All of the happy high schoolers running around campus today reminds me of my prefrosh experience three years ago. I flew in from Michigan with my mom - due to a delayed flight, we ended up getting to campus around 7 pm, after the opening festivities, and too late to meet up with my host. Exhausted, we hoped to find Frist and find out who my host was, and in the process, stopped a girl to ask for directions.
Her name was Amber, and she remains one of the nicest people I've met on this campus. She was on her way to Frist as well, and as we told her about our predicament, she shared with us that she had wanted a prefrosh, but she and her roommate both thought the other one would protest, and she really regretted the missed opportunity. As we reached Frist together, they told me I'd have to come back the next day, as they had no way of knowing who I had been matched with - and Amber told my mom and I that she and her roommate, Francine (another wonderful human being), would take me in.
We stayed in a double on the Forbes Island - it was the second or third floor, I don't remember which, and the cinder block walls didn't phase me - I loved it. That's not to say the weekend wasn't without its share of trials - their RCA obligingly brought me out to the Fields Center to meet other freshmen - except I don't dance, so I stood there awkwardly, unable to tell which people were prefrosh (and therefore safe to talk to sans embarrassment). I spotted another high schooler by his tell-tale white prefrosh folder, and although we hung out and he helped me get back to Forbes, I wandered around for over an hour trying to get back into the island, prox in hand and no clue about where to go. Finally getting up the courage to interrupt the students slaving over a problem set, when I asked them for directions, they were all too willing to make sure I got back to Amber and Francine's room - and all crisis was averted.
The next day, attending the prefrosh barbeque, I was at a loss, since I hadn't met many other people, but a frosh who had snuck into the event to take advantage of the free food (I think he was running low on meals for the week) took me to Witherspoon to check out up-campus. We first stopped by his quad, where people were drinking whiskey and watching the movie Gettysburg at 8 in the evening - this threw me off a little, but smiled and nodded and realized that this was the Princeton way. We took a tour of some more Rocky rooms, and he dropped me off at Amber's Bible study in Murray Dodge. There, they decided to play Catch Phrase, and when I guessed the phase "hammer dulcimer," someone said "I know why you got into Princeton!" and I felt like I might really belong here.
I've hosted 6 freshmen since then; 2 for the Humanities Symposium, and 2 each for the past two years. As much of a pain as prefrosh weekend can be (and as much as I hate the new name), there are moments when I think about how great it can be to show someone the wonders the next four years can hold, and it's a little easier to be patient with the hordes of high schoolers clogging the sidewalks.
Friday, April 11, 2008
My Prefrosh Experience
Forget DST, how about CST - College Student Time?
What if we turned the clock forward a few hours every fall? Not too much, maybe three or four hours, just for those of us who can't ever seem to get to bed before 3AM.
That could be the new midnight; classes wouldn't start until 12PM (the new sunrise - yes, I can now control the revolution of the earth too. deal with it.), they'd go until 3PM (the new noon), tarry on until maybe 8-9PM, which is when we'd normally think about starting our homework anyway. Then we'd go to bed at 3AM (midnight) as we're used to, finally get a good 7 hours of sleep, and arise bright and early for the new day.
This would mean that lots of things that are supposed to happen while we sleep will actually happen while we sleep, that all the little invisible gears turning behind the scenes will remain hidden from our naked eye. For example:
- Midnight - formerly 12AM, now 3AM. No more sending emails like, "Showdown tomorrow at the saloon. Be ready. Or wait, actually that's today. Showdown today at the saloon." No more wanting to post on a certain day for a certain delightful datestamp, only to find that the calendar's moved on without you. No more missing the 11:59 deadline that profs seem to love giving out.
- DST and reverse - formerly 2AM, now 5AM. Your clock can now change while you sleep, so you don't get the particular feeling of living a given hour over again or, worse, having it stolen from you while you're trying to write a damn paper that was due at 11:59.
- Santa Claus - we don't actually know when this happens, but it's important when it does. And you'd better not be peeking when he comes down that chimney. Ho ho ho.
Of course, it's entirely possible that our perverse habits of procrastination will simply follow us through the time change, and we'll still stay up into all hours of the (new) night playing "just one more" round of solitaire. But hey, DST never helped anyone either!
Thursday, April 10, 2008
Blog Love: New sex blog post
So, 'Sex and the Street' is back again this week. Just wanted to make sure all our loyal 'Prox' readers knew about it.
P.S.: Hi prefrosh!
Truth in Advertising
Before you decided however, I would like to call to your attention some simple facts about Princeton which can be clearly observed through the Princeton Preview Program.
Firstly, it is always sunny in Princeton, NJ. See that beautiful weather we're having? It's always like that. It never rains in Princeton, except for on the second Tuesday of each month, but that's so that the flowers can be as pretty as they are (have you walked through Prospect Garden yet?). And when it rains there are never any yucky puddles or serious problems with drainage. Especially not down campus. It also doesn't snow. Except on a couple of occasions, ideally suited for building snow forts and snow pineapples, and sliding down hills on dining-hall-tray-sleds, but again, the paths are always shoveled nicely and the sunshine always melts the snow once the scenic beauty has worn off. So, if you were considering a school in Sunny California because of the weather, there's really no reason not to come to Sunny Princeton.
More importantly perhaps, the dining hall food is always delicious. See that scrumptious meal at Whitman? All the food here is exactly like that. (Wu/Wilcox....what?) And even if you're not put into Whitman, you can eat at any dining hall you please. It's not like there are exclusive, member-only College Nights. Oh wait... Well, at least if you are in Whitman, you can always eat there. Exceptofcourseforwhentheadmissionsofficedecidesthatonlyprefroshcaneatintherebutthatonlyhappenstwiceayearinanycase. Oh, and Whitman is never so crowded that you can't find a seat. Especially not, say, at around 6:30.
And last, but not least, Princeton is all fun and games. Of course it depends on your definition of "fun and games" but I'm sure there's an EC course you can take to figure out the semantics.
Aren't you glad that you can now make a truly well-informed decision?
PS--Seriously though, Princeton is a great place. Probably the best way to get a feel for how great it is however is to just ask current students. Ask as many questions as you can about eating clubs, residential colleges, distribution requirements, quality of living, independent work, extracurriculars, faculty attention, spiritual opportunities, and anything else that may be important to you. And remember, the laundry machines are free to use.
Hanake Horror
What does one do when another person infringes on your own rights? If you think about it, your right to privacy is a vague cloud that is prescribed by a law or regulation pre-agreed to by a couple of men around a table a few hundred years ago. If we take away the consequences (punishment and death) born from the act of harassing others, is there really anything that is stopping us? We are not physically but morally restrained to not carry out the act of walking down that aisle in Firestone and bashing someone’s head open with the Encyclopedia Britannica. Think about it. Nothing is 
really stopping you, apart from your fear of the repercussions. From the perspective of the person who has the potential of being bashed on the head by a perpetrator (anyone in the same room in fact, could likely walk up to you now and slap you on the face), is it not a scary thought that YOUR right is actually under the dominion of others?
Among many other things, “Funny Games” by Michael Hanake (a remake of his 1997 Austrian movie of the same name) intends to provoke this realization within its viewers. Extending beyond that, the movie also explores and downright condemns the Hollywood horror genre and its manipulation of the viewer’s emotions to provide entertainment. Yes. This movie is all about manipulation. Before I get ahead of myself, let me introduce the players.
The premise is simple. A nuclear family comprised of doting parents, Ann (Naomi Watts) and George (Tim Roth) and their son, arrive in their vacation home, only to be disturbed by two clean-cut youths (the ever cherub-like-and-yet-still-creepy Michael Pitt and Brady Corbet) wearing crisp white golf attire and matching gloves. They terrorize the family, to the point that they may or may not survive the night (why should I tell you their fate and rob away your pleasure of suspenseful movie watching experience which is clearly the director’s intention?). No frills, but loads of thrills.
I personally did not enjoy this movie. Because of this, Hanake was successful in the presentation of the movie as a didactic commentary on the Hollywood horror genre that feeds on sado-masochistic enjoyment. It is very clear that Hanake’s intention is to manipulate the viewers to be thoroughly entertained (or forcing them to have to buy new pants later) and then place them in a situation where the viewers realize their own sadistic tendencies. The director then berates the viewers with guilt, by employing Michael Pitt’s character as a vehicle that questions the audience’s morality. Pitt’s antagonistic character directly addresses the camera in the middle of gruesome acts, asking the audience: “Do you want plausible plot structure or entertainment?” and then reverts back to interrogating his victims. This breaking of the fourth wall that happens intermittently causes an unsettling moral questioning of the audience’s attitude when viewing horrific scenes on the screen. Are we aroused? Do we cheer and hope that the fictional protagonist would survive to see another day?
Watch this film (or its original) once in your life to understand the mental processes of Michael Hanake. And then never watch it ever again. It is thoroughly worth it and equally disturbing.
P.S. – Watch his other film “Cache”, a film that illustrates the paranoia surrounding the omniscient presence of surveillance cameras in our modern society and the misuse of this power, which carries the potential to instill fear instead of the intended comfort in our lives.
Caption Contest - 04.10.08
Come up with the best caption for the photo above, and win a NY Times Reporter's Notepad courtesy of the Prince! The Prox staff will be the judge.
Here are some sample captions to get your creative juices flowing:
"Don't tools start rusting in water?"
"All went well at the Wilson School's annual senior send-off until Dean McCarty spiked the hot chocolate"
"Who unleashed the piranhas?"
"Further proof of why Mr. Robertson was correct"
Looking forward to your responses!
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Everything Revolves around Whitman. Even the last post.
There was this one time, when I was walking to my writing seminar and decided to use the stairs in Whitman Dining Hall to avoid the cold weather. When I was about 5-7 feet away from the card-checking station, a Whitman kid (standing guard outside the dining hall), hoping to maintain the integrity of "Members Only" night, glared at me and asked, "Are you from Whitman?" (Italics may have been used to dramatize the situation.)
Even though I realize that this is really petty, I was very happy to hear that Whitman Dining Hall decided to exclude Whitman residents to accommodate pre-frosh.
But then, I reread the letter that the Dean sent, particularly the statement below, and started thinking.
The Admission Office has requested that on the Thursday night of both weekends (April 10 and April 17) these students have the opportunity to eat in the Whitman dining hall. Due to the number of admitted students participating, this means we need to close the dining hall to all current Princeton students, including Whitman residents. We thank you for your understanding in this matter.
Why did the office request Whitman Dining Hall and not the other ones? I mean, I think students realize that Whitman is the best dining hall, but it's kind of annoying to hear that the Admission Office thinks so, too. But really... Why not Wilcox?
P.S. No word from the University asking students to pretend that parts of Butler, mainly the construction, and all of Wilson are unaffiliated with Princeton for these next two weeks.
The Whitman Epic Continues
Once upon a time, the administration created College Night, which caused a great stir amongst the undergraduates of lower campus. The administration asked non-Whitman residents to eat in their own dining halls, ostensibly to foster a sense of community. Wilsonians, Butlerites and Forbesians alike felt betrayed. For one night a week, they were kept out of the overcrowded Whitman dining hall and banished to Wilcox, Wu and the far off land of Forbes. The proud and the few of Rocky and Mathey were hardly affected. (Albeit, as a Rockyite myself, I did question the weird fiesta music and cartoonish disguises with the big nose, mustache and glasses they handed out as part of the festivities). But, for our compatriots down campus, times were tough. Cue bagpipes.
Sex and the Street: Achieving success downtown, and why I can never look a honey-bear straight in the eye.
In my senior year of high school, I began dating a boy named Chris* who I had been pretty close friends with throughout the years, and due to a strange mix of dares and – let’s face it – convenience, we ended up together. He was my first “real” boyfriend, and up to that point the only experience I’d ever had with guys had been a little kissing now and then. I had major issues with insecurity and my body, and had been afraid to show myself to anyone, but he was a good friend so it made things a bit easier. In true high school fashion, most of our hookups took place in the backseat of his Prius. Yes, a Prius’ backseat is incredibly tiny, especially considering his 6’ 4’’ frame, and yes, it was uncomfortable at best. Contrary to what my prior innocence would’ve predicted, we zoomed through the “bases” in no time. Nothing we’d been doing had been particularly pleasurable to me, so the logical progression seemed to be to oral sex. In terms of giving, I was nervous, but also pretty sure that it couldn’t be THAT hard (no pun intended), so I just went for it. In terms of receiving, I had my hang ups. I wasn’t sure my vagina was ready to be greeted so up close and personally. Of course I was worried about if it would look weird, smell weird, taste weird….I had always been insecure about the normal things, like my stomach and my thighs, and now I had a new part of my body to worry about. Unwilling to face this step unprotected, I came up with the genius idea of incorporating food into our sex life. Chocolate sauce? Too runny. Whipped cream? Too fluffy. My pussy’s topping of choice? Honey. It was late at night when we decided to try this out, and we both walked into a grocery store, in search of a cute little plastic bear to violate. We thought the cashiers were onto us. We quickly drove to a secluded spot where we liked to hook up, and he drizzled it on. “Mmm tasty,” he told me, and I tried to relax in that tiny backseat and enjoy. For the majority of our relationship, I would not let him go down on me without that honey bear present. More than 3 years later, I still can’t look at bottles of honey the same way.
Fortunately one day, we forgot the honey bear, and he said, “it’s ok, I’ll still do it.” I was a little afraid, but he didn’t really seem to mind, so I decided to just let it go. At the time I didn’t know that it was a terrible idea to put honey there in the first place, and I’m just glad I didn’t get any weird irritations from it all. Today, I laugh at how absolutely ridiculous the whole situation was, but I’m sure I felt the same way that a lot of girls have felt or feel about receiving. I don’t have any real statistics on this, but I’d say that if you ever meet a girl who “doesn’t like” receiving oral sex, there’s a 98% chance that she has vaginal insecurities, with the other 2% just having unfortunate experiences with clueless men. Growing up I’d always heard jokes about vaginas smelling like fish, or otherwise being particularly unpleasant. Once, a male friend of mine told me that he had pretended to choke on something to get out of eating a girl out once because it smelled so bad. I was TERRIFIED to be smelly-pussy-girl. Finally, half a bottle of honey, countless pairs of sticky underwear, and zero (ZERO!) orgasms later, I realized that this was no way to live.
Since then, I’ve let go of my pussy anxiety. With one recent and terribly upsetting exception (“where I come from, we just don’t do that!”), I’ve never met a man who wouldn’t go down on me, and thank God, because I enjoy (good) oral sex endlessly, mainly because it’s the only way a man can get me off without technological interference. Pussy smells like pussy, and that’s just how it is. And for all of the shit I’ve heard in music and in life about men’s aversion to it, in my experience, the majority of guys don’t mind going downtown every now and then. Adam once assured me, “well I wouldn’t, like, want to smell it all day long, but, it ain’t half bad.” Perhaps all of this talk about taste and smell is masking the real reason why I think that some men are averse to cunnilingus: because many of them don’t really know what they’re doing down there.
Sitting around the table for a meal yesterday, I asked my friends, “so, oral sex. How good are you at it?” The overwhelming answer from the men was, “I have no idea, but if I had to guess, pretty mediocre.” I felt sad for women everywhere; if this is the answer I was getting in public, I shudder at the thought of what was REALLY going on down there. “I just kind of get down there and hope it works,” one friend admitted. “You can never tell,” another explained, “you don’t know whether they actually like it, or if they are faking.” Faking orgasms, particularly during oral sex, seems to be an eternal sore spot for men. Upon admitting to a group of male friends that I’d once merely thought of faking an orgasm during oral sex, but didn’t, one yelled out, “You are a horrible person if you fake an orgasm while a guy is going down on you. That is the WORST thing you can do to a guy.” While that may be a bit of an exaggeration, it’s true, guys like it when girls actually get off. That’s kind of the point, right? So as a bit of advice to everyone, male or female, faking orgasms is a no-no. If you fake it, they’ll never learn. Well, “duh,” you might say, but faking orgasms is not as uncommon, even on this campus, as you may think. When I took a survey for a psych major’s thesis about faking orgasms, with the exception of me, all of the sexually active Princeton women she’d surveyed up to that point had faked orgasms with their partners.
I could go on and on about how faking orgasms is a terrible practice which ultimately results in bad habit formation and thus, fewer actual orgasms, but that’s another post. My friends for whom I decided to write this post may be disappointed, because I think they were looking for technical tips, but they can find that with a simple Google search. What I will say to the men out there is that when I’ve asked my girl friends what they like, they say the same unsurprising, but still important, things: softer strokes in the beginning, varying movements, directions, and tongue coverage (flat and wide versus pointy, etc), but most important is persistence and a good mindset. The best oral sex I’ve received has been from men who did not necessarily have a lot of experience, but who had expressly asked me to tell them what I liked or I didn’t like, and who (within reason) were willing to stick it out. Good oral sex flows not from expertise, but from an attitude. That is not to say that the most well-intentioned novice will instantly be able to make women cum left and right, but without the right attitude, it’s hard to be good at anything, really. When I’m going down on my boyfriend, my train of thought goes something like this: “I’m about to drive you insane, and you are going to fucking love this.” I would hope for both of our sakes that the man between my legs is thinking something similar. And sure, going downtown isn’t everyone’s favorite pastime (though for some, bless them, it is), but while you’re there, you might as well enjoy it. I don’t know everything about the art of masterful cunnilingus, but I know what feels good, and I remain dedicated to my research. ;)
* Name has been changed
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Thesis day disappoints
With a t-shirt, a cookie and a congratulations, it was all over. After months of working and worrying, I handed in my thesis today. It's hundreds of hours of researching, reading, thinking, writing and revising distilled into 100-plus pages. It's done and I'm not sure what to think.
The senior thesis, the University says, is "quintessentially Princeton." Administrators and professors consider the thesis as the culmination of an undergraduate career. Back in February, I heard President Tilghman say she sees the thesis as a core reason why the University can't accept transfer students. From day one, undergraduates at Princeton are prepared for crafting their theses. When the University did accept transfers, she said, many of these students struggled with their theses just because they did not have the same amount of preparation as their classmates. The writing seminar, the departmentals, the JPs all lead to a senior year of independent work. Psychologically, students are prepared for eventually writing a thesis when they're admitted as high school seniors. My acceptance letter back in December 2003 included Quintessentially Princeton, Dean Malkiel's booklet about the senior thesis. I knew it was coming and had almost four years to plan. My classmates who got in regular decision had a little bit less time to prepare for the thesis once they were accepted in April 2004, but we've all knowingly had the thesis process ahead of us for a long time.
Now it's all over. And I feel the same as I did yesterday, the day before and a month ago. It hasn't set in that I've signed and delivered the capstone of my undergraduate career. I'm too tired to go out and celebrate, but too accustomed to working through my exhaustion to give up writing this blog post.
My classmates and I still have almost two months left at Princeton. Though anthropology majors handed in their theses last Friday and three big departments –– history, politics and English –– had theses due today, with the Wilson School and art and archeology due tomorrow, some seniors still have more time left in Firestone, Friend or Frist. Economics majors still have another week. Science and engineering majors have a few weeks more.
If handing in our theses is the truly the culmination of our time here, wouldn't it be more immediately satisfying than it has been? (I'm sure there are people out there who deeply felt the power of handing in their theses; I just haven't talked to any today.) Shouldn't there be fireworks and balloons and flowing bubbly? Shouldn't we at least be able to calm our over-caffeinated nerves sufficiently enough to be able to fall asleep at 10 p.m. and wake up at 10 a.m. rested and happy? I think all these things will be achieved, just as they have been for generations of Princetonians, but they may take more time than we have left here.
Tomorrow, I'll toast with cheap Champagne and hope to realize just what a great accomplishment a Princeton thesis is.
Jennifer Epstein '08 is a 'Prince' Managing Editor Emerita.
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