Guest of a Guest recently made some conclusions about where the Princeton diaspora settles once they hit New York. Breaking down the New York hot spots by the Eating Club alums who hang out there, the article does an alarmingly good job at calling the Tigers stripes.

First of all, eating clubs are all too Princetonian to begin with. At Brown, the “bohemian eating club” is the city of Providence, but we’ve never harbored the illusion that society at Princeton was neatly regimented enough to contain Mean Girls-style cliques. Don’t all eating clubs have exactly the same sort of people — Princetonians?

No, there are many different types of Tigers outside the Amory Blaine archetype. It’s convenient that they’re going from the nation’s most socially stratified campus  to its most socially stratified city: one-to-one comparisons between the top-shelf Ivy club and the equally prestigious Rose Bar flourish.

Other highlights are the spot-on Princeton-to-Williamsburg assumptions:

Preppy Princeton might not overflow with bohemians, but the school’s soon-to-be-starving artists probably eat up at the Terrace Club’s buffet. You can find Terrace alums chains-moking at grungy/artsy venues like Glasslands, Union Pool and Galapagos or trying to catch a big break with their band at Mercury Lounge or Cake Shop.

After the jump, see what the bloggers had to say about Tiger Inn, eBay founder Meg Whitman’s son, and your mom.

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Having already checked “most intensely elitist document ever to grace the Ivy League” off its to-do list, Princeton now brings you “douchiest party flier this side of the Milky Way.” Spotted on campus: A flier promoting a Linkin Park concert at Princeton’s Cottage Club. (click to enlarge)

Now, the event alone would constitute a fearsome level of douchebaggery. (If you don’t understand why, may we suggest watching this cache of Dragon Ball Z clips set to Linkin Park music, followed by this video of Princeton kids dancing.) But, did they really substitute crucifixes for the t’s? And are those really lacrosse sticks bedazzling the bottom corners? On any other week we’d give them the benefit of the doubt— there must be some level of self awareness to this, right? self-loathing irony? clipartsy joke?— but between this week’s hopelessly pathetic student elections and other tragic losses, we’ve lost all faith in the Princeton Man and his ability to do, well, anything without falling all over himself.

UPDATE: It was a prank! Hallelujah, there’s hope for Princeton after all, so long as someone forcibly removed from campus all the sad kids who actually attempted to attend this concert, at the sad eating club where such a prank is actually feasible. Princeton, you continue to be a farcical embarrassment, in all the right and most delighted ways.

Some backstory: Will Scharf ‘08, the former President of one of Princeton’s eating clubs, was charged last December with providing alcohol to minors and maintaining a nuisance. The charges grew out of an unrelated investigation into a brawl between two girls. One girl poured beer on another, and the first struck the second.

But the Borough attempted to coerce these students into testifying against the eating-club as a way of avoiding the law themselves. So instead of charging the two female malefactors, the Borough charged Scharf even though the club had bodyguards and a working wrist-band system in place that night.

In a press-release provided in advance to IvyGate, Scharf’s tough-named lawyer Rocco Cipparone breaks it all down:

Cipparone noted that apparently it has been a pattern of the Borough Police to charge an individual officer of an eating club, only to later dismiss the charges when the eating club itself agrees to take responsibility and admit liability for the charges originally levied against the individual.

It’s an old game and a dirty one. But Scharf, however, declined to play. Rocco declares that Scharf, “was not willing to be used by the Borough Police as leverage against his Club, in derogation of his individual rights and civil liberties.” Bravo!

After the jump — “false arrest, malicious prosecution, and federal civil rights violations.”

UPDATE: The Prince just picked the story up. There’s additional legal info and commentary from Cipparone to be found, if you’re interested.

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One of the unexpected pleasures of graduating is that you get to read crap again. Our first bestseller binge included The Rule of Four; for those of you — wow, a hundred percent, really? — who avoid novels with even the merest taint of pop lit, Four is The Da Vinci Code in a mortarboard. Set at Princeton in 1999, Ian Caldwell (Princeton ‘98) and Dustin Thomason’s (Harvard ‘98) novel follows two seniors’ obsession with the Hypnerotomachia Poliphili and the message coded geekily therein.

Honestly, it’s a pretty good summer read. But there’s one unwittingly hilarious scene we feel compelled to hate on. Listen in as one Parker Hassett (a character introduced as “Ivy’s village idiot, a half-wit from a wealthy family”) enters the eating club’s end-of-year party. He’s met at the door with “hisses” from the crowd — do they still make those? Later, …

… a huge thud comes from below, followed by an explosion of glass.

Gil hurries for the stairs; we rush down behind him to find a wide puddle of debris. Blood-colored liquid is seeping in all directions, bringing snags of glass with it. Standing at the center of it all, in a perimeter of space everyone else has evacuated, is Parker Hassett, flushed and fuming. He has just thrown the entire wet bar to the ground, shelves, bottles, and all.

“What the hell’s going on?” Gil demands of a sophomore watching nearby.

“He just went off. Someone called him a dipso and he went crazy.”

Veronica Terry [Parker's date] is holding up the ruffled skirts of her white dress, now fringed in pink and spattered with wine. “They’ve been teasing him all night,” she cries.

“For God’s sake,” Gil demands, “how’d you let him get that drunk?”

She looks at him blankly, expecting pity, getting fury. Partygoers nearby whisper to each other, holding back satisfied smiles. … [Parker is] amidst the hecklers. From the crowd come coos of Lush! and Drunk! and worse. Laughter at the edges of insult.

My God! An undergraduate inebriated at a party! We just laughed for an hour. (“Lush!“) Caldwell and Thomason: What the hell Princeton are you writing about?

Did the mean bullies tease you a long time ago? Make you mad, with their touchdowns and chest hair and girlfriends? We know it hurts, guys. But if you’re going to get revenge by portraying one as a jerk in a novel, don’t make his crime … pregaming.