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.
1:01 AM: After a long, productive night of studying, I decide to retire to my suite in an attempt to unwind and, eventually, fall asleep. Somehow, I know even before I enter my room that the nightly ritual has begun. I steel myself as I approach the front door.
Cocksure I stand that this lesbian play has become the first theatrical hit to reach Princeton this school year.
How fine it is to go to the theater and find yourself in a proper Boston living room, replete with pomp and circumstance. But take this turn of the 20th century propriety and subvert it with the sexual lewdness of nowadays; mix in marital deceit and seduction of a young lass by a voluptuous lesbian, and you’ll get the formula for David Mamet’s Boston Marriage, the first play of the Theatre Intime season.
The Roman emperor Heliogabalus relied on a series of unusual devices to inscribe himself in the portions of popular history devoted to eccentrics, serial killers, and the sexually voracious. At times he fit into each of these categories, frequently all … Read More
The minute details of sex never escape the eye of the prehistoric human artist. What registers here is a fascination with the sexual that extends beyond its ritual fetishization in functional appeals to some magical force for human fertility or robust herds. This art is uncanny and wonderful because sex is not sublimated or displaced into some other visual language, but is itself sublime, itself celebrated.
I think I was the first person unassociated with Swimming Upstream to see the production. Ever. This seems like pretty heady stuff as I sit in warm darkness waiting for the cast’s final run-through to begin. I feel like an … Read More
Spoiler alert: Harry doesn’t die. He probably should, but he doesn’t, and there’s not really much we can do about it. The day the seventh book came out, my friend and I sat in the bathroom of our bunk at camp and read the entire thing.
“The Wyeth saga began with N.C.: a maverick unimpressed by his industrializing world who became infatuated instead with adventure, romance, and old America––back when the connection between humanity and nature was more immediate.”
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.
