Somewhere between blue-booking in furtive snatches at my summer job and filling Blue Books with exam responses last month, I became a closeted blue-booker. I say closeted because I felt a certain guilt clouding my every ramble through the Online Course Information site — the guilt of an adulterer. Vexation with my fall classes crept »
As we peer through the bushes outside 43 Hillhouse Ave. the morning before that athletic contest some members of this species call “The Game,” we see a great deal of activity. We’re in the president’s house on the northern outskirts of Yale University, here to catch a glimpse of a rare and wonderful creature. Try »
Everyone knows Princeton University doesn’t matter. But when you’re walking around Princeton by yourself this Saturday, wondering how to survive because there are no other Yalies around and Durfee’s (and your bursar account powers) are 130 miles away, just remember: the town of Princeton, N.J., is actually considered one of the state’s finest attractions. Somewhere »
I always have to explain my knees. There’s a keloid on my left, an irregular pink mound that started as an angry scar and just kept growing, the last evidence of my fall from a bike at age 13 (that, and the fact that I haven’t successfully ridden a bike in the six years since »
Every so often, even at a place like Yale, we are reminded that some people are smarter than others. Someone, like Thomas Steitz — a Sterling professor of Molecular Biophysics and Biochemistry and, as of Wednesday, the winner of a Nobel Prize for Chemistry — will come along and make us wonder what makes these »
As we sat down to our friend date on the rooftop patio of Bespoke, we looked at each other and immediately wished the other were a boy. With botanical chandeliers hanging above us and sultry Spanish music pervading the dusk air, we knew this could only be better if a young man were sitting across »
