<3 The U-Store
This feels strangely CGI
Ah, Whitman, the newest of them all, whose neo-Gothic arches and towers we owe to erstwhile eBay honcho/gubernatorial candidate Meg Whitman ‘77. From an aerial view, the college forms a “W”, said to be in her honor (definitely apocryphal). It’s no eyesore from the outside. Though Whitman does seem to be aping the time-earned classiness of, say, Rocky — it’s all like “hay look I’m 4 years old but I can be castle-y and majestic too” — it’s a pretty nice-looking crib overall. And there are some nice things on the inside, too. I’ll be quick to admit, the Whitman experience is an overwhelmingly positive one. But I’ve still got some pretty serious reservations about the place. It looks good on the surface, but under that perfect veneer there’s something’s just a little … off. If that’s cryptic, good — I’ll take you through the usual tour, and then I’ll explain myself more clearly when we get to the end, because, suspense, or something.
The résumé:
Laundry: Thanks to ridiculously generous laundry room distribution, no matter where you live the nearest washing machine won’t lie more than a hallway’s length away — you’ll be grateful that you don’t have to clamber up and down stairs with a hamperful of misery. But because of the easy access, these rooms are always busy, so to guarantee yourself an open machine you’ll often have to make the arduous (ok, elevator-assisted) trudge to the 1981 basement, where you’ll find a wondrous array of washers and dryers.
Kitchen: Like the laundry rooms, they’re sprinkled throughout, usually two to a floor, and they’ve got all the usual amenities: fridge, stove, oven, microwave, requisite filthy dishes, etc. Since they’re fairly cramped and devoid of any homey ambiance, the kitchens don’t make for particularly good study or social spaces — I never visited them except to raid someone’s fresh batch of cookies (note: easily sniffed out from afar). Be careful what you cook, though, because air circulation tends to, uh, share your creations with everyone in the vicinity. My freshman year, someone managed to stank up all four floors of 1981 with the thick reek of five-spice. This happened on a regular basis. I will never forgive you, O anonymous purveyor of Asian cuisine.
Computers: Printers on every floor is a godsend, but for usable computers you’ll have to venture to Whitman Library. (We’ll deal with that place in a second.)
With its gothic architecture and stately dining hall, Mathey (prounced ‘Maddie’) looks just like Hogwarts. That, and the fact that it boasts Blair Arch, the largest arch on campus and home to regular a capella concerts, means that Mathey is the most featured dorm in Princeton brochures. Mathey-ites also brag about their location right next to Nassau Street, Princeton-town’s main thoroughfare, lined with ritzy clothing stores and restaurants.
Most would argue that Forbes is at once the most hated and most beloved of the residential colleges. Depending on who you talk to, Forbes is either that sad, cinder-blocked building in a distant zip code or, alternatively, the best thing that ever happened to them. For every mainland critic who argues that Forbes is socially removed from the main-campus scene, there are steadfast Forbesians who contend that their residential remoteness actually forges a more “close-knit community.” After two years of living in the 08540, it’s become clear to me that, polarized views aside, Forbes is what you make of it. Here are the facts—we’ll let you be the final judge.
