Dorm life at Ohio Wesleyan is a comprise. In return for a clean bathroom, one forgoes air-conditioning; independent living is stymied by the roommate; a kitchen in the basement is conceded, sleeping with a girl is discouraged.
Bashford Hall in particular is, architecturally, not as brazenly uninviting as Smith but humbly unremarkable in its own right. In fact, only Stuyvesant with its bell spire and red-bricked courtyard can boast any aesthetic ambition. Given the antique quaintness (Elliot Hall) and medieval grandeur (University hall) of the academic buildings, the dorms seem to be transient structures, serving as ad-hoc accommodations predestined for demolition.
However, dear readers, the more perceptive of you (i.e. of course, all of you) will accuse me of unjustified petulance, of even bad-temper. The dorms are of necessity an exercise in conciliation: their dynamics were crafted to lubricate the transition into the real world of taking out the trash and washing dishes that envelope us all the in slings and arrows of apartment dwelling. Their physical demeanor is superfluous to their function: Harvard and Georgetown dormitories look like the diarhetic excrements of the institutions' academic edifices.
Yet taken as a whole, moving back into the dorms after two years in a fraternity has been soothing, relaxing. I once again have food points, and, therefore, access to a resurrected OWU dinning experience; toilet paper is ever present, and the hallways are devoid of the weekend’s extravagances. Life, the process of living, is a non-entity.
So what does one conclude, dearest of readers, about the dorms? If you walk into your room and there is a desk, bed, and, most importantly, toilet paper, rejoice. 'Roti, Kapra, Makaan' was Bhutto’s slogan, ‘Food, cloth, and a place to live.”
I just wish I could smoke in here.
Bashford Hall in particular is, architecturally, not as brazenly uninviting as Smith but humbly unremarkable in its own right. In fact, only Stuyvesant with its bell spire and red-bricked courtyard can boast any aesthetic ambition. Given the antique quaintness (Elliot Hall) and medieval grandeur (University hall) of the academic buildings, the dorms seem to be transient structures, serving as ad-hoc accommodations predestined for demolition.
However, dear readers, the more perceptive of you (i.e. of course, all of you) will accuse me of unjustified petulance, of even bad-temper. The dorms are of necessity an exercise in conciliation: their dynamics were crafted to lubricate the transition into the real world of taking out the trash and washing dishes that envelope us all the in slings and arrows of apartment dwelling. Their physical demeanor is superfluous to their function: Harvard and Georgetown dormitories look like the diarhetic excrements of the institutions' academic edifices.
Yet taken as a whole, moving back into the dorms after two years in a fraternity has been soothing, relaxing. I once again have food points, and, therefore, access to a resurrected OWU dinning experience; toilet paper is ever present, and the hallways are devoid of the weekend’s extravagances. Life, the process of living, is a non-entity.
So what does one conclude, dearest of readers, about the dorms? If you walk into your room and there is a desk, bed, and, most importantly, toilet paper, rejoice. 'Roti, Kapra, Makaan' was Bhutto’s slogan, ‘Food, cloth, and a place to live.”
I just wish I could smoke in here.
1 comment:
That's weird. You give up living in fraternity housing to live in a dorm. What is up with that? Just curious.
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