In the past month I’ve read loads of Greek classics. It was a really depressing month filled with people killing their kids, kids killing their parents, people marrying their parents, people stabbing other people in their eyes or at least stabbing themselves in their eyes. It seems like these things were so common in ancient Greece that sacrificial infanticide became unimportant enough that Homer left it out of why the Achaeans won the Trojan War.
In the bowels of Firestone Library, behind bombproof walls and inside climate-controlled rooms, lies the entire life’s work of Nobel Prize-winning Peruvian author Mario Vargas Llosa.
My childhood and adolescence was definitely filled with plenty of winter sports and outdoor activities, and my social and political views have been greatly influenced by the pervasive liberal sentiment. However, this reputation, although in many ways accurate, in no way fully characterizes the Boulder I grew up in. I love my hometown, but I can never view it as perfect.
Eight years ago street artist Banksy disguised himself, entered the British Museum, and put a piece of his own work up on a wall. It was a slab of concrete, on which he had painted a cave figure drawing of a man with a shopping cart. Banksy even added an object label reading that this cave drawing pictured “early man venturing towards the out-of-town hunting grounds,” and was created by artist “Banksymus Maximus.”
I sit in the Forbes dining hall every Sunday for brunch and notice, through forkfuls of baked brie and lox, the tower of the Graduate College across the golf course. Its beautiful, austere architecture bares a remarkable similarity to the … Read More
My past several months on Princeton’s campus have been defined by chocolate. During the week leading up to Dean’s Date I may have personally made the C-Store run out of chocolate covered peanuts.
Whenever i feel like I don’t know where my life is going, my father is there to console me. He tells me that his life—or at least the version of it that I know—only really began when he was 35. He reminds me that especially given his untraditional experiences, he and my mom have no expectation that either I or my brother follow the typical pattern of get a degree, get a job, get married, all right out of college.
