Or rather, your notion of the face in Baudelaire is evasive. Poetry’s stock has fallen; that of the novel, the short story—that of prose—has risen. The New Yorker and The New York Review of Books have run articles addressing the … Read More
Every year, during the last couple weeks of May, the orange and black paraphernalia that distinguishes the bubble inside FitzRandolph Gate bleeds into the town of Princeton. Princeton Pride takes on a whole new characteristic when alumni from classes of the 1920s to the most recent graduating class infest the town with their orange blazers, Princeton umbrellas, and babies in Tiger onesies.
In the first week of December, joke ticket Will Gansa will face off with Ella Cheng in a run-off election for Princeton’s Undergraduate Student Government (USG) President. Gansa, running on a platform of waffle fries, ripe fruit, and ‘bike reform,’ won 44% of the popular vote to Cheng’s 32%, in the first round of elections in late November.
Bereavement can be rather grave in certain circumstances, and the loss of decorum- the circumstance I address this very instant- has its sufficient fill of seriousness.
The first thing they do when they get your freshman rooming preferences is they throw them in the trash. They just dump them right in, piles of them crunched up and discarded until that great big bin is brimming full with them. And then – then the real thing starts. They shut the blinds and dim the lights. They lock the office door. And finally, when everybody’s seated, when everyone is ready, they begin to assemble the hell that is our roommate pairings, exhibiting all the tact and skill of a television writing staff as they concoct these garish personal sitcoms that recall either Perfect Strangers or, for the more unfortunate, No Exit.
