexandria Herr on September 28, 2013September 28, 2013

Standard Grievance

Many fine newspapers have recently lamented over the future of our beautiful planet. We are told that polar bears grow hungry in the Arctic, oceans threaten to drown skyscrapers, and that we—poor, frail humans—must swelter as Earth becomes Furnace.

by Brutus Clotarf on September 28, 2013September 28, 2013

Who’s Smoking That?

Istanbul is for the most part a very clean city. So clean that the only litter on the streets are cigarette stubs. So naturally, on my first night bar-hopping with some friends, when we had settled in to waiting for our cocktails, smoke in the bar wasn’t a big deal. There weren’t that many people in the bar, so maybe we could have evil-eyed the smoker in our midst and gotten him to stop.

by Akua Banful on September 28, 2013September 28, 2013

Polka-Dotted Play

I thought I understood the general order of Lawnparties: live music, free food, and somewhat unsettling numbers of drunken upperclassmen at ten o’clock in the morning. When a roommate first let me in on the “preppy” dress code, however, the tradition struck me as strange. While I knew Princeton was widely considered to be among the “preppiest” of the Ivies, the label had always held a negative connotation to me, and I puzzled as to why students would actively work to perpetuate that stereotype.

by Kat Kulke on September 28, 2013September 28, 2013


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