Money is the great social taboo, yet there is no way to avoid it. Wealth lurks behind nearly everything we can or can't do.
This week, she asks questions about testing and "trans" terminology.Dear Sexpert,This may be a really random, sort of stupid question, but I was just wondering what it means to be "trans."? ConfusedDear Confused,That isn't a stupid question at all.
On paper, "Blades of Glory" seems like a recipe for 90 minutes of unadulterated hilarity.
I believe that chivalry is alive and well, but many individuals would oppose this viewpoint and contend that gentility does not exist on the Princeton campus.
Where I come from, men are supposed to open doors, pick up the tab and stand when you leave the dinner table.
The story of eating club etiquette starts in 1815, when dissatisfaction with campus food was nothing new.
The tragic death of the true gentleman has gone hand in hand with the decline of tail coats and top hats.
I'll just tell you right off the bat: See the diSiac spring show. This is the best dance show I've seen at Princeton.
From taking someone's wet underwear out of the dryer, to answering cell phones in the library, Princetonians can be a rude bunch.
The eXpressions Dance Company is a group with the reputation of having some of the most talented female dancers on campus.
Princeton is brimming with accomplished musicians ? concert pianists, seraphically voiced tenors, guitar-toting songwriters.
Dear Sexpert,I know it sounds gross, but sometimes after sex I ejaculate onto my girlfriend.
1. "Starry Night": The view from an eating club lawn during Freshman Week ... emphasis on the swirlies.2.
"Pop Art at Princeton: Permanent and Promised" differs decidedly from other museum exhibits in terms of appearance, participation and theme.
Has it ever struck you how many different types of people you encounter just walking up Washington Road?
I met a man in an aisle of the rocking chair store.He ate an artichoke in small pieces.His front teeth rattled the knife blade.Every tropical storm has a small eye.When the winds batter, the brass boxes on my mother's dresser quiver like a jaw.Her mirror shattered last summer.She bought the glass from two Russian women; they worked a booth at the street fair, fondled their long braids.My father sliced wood from a spruce with a blue-handled ax.He lugged it to her in a cloth sling; she trailed her hand down his bicep, stopped above the elbow.When this rocking man had gulped it down, he fumbled in his pocket for a compact mirror.He eyed his molars for green strings, knots of squash and corn in his dark mouth.My mother once chirped:Love turns sideways, squeezes between the cracks in our stomachs.Once between the ribs, any man at all could track down the heart.
From blue hair to pink cable-knits, there's no denying that Princetonians have diverse aesthetic tastes.
Petitions irritate me to no end. I don't appreciate being hustled in the middle of an important errand by overly earnest petitioners, who effectively guilt-trip me into signing my illegible signature on a sheet of paper, all the while assuring me that my nominal participation will help end sub-Saharan African AIDS or child poverty or save the endangered black-footed ferrets.
