I don’t know much about performance art. In fact, I didn’t even know it existed until I met artist Saba McCoy a few weeks ago. Still, neither her nor Wikipedia’s explanation was entirely clear. The only thing to do was … Read More
It is a warehouse like any other,” Fran Johnson tells me. Fran is probably in her late twenties, pudgy-cheeked, buxom, effusive. There is something solid yet soft about her: she stands with her feet shoulder-width apart and volunteers information like a well-stocked jukebox
I found this curious invitation nestled in a medium-sized cardboard box in Mudd Library. A middle-aged man with a likeness to Frank Zappa had wheeled a cart over with this box and three others just like it into the musty reading room where I was conducting my research after hearing that my grandfather, who graduated in 1937, was a part of this group.
In April 2001, David Brooks published “The Organization Kid,” in which he typified Princeton students as absurdly busy with “self-improvement, résumé-building, and enrichment.” Brooks conceived of the whole process by which the students had become hard-working and career-oriented as organization, but this authoress’s significantly more extensive fieldwork reveals the even more interesting process of subjectification through which Organization Kids become fristified.
“because of its distance from the more populous undergraduate portion of the University, many students today are unaware of the carillon’s existence. ‘I’m the loudest voice you’ve never heard,’ Lisa laments.”
“The hellest job,” Mike Souza says, was making 20 super-thin cigar-shaped nuclear target cells in his glassblowing shop in the basement of Princeton’s Hoyt Laboratory.
The Yale administration’s insistence on a student income contribution is reinforcing inequality along race and classlines.” So proclaims a new campaign launched at Yale, organized by the group Students Unite Now (SUN), aiming to eliminate the student income contribution for undergrads … Read More
Are you sick of me yet? Do you think I am completely boring, snobby, and awful? Did you realize reading the Nass last week that I fit almost every one of Katie McCulloch’s douchebag criteria? Are you frustrated after going … Read More
There is something intimately sensual about it, and I’m sure many smokers will agree with me. The elegant dance of fresh hot tobacco smoke rising into the transparent expanse, traversing only for a moment the contours of moving air and then diffusing casually into its surroundings, leaving behind only the stale scent of a bowling alley late at night.
Two recent articles in our campus’ “paper of record” deal with the way said paper is received by its audience; i.e., with derision and hatred. “Snark’s inefficacy” and “On hating the Daily Princetonian,” are two of the most outrageous Opinion … Read More
After reexamining my near-two years of motley New Jersey life, I can write with some assurance that my most traumatic Princetonian experience took place in transit, one December at seven-thirty in the company of a bike named Jen. I had … Read More
