King Albert of Liege, Belgium

Growing up, my Father was the parent who taught me most everything domestic. While my Mother was working diligently in school, getting her two Masters degrees and her Doctorate, my Dad and I took care of our home in suburban Northern New Jersey. In between schlepping Mom back and forth across the great Hudson River to Columbia University, Dad patiently taught me how to do laundry, iron my own clothes, and vacuum our shag carpeting with lines that rivaled the grass at Yankee Stadium. I learned how to wear a tool belt and tinker with appliances. I footed the extension ladder while Dad climbed into the autumn leaves to clean the gutters from debris. We raked leaves onto a blue tarp and dragged them to the street while making jokes and talking about whatever came to mind; girls I was in love with, our love for McDonald's Filet-O-Fish sandwich, the theater, the dog, the importance of family and having insurance, the topics were endless. In the winters, he was adamant about snow shoveling the driveway until there wasn't a flake of snow on the blacktop. When the sun came threw after a snow fall, our driveway always glistened and looked newly paved. He made me appreciate what we had and occasionally, I would catch him gazing at our home like he was a King, admiring his Kingdom.

King Albert was not a stay-at-home parent by any means. These chores were shared while he juggled three shifts as a Computer Programmer for a national flooring company a few towns over. Having been a Holocaust survivor and growing up in war torn Belgium, the King felt like royalty here in our great country and taught me the value of a hard day's work. My Father commandeered PC terminals in a windowless, temperature regulated room that resembled the Bridge of the USS Enterprise for over twenty years. On days off from school, and in lieu of a sitter, he would take me to work where he'd show me massive, reel to reel magnetic machines that processed data from all over the country. Surrounded by alien colored, green DOS screens, I enjoyed the white noise and the sound of analog punch cards being processed by the hundreds. King Albert was a popular figure in the workplace, mostly due to his dedication and work ethic but primarily because people knew they could count on him for anything. From the security guard at the front desk to the manager in the three piece suit, my Father was admired and held in the highest regard. I was proud to have this man as my teacher and protector. His dedication and loyalty to his employer, in combination with my Mother's passion for education were my impetus, my driving force to become a member of DormNation.

Perry Hall, our "Paradise by the Pigs"

I am thrilled to kick off this Blog dedicated to Dorm and Apartment dwellers throughout our collegiate landscape. I'd like to especially welcome our pre-college and future late night, grease truck, pizza-crazies, who will soon enjoy the comforts of the dorm-microcosm and become an integral part of what we call DormNation.


My experience at Rutgers University was a great one with fond memories of dorm life. Despite being hawked by a Resident Assistant (glorified security guard), I thrived in Perry Hall which we affectionately called "Paradise by the Pigs". I don't know if it was my common pranks throughout the dorm or my rebellious attitude toward security and late night fire drills, but I became a known face and name throughout the 4 floors of our own private paradise.

Our dorm was located on the Rutgers campus of Cook College which had in fact, the most beautiful landscape you would not expect to find in the epicenter of industrious New Jersey. Cook College is the Agriculture College at Rutgers and since I was a Theater Major at Mason Gross School of the Arts and we had no campus, I picked Cook's campus to live. Just miles off of the NJ Turnpike, our yellow bricked dorm was surrounded by green fields and tall oaks that towered into the most beautiful sunsets one could imagine. You're thinking, "Come on it's New Jersey and that's impossible." Perhaps it was the exhaust of the factories, refineries and manufacturing facilities traveling from Elizabeth and Newark. I'm not sure, but I'll tell you, the pastel colors I breathed in many times per week, were hues that you would only see on a freshly dipped tie dye.

Outside my window and to the south, wavered Jersey corn fields and a pig and cow stable that emitted odors although unpleasant, gave you a feeling of being one with nature. To the north were the Newell apartments where sophomores and upper classmen chose to live. Four to an apartment, these units were built with the intention of being temporary housing, but over time, they became the apartment of choice for post freshmen and the apartments became a permanent community. Newell Dwellers felt that they were really living on their own. In fact, the small campus run bodega, appropriately named "The Cookie Jar", was across the parking lot. Only a few steps away, one could purchase anything from Famous Amos Cookies and Gatorade to toilet paper and toothpaste. Unlike Perry Hall's brick and mortar construction, the Newell floors creaked of dampened plywood covered with paper thin, unpadded carpeting. Still, it was the desire for many to move from their dorm to these mass fabricated flop houses. To live in a mini city that rivaled the prefab homes that passed you on a flatbed? Yes, absolutely.

The mere thought of co-habittating with Newell Dwellers was a stimulating thought. That was real living. Where you could truly feel independent and like your parents, entertain friends in your living room, cook in the kitchen and retire to your room either with or without an evening hook-up. The longing for Newell living was common and incoming sophomores would think of it all summer long. Having already gathered three roommates, the summer was spent wondering which Newell Unit Number would become home. Which mini ski-lodge like condo would be the one where you'd study late into the wee hours of the morning. The place where you'd spend the weekend avoiding the snow or rain only to leave to rent a DVD or perhaps get on the campus bus for a College Avenue party. Who would bring the TV? Who would bring a futon for the living room? Surely friends would visit from other schools! Who's got the stereo? Although the architecture of the Newell structures makes the drying of beige paint look exhilarating, one could create such a warm place inside. You could surround yourself with your own stuff and create your own cocoon.

Perry Hall was the newest dorm at the time with brand new amenities and the sterile but comfortable feeling of the furniture department at Macy's. Each floor had a lounge in the center of the building as well as a tandem kitchen equipped with stainless steel appliances, all with a matte finish. A microwave for popcorn, a stove to boil Mac and Cheese or Ramen Noodles and a small table and chairs. The common areas included a laundry room on the first floor and a TV Room with a giant old school Projection TV that functioned on outdated technology. It was big and it was awesome. During the holidays, we had a beautiful life-like tree in our lobby to welcome Catholics, Muslims, Jews and Wickens into the warmth of our home away from home.

I had one room mate, who became a very good friend of mine for many years. He was a Cook student focused on the Sciences. Scott became a Veterinarian and after 9/11, he decided to lend his scientific skills to the United States Army and go to Iraq. There he contributed to biological studies and tended to the animals left stranded by the Zoo Keepers at the Bagdad Zoo; animals that were left to die. Scott even survived a bomb blast in which he saved the life of another soldier by jumping on him during the explosion. I'm proud to have had Scott as my freshman year room mate and friend. Although I did not support the war in Iraq, I supported Scott's efforts and prayed for his return. Thank God, he did come home not long ago. We don't talk much but he is in my thoughts and the fond memories of rooming with him at Perry Hall will be with me forever.

On Scott's side of Room 216 hung topographical maps of our great nation's national parks and a blown up poster of his Beagle, proudly named Thor. On my side, my blue lava lamp and fish tank lighted the cut outs from Rock magazines. Pictures of Guns and Roses and Motley Crue were strategically placed to appear that no thought was put into it. Posters purchased in the back of Spencer's Gift's were strewn about the ceiling surrounded by glow in the dark adhesive stars. My room had a number of tributes to the Rebel-Actor who died prematurely, racing his car around a cliff. James Dean was an idol of mine at this stage of my acting, despite his having made two and a half movies. These pics of JD were surrounded by many cutouts of "the model with the mole" fallen from a slew of old Vogue and Cosmo mags that I collected from the girl down the hall. It was nice to live in a coed environment. By the way, the girl with the mole turned out to be Cindy Crawford. I could sure spot a success.

The common question for me in college was, would exploding with independence as a member of DormNation become a distraction for me? Would my obsession with expressing myself and sharing myself with the Dwellers in Perry Hall, the Newell Dwellers, the rest of Rutgers and the world become a self defeating distraction?