Over a lunch of pizza bagels, a fan of this very paper was asked to explain the Nass 100. “The Nass 100 is this thing that the Nass does every year where they like list one hundred things they never want to see again and like 33.3% of them are super funny.” Well, we are pleased to announce a full 67 (round up!) percent of this year’s list is top-form humour! Incremental progress, folks.
by Colin Pfeiffer on
The most vexing thing, for me, as an admirer, is that he chose to hang himself, a gesture he had to have known was deeply dramatic, in the tradition of Brilliant Suicidal Writers like Woolf and Hemingway.
by Rob Madole on
Silvery and warm, Anderson’s voice is comfortable, like that of a children’s book narrator. It sounds terrifically, radically human through a vocoder, a fact that she indulges frequently on record and in live performance.
by Raymond Zhong on
1. Your idea for a new campus publication
100. That night I held you and we just laughed and cried till morning
by staff on
But maybe this is all just my issue, maybe the condom is the new ninja turtle and racism is the new family moral. Sometimes you must just move with the trends, and so as the youth say these days, fuck a ho – Disney sure will.
by Saba McCoy on
Once Hannah has dipped her toes into the world of popularity, her life begins to spiral out of control. She becomes friends with the popular girls, among them a girl played by Miriam McDonald, who proudly shows that she can play a blonde in something else besides Degrassi.
by Mara Nelson-Greeberg on
The medium is the message,” Marshall McLuhan said, and Andres Serrano’s is shit: holy shit, mom shit, sheep shit, dog shit, rabbit shit, Freud shit, bull shit. Shit photographed and enlarged, shit set against campy backdrops of psychedelic swirls, shit printed, mounted and framed by somber black wood.
by Masha Shpolberg on
I had never heard a Jonas Brothers song before the first week of this school year. I was throwing a pre-game for Lawnparties, offering Tequila Sunrises and mojitos in the a.m.—the youngest oldest thing Princeton students do. The eclectic and up-to-the-minute iTunes playlist I had made for the occasion had run out, and some roommate of a friend had taken over the computer to keep the mood going. “‘Burnin’ Up’!” someone requested. Probably the new Usher single, I thought, and then a nineteen- or twenty-year-old played me my first Jonas Brothers song. “Don’t they wear chastity rings?” I asked no one.
by Conor Gannon on
Instead of the usual how-do-you-do, we’d like to tell a story.
There once were two bears. Both were young and happy; both led pleasant and fulfilling lives.
Or so they thought.
by Colin Pfeiffer on
In an election where both candidates for President profess a faith that teaches a preferential option for the poor, it is lamentable that there has yet to be a real discussion about equality in American society. As has been the case for the past five election cycles, we continue to engage in a debate that pits “cultural” against “issue driven” politics.
by Jacob Candelaria on
ERICA: That’s another issue I feel is important to raise up in terms of the discussion we’re having between each other about these politics in regards to our opinions about the political election. McCain is so old. He’s like, older than my dad and your dad combined. Do you seriously think that he’s not too old to not die if he does or does not become President?
MEGAN: Um, Erica? Old people don’t just die all the time. That’s a very popular misconstrued misconception about them. It is so hard to watch America not understand the most important issues about America, like all of the problems in the world such as killing people and poor people, because the only important issues about America that they care about are age. My grandpa is 73 years old, but he only died once last year.
by Mara Nelson-Greeberg on
For all those who read Obama’s first memoir (Gobama!) where he talks about his heart-wrenching trip to Nairobi, they might already know this. But for those who didn’t, Matatus are basically just vans. But like the average road in Nairobi is less a road than a Mario Kart-esque trial of potholes, spiked road belts placed by the police, and all sorts of other obstacles; Matatus are less vans then they are the wishful remnants of what used to be vans. Think Pimp My Ride, Kenya style, and you have got yourself a Matatu.
by Saba McCoy on