Studying the natives in Mathey

Life is interesting for we few seniors bold enough — or perhaps odd enough — to draw back into a residential college. We share our hallways with the cream of America's high schools, and if we sacrifice having our friends next door, we do get to cut to the front of the queue in room draw and to bask in giant, luxurious, singles. For some, though not myself, there is also a glorious freedom from the RA's famous "no snooze, no booze" policy. The convenience of a meal plan (if you want one) and easily-raided study breaks is an added benefit for independents who are neither into cooking, nor pleased with the prospect of an all-Frist, all-chicken tenders diet.

Another benefit of living in the college, at least for me, is the self-righteous high it gives me. On my first night back in Princeton, I chanced to pass by an eating club, which it is superfluous to name. There, on the vomit-flecked grass, I spotted a coupling couple of tomorrow's leaders. They might have seen me too; they don't remember. Perched in my Mathey attic, I fancy myself a one-man protest against the the Street's tyranny over all aspects of campus life: housing, friendships, meals — not to mention mores and manners. Yes, the PUDS food is awful; but by God, I'd rather eat Chicken Afrique again than bow to the awful tyranny of the keg.

Maybe the best advantage of my solitary senior's life in Mathey is the opportunity to observe the great pageant of Princeton passing by. On account of my proximity to the rookeries of academia, I've learned a bit more about how Princeton students evolve than I would if I were sensibly ensconced in Edwards Hall. Here are just a few examples:

It's a staple joke of Princeton humor that freshmen always wear their keys on a bright orange lanyard. It's funny, but it also reflects their anxiety at the start of a big new chapter in life. For frosh, the key to their first college dorm room is an item of immense — maybe even talismanic — significance. In the challenging chaos of coming to college, one's key is a symbol of that small sphere which, at first, is all one controls. Of course, it's these same freshmen who always lock themselves out. I always did, anyway.

Here's another thing: You can spot a first year student instantly. The lost look may have already faded — by now everyone finally knows where Frist is. But frosh do still dress differently. They have not yet grown into the J. Crew uniforms that sit so easily on upperclassmen. Freshman guys are still to be found in baggy jeans or with those strange metal chains on the sides of their pants. The girls will go to great lengths — often rolling down the tops of their pants or shorts — to ensure a bare minimum (sorry) of at least six inches of lower back. (Three inches usually suffices for juniors and seniors). In time the '07s will learn that at Princeton the secret is to dress like your parents – only with flip-flops. But for now the frosh display a sense of fashion that evokes high school, more preoccupied with being cool or being noticed than blending into the buttoned-down vogue. It is immature, but also refreshing: that their appearance is still a little off reflects that they have yet to be homogenized into Prospect Street's numbing and soul-crushing conformity.

Living with the freshmen also teaches one about seizing opportunity. Nowhere is does the early bird more truly get the worm than in first-year USG elections. In a little over a week, Mathey, Rocky, Wilson, Butler (and maybe even Forbes) will be flooded with posters screaming slogans like "Elect Larry for '07 President: his mom says he's cool!" This student-council-esque election inevitably favors the most aggressive glad-handers (i.e. those whose moms think them coolest) who then stay on USG for a very long time. The problem — and I hope the few freshmen have not yet thrown down my column in disgust will pay heed — is that first year officers are elected by a class still unaware of the USG's influence over campus culture, activities funding, and, of course, the honor code. Thus the election results tend to be somewhat haphazard. They do teach a lot about initiative though.

So where does this bring me? I admit that it is a little strange to be still in a residential college in senior year. But I like it. It's rewarding to live here, and I am sure the planned four-year colleges will be great. Even if the freshmen's foibles are amusing, they're also refreshing. The new kids are genuinely thrilled to be here; Princeton is not yet a routine for them. They really do care about their keys and making an impression, however silly the ways in which they try to do so. The freshman class radiates a new energy and hope and gush of expectation that does me good while, like a well-jaded senior, I brood over the blank pages of my thesis draft.

Carlos Ramos-Mrosovsky is a Wilson School major from New York, N.Y.