Those three characteristics are exactly what I wanted; ergo, I have the perfect room. For me.
It is the perfect room for me because I want to be in West where it is quiet, where I won't have idiot suitemates who blast music from their computers through their open room door when they have a party in the common room, like the suitemates I had in sophomore year. Hip-hop music. It is so nice and quiet in West that there are signs on the doors asking people to not slam them between the hours of 10 pm and 6 am. 10 pm! Now that's what I'm looking for.
It is the perfect room for me because I want to be on the fourth floor so that I have to climb lots of stairs every day. I have lived on the second floor everywhere I've ever lived -- Madbury, Deer Isle (both the loft and the upstairs room in the new cabin), the Mountain School, Japan, Sage A, Mark Hopkins, and Mystic -- until winter study of this year. (Please disregard the abysmal quality of the web pages I created almost four years ago.) Now I live on the third floor, which has a way better view than the second floor, and plus, I get more exercise walking up an extra flight of stairs every time I go to my room. This will only increase next year, which is good since I will only be about 200 feet from Bronfman.
But the best thing about this fourth-floor room in West is that it has an amazing view. West is already at the top of the hill, the geologic zenith of the Williams campus. West College, after all, used to be known as "Williams College" -- it had the classrooms, offices, everything necessary to run the college -- so it had to be at a point of strategic advantage. West College is so high up that windows on the fourth floor look over the tops of the adjacent buildings. Clark and Bronfman present no issue; the view of the mountains is unobstructed. The view, specifically, is of Stony Ledge, where the Mountain Day celebration takes place every fall.
Actually, I've not yet seen the view, as I visited the room last night at about 8:30 pm, when it was dark out and the occupant's shades were drawn. However, I have every expectation for an even better view than that from the window of my winter study room.
I would like to end with the Letter to Mold that Hunt Hobbs '09 wrote near the end of our trip to Biloxi:
It has been a good two weeks hanging out with you in Biloxi. I had lots of fun. I had lots of fun killing you, you nasty pestilent s--t.Hunt, of course, used the actual words, without the dashes.
I take pleasure in hearing your tortured screams as I wirebrush your smudgy, earth-toned excuse of a body into an afterlife which I am sure for you will be a fiery, painful oblivion.
Give me a neatly folded rag and I will end you. I hate you with all my fury.
The only thing worse than you is being trapped in a burning building with four zombies, a swarm of angry bees, and my ex. If you were't a microscopic organism, I would kick you in the nuts, over and over and over.
Be prepared for total war. You will cease to exist and Hands On Gulf Coast will stand gloating as the last evidence of your worthless, sickening life vanishes undear a coat of white latex paint.
You are vulgar, obscene. You have poor taste in music. You shoot hoops like my grandma. You wear tacky ties to gatherings. Your collection of 80's memorabilia is not well organized.
Go to hell. Give Satan my regards and a respiratory ailment.