The summer after freshman year, I reconvened with my friends from home to rehash details of the first year out of what would supposedly be the greatest four in our lives.
Saturday morning, my Facebook feed appeared more like a physics problem set than English, as posts mostly consisted of a wide array of Greek letters.
Several times a week, my inbox is flooded with emails from TigerTracks about new opportunities in consulting, trading and investment banking.
Before first arriving on Princeton’s campus last fall, I had subconsciously created a checklist with a million and one expectations for my four years here — meeting amazing people that I’d call friends for life, or discussing Thoreau under an oak tree.
AlcoholEdu has been part of Princeton’s smorgasbord of freshman orientation activities for several years, but this year the Class of 2017 had an additional online course to take before they set foot on campus.
The two words “career fair” shined in a golden light; they were alluring, magical words that carried the promise of internships and job opportunities galore.
One of the stranger things about how students handle course selection is the avoidance of the pass/D/fail option.
Oil and gas companies are sufficiently large and profitable that Princeton’s individual environmental divestment efforts will not make a monetary difference.
New Jersey might not hold as much sway as North Carolina in the national electoral balance, but we do have our fair share of interesting elections.
The Graduate Student Government was saddened to hear of the upcoming retirement of Dean Russel, who has served as dean of the Graduate School for 11 years.
As I poured myself some water at the reception for President Eisgruber’s installation, the clink of the ice cubes tumbling into my glass vaguely upset me in some unidentifiable way.
In last Tuesday’s paper, columnist Barbara Zhan took note of the changing expectations of work from elementary school to college and beyond.
When that orange tiger popped up on our screens back in March, it meant acceptance. It meant we beat out 93 percent of the applicant pool and made it to Princeton.
In a college setting as rigorous as Princeton’s, to what extent is it socially acceptable for students to talk about the concept of “struggle”? We often hear our friends grieve over tricky problem sets and ridiculous amounts of reading, and it’s certainly not uncommon to hear someone in the dining hall talk about how his or her recent experience with grade deflation was a slap in the face.
One of the things I was most uncertain about as an incoming freshman was the Street. I never drank in high school, and my friend group didn’t party much, so I didn’t really know what to expect when I arrived on campus.
The following is a guest column submitted by alumnus Murphey Harmon '71 in response to arecent Bloomberg article. I'm sure I'm not the only one to notice the factual inaccuracies in the Bloomberg article.
Entering my sophomore year, I began discussing with my friends the inevitable decision of which eating clubs to consider.
In the middle of my first week of classes here at Princeton, I could finally take a breath.
In the multipurpose room of Dillon Gymnasium, I found my hips turning slowly to Enya’s “Wild Child.” It was something I wouldn’t have wanted my grandfather to see.
By Ellen Chances Once upon a time, there was a canopy that stood tall and happy at the Princeton train station.
