One must tiptoe through the tulips of religion with twinkle toes. Recently, a colleague and I discussed the French ban on conspicuous religious displays.
Before this past Sunday, I had never been to a political rally in New York, so my expectations of what one should look like were largely shaped by TV news coverage of the Republican National Convention.
It's hard not to admire the students working for Princeton Votes. Seeing a record of abysmal student election turnout, the group has stepped in to get Princeton students registered and get them to the polls.
Maybe it's just the way my lips form around the word "trowel." Maybe it's the fact that I had never been on a camping trip before in my life.
For my summer internship in broadcast journalism, I wore crisp shirts, pressed skirts, and high heels to do all sorts of things Princeton has prepared me for, such as photocopying, making phone calls and scampering between cars at red lights."Excuse me, sir," I said, pointing my microphone at a driver eating wonton soup.
[Editor's note: Yesterday, reporter Melisa Gao's article 'Professors fund liberal candidates' was linked on the online news site drudgereport.com. Below are some of the letters the 'Prince' received from across the United States.] Look here!
The resignation of Jim McGreevey was a mix of the familiar and the sensational. Rumors floated over the Internet for hours, first that he would resign, then that he would acknowledge an affair with a man.
As usual, in the summer the campus has been a chaos of construction, renovation and repair, with several projects almost, but not quite completed before the return of the students.
When I was little, my dream was to be the equivalent of Dr. Doolittle with people, able to converse with and understand individuals from all over the globe.
Though we lament the recent explosion of young, female sex columnists all attempting to follow lamely in the wake of Carrie Bradshaw, we do understand that Rachel Axelbank's job as a 'Prince' columnist is to cover sex.
The drive to bring about major change in the way the United States collects, analyzes and disseminates intelligence information became inevitable this summer with the completion of the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence study of intelligence failings surrounding the onset of the Iraq war, and the publication of the 9/11 Commission report.
This summer I left the Princeton bubble for a relative adventure in the concrete jungle: New York City.
Can you write? Do you have opinions? Do friends hang on every word you say? Why not put that talent to use by becoming a 'Prince' columnist?
It's surprising how fast the summer goes by every year. One minute you're trying hard not to die of a heat stroke in the middle of a final spring exam held in McCosh Hall, by keeping yourself alive with hazy thoughts of the summer barely ahead of you.
"I have always believed," Dean of the College Nancy Weiss Malkiel told the 'Prince,' "that the U.S.
Yale has its Old Campus, Stanford the Old Quad; Harvard has its Yard. These venerated spaces do more than anchor their campuses as geographic crossroads; they are centers of campus life, indispensable sentimental, historical, ceremonial and functional terrain.
Can you write? Do you have opinions? Do friends hang on every word you say? Why not put that talent to use by becoming a 'Prince' columnist.
Class of 2008, as my contribution to your college initiation, I have decided to offer a tidbit of wisdom that if followed correctly would lead you to a fitter, happier and more productive life at this hallowed institution.
They say the point of freshmen week is to get the new students acclimated to the Princeton environment and life in college.
The weather was hot, a-nearly 90 degrees. The man standin' next to me, his head was exploding, Well, I was prayin' the pieces wouldn't fall on me. Yeah, the locusts sang off in the distance, Yeah, the locusts sang such a sweet melody. Oh, the locusts sang off in the distance, And the locusts sang and they were singing for me. I put down my robe, picked up my diploma, Took hold of my sweetheart and away we did drive, Straight for the hills, the black hills of Dakota, Sure was glad to get out of there alive. And the locusts sang, well, it give me a chill, Yeah, the locusts sang such a sweet melody. And the locusts sang with a high whinin' trill, Yeah, the locusts sang and they was singing for me, Singing for me, well, singing for me.? Bob Dylan H '70, from "Day of the Locusts" Summer is here, and the sound of whirring and drilling floats through the open windows of libraries and dorm rooms.
