Upon entering the room, I encountered Ian Macomber '13 casually typing on his silver, 13-inch Macbook Pro. Like the flower Edelweiss, Ian grew up on the side of a mountain. That is to say, he came out of the womb with a goggle tan and began skiing at three months. Ski equipment lies strewn across the room as if he had just taken a bad fall. He modestly admits that a one-of-a-kind poster on the wall entitled "Carnival!" depicts him skiing in full gladiatorial armor.
A few quick glances around the room reveal countless insights into Ian's life. The Dartmouth skiing parka tossed haphazardly over his desk chair after a strenuous workout evidences his pursuit of the Division I athlete's idyllic lifestyle. A white iPod dock sits beside his twin XL bed, brightly reminding me that it's 6:55 p.m. The chair on which it hangs is a testament to Ian's inability to settle for a cookie-cutter dorm room.
Unhappy with the unsightly faux-pine finish of the chair issued by the College, he longed for something more unique, an artisan's touch. To remedy this, he covertly switched his chair with that of his roommate, which he described as much more unique due to the scratches along its side, reminiscent of the thrones that accompany the desks from his time spent in McLane.
A strict adherent to the minimalist philosophies of Agnes Martin and Dan Flavin, Ian's walls lay bare, saying almost as much in their nakedness as they would if littered with decor. Two posters, one portraying a family of kittens and another capturing a pair of frolicking unicorns, provide a breath of fresh air from the ubiquitous Biggie and Breakfast at Tiffany's posters that litter dorm rooms around campus. "Every kitten has a story," he mutters.
Like a great Spanish conquistador, Ian's room is adorned with trophies of his travels. He bought his royal blue sheets, unwashed since last fall, on a pilgrimage to Lebanon. " Or maybe it was West Lebanon. I do so much traveling it's tough to remember," he adds, narrowly missing the trash can with a balled-up sheet of paper, qualifying "I shoot 80 percent."
Ian's room is imbued with his sense of his heritage. Although on the surface he appears to simply be a white male from Boston, Ian is a human melting pot, with influences from Ireland, Wales, Scotland and even across the English Channel in Germany. He embodies this legacy with a collection of argyle sweaters, Sperry Topsiders and a copy of Sunday's New York Times. However, he also draws inspiration for his room from other cultures. A vuvuzela leans carelessly against the bedpost on which a Bob Marleyesque Rastafarian hat with dreadlocks rests. The room is truly a trip around the world in 304 square feet.
As I depart, I trip over a strangely shaped glass vase, which spills a pungent, seemingly exotic water of sorts. He chuckles and slyly remarks, "Sorry for partying."
