Yale Daily News

As with most writers, Tom Stoppard sets out to prove that man does not live on bread alone. We need a little more, a little metaphysics, or it’s back to cattle grazing. “Arcadia” is a testament to that claim, and you’ll struggle to find a finer production of it than at the Yale Repertory Theater.

October 17, 2014

How many shows can you say are imaginative, warm, beautiful, heartbreaking? Those are adjectives I am reluctant to throw around, but “Our Town” demands that you give in to its all-embracing humanity, brought alive and writ large in this big-hearted production at the Long Wharf Theatre.

October 17, 2014

Bongs and joints are passed around a circle. The marijuana conversations are hidden, confined to small rooms while others pre-game for Woads, walking through the streets tipsy, unabashed.

October 10, 2014

Despite his admiration of Steve Jobs, Kanye’s real forerunner is Oscar Wilde.

October 10, 2014

If you’re reading this, you probably know: WKND is something different. We cuss and joke and make a lot of bad puns. We use the first person. We wear sweatshirts and jeans. We’re part of the YDN, sure, but we’re up in the attic of 202 York.

October 3, 2014

The Yale Dramatic Association opened its 2014–15 season on Thursday in the darkest of ways — with Arthur Miller’s “All My Sons,” an experimental production that combines elements of classic Greek tragedy with components of modern American theater. The result is a drama that forces its audience to both reflect upon society and question contemporary ideals.

October 3, 2014

I didn’t talk about Bin Laden’s face. My skin was his color. My father’s beard was dark and thick.

September 12, 2014

At the corner of High and Chapel Streets, and between the established Yale foodie favorites Froyo World, Little Salad Shop and Atticus, French crêpier Adil Chokairy has set up shop. Or rather, set up cart.

July 13, 2014

“This last hour, before dawn. No matter how much we distract ourselves during the day, no matter how lost and confused we are when we twirl around bed at night, this hour changes everything. It’s like…everything suddenly makes sense. Like a jigsaw falling into place. Maybe you should write a book about that when you become all rich and famous in America. The last hour. The first beams of sunlight.”

April 18, 2014

The journey began with two hats in a store window. I was walking back to my apartment from the train station the Monday after spring break and found the words “Peace” and “Violence” glaring at me through the window. Unable to avert my gaze, I tossed aside the three duffle bags strewn over my shoulder and craned my neck to get a closer look. Two camouflage hats with brilliant red and orange-blended brims came into view. The store manager was quick to notice my fascination, and darted over to open the door for me.

April 18, 2014

The language of love and the language of science do not often find themselves in correspondence, but their discourse in Arcadia seems natural. The play […]

April 4, 2014