Sexpert: Feb. 7, 2013
Dear Sexpert,
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Dear Sexpert,
1) “Hey, have you heard about the Harvard cheating scandal?”
Mellon Library Alcove
Theater: "The Tempest"
As the first semester of my freshman year came to a close, I waved goodbye to all of the friendships that had formed in a flash and degenerated just as quickly during my first few months here. The glue that cemented my Frosh Week friendships (a mix of desperation, social expectation and close proximity) hadn't been strong enough to keep those relationships alive. I couldn't have known then that I would continue to make Frosh Week friendships even when I wasn't a freshman anymore.
“Fire safety inspection, may I come in?”
1) Small puddle of vomit.
When we first met, those 27 long years ago, you were kind of a mess. You strutted around with proud A’s emblazoned on everything you owned, like a 21st-century Hester Prynne. You were such a picky eater that you only ate at the same 10 restaurants, on the same street, for every single meal. And you still believed in cooties. We were friends, but it never even crossed my mind that we could be together. What could you, an old-money Northeasterner, have in common with a Canadian molecular geneticist who cloned the first mammalian gene, like me?
What is art, really? If anything in this world is certain, it’s that the Frist Pianists know.
Beginning with back-to-school Lawnparties, almost every occasion has a corresponding Princeton celebration. Midterms can’t stop Princeton Halloween. Thanksgiving merits a Tuesday night “Dranksgiving” on Prospect. December brings Winter Formals and ugly sweater parties to celebrate the holiday season, and Houseparties has been a Princeton staple for generations. Princetonians love celebrations so much that they even came up with the three-day extravaganza we call Reunions. But this Monday night, like many other Princetonians, I will return to my old social stomping ground and ring in 2013 with high school friends. With the high school experience that unified us now past, I can’t help but feel distanced from the social circles that dominated our four years. As we relive our shared memories, I’ll giggle half-heartedly at the tired inside jokes from senior year that are slowly losing their humor. When I run into acquaintances that I haven’t spoken to since August, we’ll swap stories about school, struggling to find commonalities to keep our conversation alive. As I pretend to laugh at the antics that I thought I left behind at graduation parties, I know I’ll wonder: What if New Year’s Eve took place at Princeton?College councils and USG would do their best to provide some clean fun on such a notorious evening. With no classes, we’d start our festivities with the night still young, with plenty of time to hit those campus events and the clubs on Prospect. Here’s how the evening would probably play out:5–8 p.m.: New Year’s Eve dinner at the dining halls and eating clubsIt’s hard to top the Thanksgiving or holiday dinners, but the dining hall staff would make New Year’s a culinary tradition of its own. I’m imagining a multicultural vibe to the affair, which would feature “lucky” foods inspired by regional and international traditions. From good-luck pork from Germany to traditional Grecian cakes, the dinner will be a welcome step-up from the usual grilled chicken and salad bar. The eating clubs would host dinners of their own, undoubtedly featuring champagne toasts.8 p.m.: Residential college events beginUnderclassmen would then warm up with some sort of ’zee group craft competition inevitably involving disco balls, balloons and glitter. This would likely be the place where we make the New Year’s resolutions we won’t keep.9 p.m.: USG-sponsored New Year’s Eve party, probably with “Fest” in titleIn typical Princeton fashion, it would probably be raining, snowing or hailing, but undeterred, us girls would face the elements teetering to the Street in our too-high heels and sequin bandage dresses. Conveniently located at Frist, a USG-sponsored affair would provide a good stopping point to rest our tired feet, warm up with some hot chocolate and kettle corn and grab a free sequined “2013” party hat before finishing the trek to the Street. 11:30 p.m.: Reach the Street in time for the ball dropNew Year’s Eve would bring everyone to the Street, so you would even run into that kid on your hall who never leaves his room. Each club would have a different vibe, from the champagne-toasting Ivy affair to the more raucous Cannon festivities. If you couldn’t get on the Cottage guest list, you’d stop by Quad for glow sticks before joining the group huddling outside TI for passes. Whether you’d head to Terrace for late night festivities or decide to charge a couple slices of hot Frist pizza to your Prox, odds are by 2 a.m. you’d have already broken those New Year’s resolutions you made earlier in the night. Even if your Princeton New Year’s Eve wouldn’t turn out perfectly, it would still beat spending the night in a high school friend’s basement — or worse, watching the ball drop alone on your couch at home. You would end the evening confident that Princeton had made the occasion a night to remember. 11:00 a.m.: Wake up and remember you still haven’t taken finals. Happy New Year!
1) Bring your own oxygen tank.
11 p.m. 154 pages to read, 1800 words to write, six math problems to pretend you know how to solve. To an ignorant outsider, things may not be looking too fantastic. But it’s fine. You know better. The night is young, and baby, you’re gonna pull an all-nighter. Do you know what that means? You’re basically getting 133.33 percent more out of your day, in terms of time spent awake!
“Breathtaking” best describes McCarter Theatre’s production of “A Christmas Carol.” From the opening scene, in which carolers revel in Christmas festivities, to the very end, when a reformed Ebenezer Scrooge walks offstage with Tiny Tim, McCarter’s production brings Charles Dickens’ powerful message to the stage in a stunningly beautiful performance.
You’re Going to Love Deez Nutz: PUB Presents “NUTZ 2012”
In the beginning, our relationship was strictly social. He was the president of a group I had just joined, a junior and 21 years old. I was a freshman girl enjoying my first few months of college, trying to figure out the Princeton social scene. He was rising in the ranks of his eating club; I was struggling to get passes.
Dear Sexpert,
As we eagerly look to return home, we must all be careful to remember that winter break is not only a time of great festivities, but also a time fraught with great danger. I speak, of course, of those awkward moments when you run into an old acquaintance at home and find you have nothing to talk about. These dreaded moments make winter break so stressful that by New Year’s Eve, you might begin to believe that your auld acquaintance should, in fact, be forgotten, and never brought to mind.
There’s always one moment when you discover that something is important to you — that, no matter what you may tell yourself, your life won’t carry on quite the same way without it. When you finally realize it, that thing kicks off its shoes, takes a deep breath and settles down within you. If you ever want it to leave you alone, good luck: You may have to wrench and tussle and shove if you want to re-find the person you were before it came along.
After three months in the Orange Bubble, constantly rushing from one activity to the next, it can be strange to go back to your hometown for three weeks. Yet this is exactly what many of us are expected to do when the University stops feeding us every December. While the brevity of Thanksgiving and the numerous Princeton-sponsored activities during fall break prevent these breaks from becoming jarring departures from the Princeton routine, the extended duration of winter break forces students to temporarily abandon the comfortable rhythms of campus life. There is no reason to worry, though: This convenient guide will help you navigate the difficulties of your return home.
I stare past the old man next to me and out the window, zoning out as I try to suppress a mild feeling of claustrophobia. On the nights I’m traveling home, I always take a moment as the plane touches down in Frankfurt for my layover to think about how weird it is that most of my American friends are already back home, whether it took them five minutes to drive down Nassau Street or six hours to fly to the West Coast.