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I Have Two Heads: Me, Myself and Stanford

April is here, and with it, one season has ended and another has begun. No, I’m not talking about spring. On its way out is admission season, along with its pell-mell uncertainty for those who once visualized the word “Stanford” as part of their futures. On its way in is the triumphal procession, or the newly admitted members of the class of 2015, many of whom will visit campus in a few weeks for Admit Weekend. The analogy, however, goes a bit further: depending on specific admission outcomes for these current high school seniors, this time is either the closing of one door or the opening of another.

Marks My Words: The S-Word – Part 2

A couple of weeks ago I described my annoyance with the Stanford response — when people hear that you’re from Stanford, they are sometimes quick to peg you as one of those elitist brats. Oh, you go to Stanford? Well you’re probably really smart, rich and obnoxious. Once they decide this, the person in question may either stop talking to you or make fun of you.

Marks My Words: The S-Word – Part I

Last weekend, I went to Vegas for the second time in my life. The first time, I was in 4th grade and with my parents; this time I was in the company of several other 21 and 22-year-olds. While I arguably should have come away from the trip with a massive hangover, a new tattoo and an impromptu marriage, I instead came away with a bad cold and a myriad of thoughts about what it means to tell someone that you go to Stanford.