This Side of Princeton: Cyclab
Princeton has a way of warping — maybe even morphing — my perspective of the world around me. Greek columns like those of the Parthenon work their way into my daily walk to class, accompanied by a peppering of famous statues and Nobel laureate professors. I’ll never forget my first foray into the magnificence of Princeton as an eager 14-year-old, overcome by the ridiculous perfection that seems to ooze out of every nook and cranny of each architectural marvel on campus. It was then that my idea of a pristine Princeton was truly solidified. Every space on campus was its own iteration of what perfection should look like—from the quarter-sawn oak paneling in East Pyne to the angular exactness of I. M. Pei’s venerated Spelman apartments.