In her weekly column, series blogger Rebecca Farley lends a platform to the university's unheard voices. This week, she sat down with the Diana Center, who, among other things, is in a serious relationship with NoCo.
The Diana Center, a haven of red carpets and velvet couches, is one of the most notable buildings on campus. She houses the famous Liz's Place, a cafe with some stellar pizza on her second floor, and some of the best study spots on campus. She's also currently a little stressed out.
"Duane Reade already has the Valentine's Day candy put out, like, already! Already. I just see those little red hearts and I want to cry. I hate Valentine's Day." The Diana Center sighs. "Sorry, what was the question again?"
The Diana Center has been in a relationship with the Northwest Corner building for almost three years, but she still gets nervous about her Valentine's gifts. The relationship still feels new, she tells me, despite the fact that the two virtually live together and rarely go five minutes without talking.
"I'm not sure what I'd do without him," she tells me, "he's just so, I don't know, solid. Really grounded and firm. But yet still open and accessible. And so filled with light! Ugh, I could talk about him for hours." She sighs again.
Despite all her romantic worries, the Diana Center is a calm building. She sighs frequently, but her sighs are elegant and almost soothing to the ear. After she expresses her Valentine's Day frustrations, she turns to me and smiles, great windows crackling at the corners.
"But enough about me. How are you?" she asks.
"Ah, good." Interviewees don't usually ask me this. "I know you're worried about what to get for the Northwest Corner building, but are you glad to have the students back at school?"
She nods, relief flooding her orange facade. "It's genuinely very lonely in the winter when the students go away. Even with NoCo across Broadway. It makes me very happy to have the students back."
Her face falls.
"But..." Her voice grows quiet.
"The cold." She says it as if the cold can hear us.
"Well, as a glass building, it's kind—how do I put this—I don't mind the way I look, really. I love myself, but, um…"
"The cold gets to you?" I ask.
"Well, look at the Math building across the street. You see it?" She indicates with one shiny window pane.
I look over at Math, which has a more traditional brick facade and ornate window detailing.
"Math is wearing a puffer coat, to put it in your terms. I am wearing a towel. A wet towel," she tells me dryly. "And the cold is no good."
"I'm sorry," I offer.
She smiles again and shifts, her window-ful frame squeaking in the frigid air. "It's all right. I'm a lucky building. Can I tell you something?" She raises an eyebrow suggestively.
"Of course!" I lean in.
"I have the best elevators on campus." She leans back, windows shining in the sun. She's proud.
"Who has the worst elevators?"
She blushes a deep orange and shakes her head. "Oh, I can't answer that."
Rebecca Farley is a junior who writes love letters from NoCo to the Diana Center in her free time.