Ranking the non-dorm houses: You thought you were safe!

Credit: Jean Gonzalez ‘23.

 

Credit: Maryam Bacchus/The Miscellany News

It seems we have once again reached that time where I must impart my expert, unbiased, completely correct opinion onto you all. It has occurred to me in the weeks since my dorm rankings article (behind which I still stand, as I have no doubt you will agree) that there are yet more houses we must rank! What about those of us, myself included, who can no longer say we grace the halls of Vassar’s nine (seven) beautiful dorms with our presence? What of us who can relish in our kitchen-having, private-bathroom lives? I know that sequels are rarely as good as the original, but I hope I can give you an “Empire Strikes Back,” or a “Mamma Mia 2: Here We Go Again!” of a rankings list. Once again, I must disclaim that all of these houses are wonderful places to live, and I would consider any resident incredibly lucky. No exceptions. Mostly. 

  1. Terrace Apartments

As a current TA resident myself, I must admit: The life we live is pretty sweet. We get a beautiful kitchen, a selection of the most beautiful laminate flooring (or carpet, depending how lucky you are) and enough stairs to work your calves to shredded beacons of fitness. Who cares that it currently averages around 97° Fahrenheit in there, and that when the oven’s on it’s more like 97° Celsius? We get two of the stickiest couches you’ve ever laid eyes on and big enough windows to give EVERYONE on the street a show. The five-persons seem nice, but they do scare me a little bit because every five-person TA I’ve been in feels a little bit like a hospital, with its tiled floors and grippy steps. In all seriousness, though, I love my apartment and wouldn’t have it any other way. Okay, maybe I would have it one other way, and that way is five degrees cooler. That’s all I ask. I fear I may soon become Madi Soup.

  1. SoCos

The SoCos are Vassar’s forgotten treasure. Where else on this campus will you get a front porch? I think you all are graced with a house that truly feels like a home. Hell, you even get a linen closet. Every time I pass by those houses I am reminded of a true neighborhood, except instead of being populated by new mothers with their strollers, it’s populated by students who foolishly thought that their two (2) weekly trips to Skinner Hall for their ensemble rehearsals justified the neverending trek to the Deece. I cannot stress enough how far away these houses are. Are you a Studio Art major? No? Then I don’t care how huge your kitchen is; if you don’t have a car it will feel like you are living on a deserted island. I wish all of my SoCo buddies love, joy and above all, stamina.

  1. Town Houses

Another far walk for ye. You do get a view along that path, I’ll give you that, but there is simply something about the THs that gives me a bad taste in my mouth. Maybe I’m just not used to being in such close proximity to gaggles upon gaggles of sports bros—would it be fair to call the THs the equivalent of our frat row? At least there are no life-endangering rituals going on there in the name of belonging, but hey; you never can tell. The THs may have us TA-ers beat in terms of yardage and bathroom quantity, but they are dinged simply by the vibes. I wish I could give you a better reason, but I honestly don’t think I can. It’s just like, the TAs are cats and the THs are dogs. That’s all I can really say. I’m glad you got that crosswalk so you don’t get hit by any more cars, though.  

  1. Ferry

This is simply based on principle. Ferry is an enigma to me; it is a mystery. But instead of a sexy mystery, it’s one of those mysteries that you can see right through. Literally, right through. You guys have NO PRIVACY. How do you change? How do you survive the Quadrangle concerts? I’ve met very few Ferry-ites out in the wild, and it always feels like I’m meeting a celebrity. The kitchen seems cool. I guess. I just don’t think I can condone the severe lack of personal space or the weird chalkboard tiles. And, let’s face it, I am put off by fear of what I do not know. How can you be in a house so convenient, so literally transparent, and yet I have heard nothing of the goings-on in those four glass walls? What secrets of Ferry House are being kept from us? Is there a secret meat stash you are all ashamed of? Do you not actually recycle? What if Ferry House doesn’t even exist at all, but rather is a collective hallucination that manifests itself in mirages of campus accessibility and a weirdly rude application form? I guess we’ll never know.

 

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