The beauty of North Jersey is in its honest, unassuming appearance and demeanor. If you’re scared away by the old factories with broken walls, signs advertising divorce for $399 dollars, or oil tanks, these places won’t be nice to you. But if you go inside, take the train to Journal Square and walk up JFK Boulevard, and say talk to the guy leaning against an old street lamp outside the train station, you’ll find it welcoming. It’s a rugged, middle-class area, but it won’t reject you unless you refuse it.
I never sleep well when I am home. This is usually due to physical—not mental—distress: in eighth grade I inherited a three-quarter sized bedframe from the eighteenth century, a Sharpless heirloom that my grandparents wanted to get rid of. Rare is the vendor in this century that sells a mattress fit to its arcane proportions, so my parents threw two futons on it and told me it was temporary.
IN MERRY ENGLAND in the time of old, when good King Henry the Second ruled the land, there lived within the green glades of Sherwood Forest, near Nottingham Town, a famous outlaw whose name was Robin Hood. No archer ever … Read More
I hate vaginas. I always have and always will. They’re dank and cavernous and horrible, and I feel bad for every man or woman who has to venture down there without a bulwark between him and that juicy, pungent vag-spunk. … Read More
“It is fantastic that Professor George supports free speech and open discourse—his track record on that subject speaks for itself—and he is correct that this law’s criminalization of speech should be loudly condemned; however, it is not enough to defend free speech by itself.”
As Princeton’s end-of-year-rituals bring to a close the first half of my time here, I’ve been thinking of milestones and the future and most of all about how much I’ll miss late meal.
Come for the shouting and shattered glass, stay for the confessional outbursts, wry dialogue, and fascinating sexual politics. This superb production, directed by Whitney Mosery ’08, presents the tragic aftermath of a man’s inexplicable affair with a goat – the … Read More
It was when we looked over at each other and discovered that we were both checking out our split ends, that we decided it was the start of a beautiful friendship. Oh yeah, and we were sitting in our Humanities Sequence lecture, more worried about the state of our hair than we were about the state of affairs in Plato’s Republic.
