In 1989 I moved to Princeton for the first time, crossing the wide ocean from Amsterdam.
The Dutch have adopted a do-it-your-way attitude toward social rules. American social life, in contrast, operates by rules that are often unspoken but rigorously observed.
It was time for my daughter to give me a crash course from her school curriculum about “micro-aggressions.”
When I walk into the radio studio on the 36th floor of an apartment building in Manhattan for an interview, I suddenly arrive in the middle of a rehearsing...
Whenever my neighbor gets off the train at Penn Station, he jumps on the platform, throws out his arms, and sings, “New York, New York, it’s a helluva town!...
He was sitting on a metal heating grid on the lawn next to the Graduate College. A squirrel. A fat squirrel, I must say. A squirrel on steroids, with a huge pot belly.
In April I saw my first fox trotting in front of Nassau Hall. In June I saw a coyote, playing close to a deer family. But at last, the student have returned, and the animals hide themselves again.
This new world is a bonanza for born voyeurs like me. I can’t get enough of studying all the interiors, the bookshelves, the dogs, the idiosyncratic behaviors.