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Well I do think my essays are better than most on here - but I presume I will get bashed anyways, let em rip


To most, the word “mailbox” elicits little emotion. But for me, the word “mailbox” symbolizes a childhood of communication and exploration. The mailbox has always been a place of wonder for me. A place where it is easy to get lost in bills and magazines, but where the slightest bit of personal attention means so much more when sent through the postal service.

It all started when I was transplanted from my family and friends to a brand new town. It was 2nd grade, and while kids are generally more open to forming new friendships, the move shook me up and left me unable to let go of my past and open up to the future. As I walked home each day and passed the groups of rambunctious boys I yearned to be a part of, my only solace was popping open the mailbox to see what had been delivered. As my fascination grew, I became keenly aware of American Express payment due dates, the Pennysaver coupons, and the ornate wedding invitation stationary. Though none of the mail was meant for me, it still proved a joyous occupant of my time.

When my mother came home one day with a brand new computer, I figured my luck had turned and I would be able to upgrade my pleasures to video games instead of merely opening other peoples mail. The computer, however, was stocked only with two applications. While I had become an expert of managing finances through my close inspection of each bill, the spreadsheet program was slightly too advanced for me. Instead, I turned to Microsoft Word. It took me a few days, but before I knew it, I was crafting beautiful letters to friends and family back in Connecticut. In the mornings I would carefully place the letters into the mailbox and proudly raise the red flag, marching off to school with an air of confidence surrounding me. As I looked around at the students beside me, I realized that just because my friends didn’t go to my school, it didn’t mean that I would never have a friend again. With my letters in hand each day, my self-esteem grew proportionately, until I was able to sit by myself in class and do more than just drown in self-pity. Instead, I learned to act on my desires to become friends with my peers and used my new found self-confidence to assert myself in that process. Soon, I too was bouncing down the street with new acquaintances. While I did not lose my old friends, I realized the pleasure of having friends in all places.

My love for mail extended even further when I purchased a book which contained a list of businesses, celebrities, and dignitaries followed by their personal addresses. Suddenly, I was opened up to a world of possibility wherein the actor I saw on screen or the pitcher I saw at Shea Stadium became as accessible as my friends in Connecticut or my neighbors down the street. Not knowing who a particular addressee was didn’t stop me from researching them and subsequently sending off a letter. Kofi Annan, a man I had never heard of, soon heard from me in the form of a thank you note for his intervention on behalf of Serbs living in Bosnia. Drew Barrymore recieved my letters of encouragement in battling her drug addiction. Even President Bill Clinton got a piece of my mind, in the form of harsh criticisms against his actions in office. As each letter was sent off, my family grew weary of me having my hopes dashed by not receiving a reply. But just as quickly as I sent the letters out, they came pouring back in. As if I lived two different lives, I found myself leaving celebrities with words of advice from friends and teaching friends the thoughts of my famous pen pals. As the middle man, each piece of advice passed through me, leaving a mark of distinction from every person I came in contact with. Whether it be Maya Angelou’s encouragement to stay in school and go to college or Pat Benetar’s rambling on the benefits of music education, I have stored inside of me the glorious delight I felt as I reached into the mail box, ran into my house, sprawled onto the couch, and explored the thoughts of someone else.

As I sit here now staring at the autographed picture of Alex Trebek and the “dictionary-needed” dissertation of Justice Sandra Day O’Connor, I can’t help but smile. At a time in my life when things weren’t going my way, I learned the importance of friends. Whether they were near or far, famous or your average-Joe, simply knowing someone cared was enough to keep me trying. Each lesson I have learned from my experiences both with the mail and with my life has taught me enough to prepare me for the road ahead. Today, with only months before I leave my friends and family again, I cannot worry about a thing; every lesson I have been taught has a special place inside of me that even distance can’t wrestle away. And when I feel the need to reach out and when those who care reach back, the smile that comes across my face as I tear open the envelope will have been delivered through the power of mail.

By Smhop (Smhop) on Monday, July 26, 2004 - 02:59 am: Edit

mail is like getting little presents each day...
=) I personally love mail, even the "junk mail"

Your writing needs a little tightening, but you ahe a decent fun subject and did a fine job of relating it to yourself.

By Tropicanabanana (Tropicanabanana) on Monday, July 26, 2004 - 07:19 am: Edit

Nice essay. You need to work on improving the first and last few sentences. Remember they read lots of these and may be really bored by the time they get to yours. That last sentence is weak. Also please stay away from the cliches and the overblown diction. There is so much of it and it detracts from the strength of the essay.

By Zigger (Zigger) on Monday, July 26, 2004 - 07:36 am: Edit

Sending mail made you more confident? That has to be the dumbest essay I've ever read. Can I please have those precious minutes of my life back?

By Tropicanabanana (Tropicanabanana) on Monday, July 26, 2004 - 07:42 am: Edit

It wasn't dumb, just a little cheesy and cliche. I liked it as an essay, though. I don't know if I liked it as a college essay.

By Angeldesignpro (Angeldesignpro) on Monday, July 26, 2004 - 08:54 am: Edit

Haven't you posted this in a lot of different forums already?

By Bigblue04 (Bigblue04) on Monday, July 26, 2004 - 10:25 am: Edit

A couple things popped out (not in order):

"My love for"
"Symbolizes"
"It all started"
"I learned"
"Glorious"

Ugh, ugh, ugh. I'm sorry, Ilcapo, I've read some of your posts. I'm sure you're a wonderful person. But a mailbox as a symbol for "childhood communication" and whatnot? I don't buy it, buddy. If you're so into communication, communicate that! And don't narrate! Take us inside of your mind. Try writing down everything you think and say for one day. That should be more honest than this. Nothing personal, but your essay strays more than a tangential function.

By Ilcapo (Ilcapo) on Monday, July 26, 2004 - 12:21 pm: Edit

ha thats ok guys, i was ready for your bashing. i've written a million essays and i'll write a million more - im sure that one of them will be college-worthy!

and yes ive posted it on the parents forum, but thats like a whole different dimension

By Duke3d4 (Duke3d4) on Monday, July 26, 2004 - 02:15 pm: Edit

The admissions officers will think your just bsing your feelings, which is pretty clear that you are. Don't try to create feelings that you don't get, thats what too many kids do except YOU make it really obvious. You were right. Your essay did not suck, however I wouldnt' send it in anyways, admissions officers hate it when you lie.

By Ilcapo (Ilcapo) on Monday, July 26, 2004 - 02:55 pm: Edit

But I wasn't lying........it may sound lame but getting the mail really was exciting, and gaining "friendships" through the mail really did make me more confident in trying to make friends in school.

actually as i look over the essay again, there isnt one part of it that I was "BSing" my feelings

By Ilcapo (Ilcapo) on Monday, July 26, 2004 - 02:55 pm: Edit

But I wasn't lying........it may sound lame but getting the mail really was exciting, and gaining "friendships" through the mail really did make me more confident in trying to make friends in school.

actually as i look over the essay again, there isnt one part of it that I was "BSing" my feelings

By Ilcapo (Ilcapo) on Monday, July 26, 2004 - 02:55 pm: Edit

But I wasn't lying........it may sound lame but getting the mail really was exciting, and gaining "friendships" through the mail really did make me more confident in trying to make friends in school.

actually as i look over the essay again, there isnt one part of it that I was "BSing" my feelings

By Ilcapo (Ilcapo) on Monday, July 26, 2004 - 02:56 pm: Edit

ahh a triple post! my apologies

By Tosg (Tosg) on Tuesday, July 27, 2004 - 12:35 am: Edit

I DO want to read an essay that's actually good.

Bragging about something isn't the best way to go about asking for help.

By Deerhunter (Deerhunter) on Tuesday, July 27, 2004 - 08:44 pm: Edit

"So you wanna read an essay thats actually good??"

Yeah. Show me one.

By Ilcapo (Ilcapo) on Tuesday, July 27, 2004 - 09:15 pm: Edit

bite me

By Aim78 (Aim78) on Wednesday, July 28, 2004 - 12:48 am: Edit

Well written, but it just seems kinda phony, like maybe you're exaggerating your love for the mail.

By Kgr (Kgr) on Wednesday, July 28, 2004 - 01:37 am: Edit

>>>>Well I do think my essays are better than most on here
*in Danny DeVito's voice*: "Well, obviously." The best darn things in the world since the mailbox.

>>>Soon, I too was bouncing down the street with new acquaintances

your logic pattern gets fatally shot at this point.


...anyway, last time I checked, you don't need a college degree to become a mailman....

By Ilcapo (Ilcapo) on Wednesday, July 28, 2004 - 01:42 am: Edit

Ha you people are all so bitter!

First of all, the whole post title is a joke

Second of all, we cant all only love self studying for ap physics can we?

you don't need a college degree to become a billionaire either, but if you want a college degree, you might as well get one at some place you would enjoy your time, correct?

By Kgr (Kgr) on Wednesday, July 28, 2004 - 01:48 am: Edit

>>>Ha you people are all so bitter!

we wouldn't be if you weren't so on "im better than all 989/990 out of you" deal...

besides, you gotta admit that this is a "do or die" topic. Either they love it or they hate it. No third option.

>>>you don't need a college degree to become a billionaire either
if your father is bill gates, no.

>>>but if you want a college degree, you might as well get one at some place you would enjoy your time, correct?

first of all, this is a joke !

By Kgr (Kgr) on Wednesday, July 28, 2004 - 01:53 am: Edit

by the way, you said you wrote millions of essay.
how about couple of more for us to see ?

By Ilcapo (Ilcapo) on Wednesday, July 28, 2004 - 02:01 am: Edit

if you want you can just do message search and then "ilcapo" in the parents forums

but here is another one that im posting only because i think you will hate it and its fun to hear you bash them

My dad was rough-around-the-edges. He had brute force, but hundreds of friends. He owned a bar, and he was in the mob. You may have noticed that I write in the past tense. No, he did not get whacked, but he did die. And when he passed away, everyone learned that even Mafioso have their good sides.

While my mother mourned and I crawled around the floor of the kitchen blissfully unaware of what had happened, the men of the mob were hard at work. I can see them now, like little smurfs or Keebler elves running about. These men of corruption were not running to the cement wholesaler, however, they were running to the bakers, the florists, the disc jockeys, and to the bank. In those days after my father’s death, the crew rallied together to do something other than run numbers; they organized the most extravagant college fundraiser Hartford had ever seen.

With beautiful invitations sent to all of my father’s bar patrons and business associates, everyone knew that attendance would be high. The top caterers had been called in and the wealthiest residents of Connecticut had RSVP’ed. Though my father’s death was turning into a circus, I’m sure that those few weeks of planning provided him with plenty of laughs as he looked down at his friends having such a great time after such a horrific event. It was just the type of time he would have loved. He was a man whose wedding was standing room only and whose reception has been likened to an Italian soccer match. In Sopranos-speak, the idea of him feeling taken advantage of would have been responded to with a brief, “Fuhgeddaboutit”.

But forget about it, I won’t. These men who I have met only briefly pulled off one of the greatest financial feats one could dream. In one night, they raised over $200,000 to be split evenly between my sister and myself. They showed me the power of friendship, the ability to make things happen, and a ticket to an education none of them ever had the opportunity to attain. As I grew up, the money that sat in the bank served as an inspiration to me. It was not only something that reminded me of my father’s pride, but something that urged me to break this unique cycle those men were a part of.

After my father’s death and after the fundraiser, his clan broke apart. With one of them missing, it just didn’t feel the same. When I write them letters with updates on my life, they respond with profound words of optimism for me. They know what they have done with their lives, and they know what I can do for myself. The money is no longer money, it is the catalyst that changed my life and transformed four brusque men into one bonded unit of hope. A few weeks ago after providing them with an update on SAT scores and semester grades as well as a virtual guarantee that I would be attending college, I received an alarming notice. I’m now an official member of the mob.

By Tropicanabanana (Tropicanabanana) on Wednesday, July 28, 2004 - 02:07 am: Edit

>>>>>But forget about it, I won’t.

That is literally the most absurd line of an essay I've ever read here. The story was interesting, though.

By Ilcapo (Ilcapo) on Wednesday, July 28, 2004 - 02:11 am: Edit

hahh not absurd - 100% cheesy

By Ilcapo (Ilcapo) on Wednesday, July 28, 2004 - 02:16 am: Edit

The essay below was tailored just for all of you bashers...

No matter where you go or what you do, in today’s society, you are always being judged. While it is fairly obvious that the sub-culture of Ivy-League-Wannabes are expected to compete and vie for the ultimate achievement, rarely do we get a chance to have a fair assessment of our character. For this reason, I have included in my Last Will & Testament a provision that states if I die before April of my senior year, I expect my college applications to be filled out by loved ones and that the essay I am in the process of writing be included. Recommendations were requested long ago, transcripts can easily be arranged to be sent, and SAT scores are on the way. You now have everything you need to fairly assess my life as I have spent it for the past eighteen years. This above all else will be my final judgment.

Let’s start from the beginning, and together we can summarize and subsequently assess my academic and social attributes. When I was born, I looked down and sadly found a pall of white covering my skin. I scratched and scratched but sadly could not find the slightest hint of minority under my thick coat of jaundiced skin (-70). Despite my ill-fate, I looked forward to a life where I could make something of myself and be the first child to enter college (+20) from the illustrious clan of restaurateurs and mafioso I was born into. As the days slowly crept by and I saw myself becoming less and less unique, I realized that I must somehow distinguish myself from the rest of the applicant pool. It was at this time that I initiated my scheme to murder my father. By planting cigarettes beside him and pouring alcohol down his throat in the night, I was able to slowly poison him until he finally cracked. When we buried him (+10), I played merrily on the leaves of my front yard, happy to see my chances of attending a prestigious college soar. The death of my father not only gave me an edge up as a child who overcame tragedy, but as an extra bonus granted my mother the wonderfully enchanting title: “single mom”. How could anyone deny the hardships (+10) we faced in trying to get our lives back on track.

Unfortunately, the place we ended up turning to for a second chance was a little town on Long Island (-30). Home of Intel winners and star athletes, I soon realized that Long Island would be a hard place to distinguish myself. So I turned my mind onto academics. As I indulged myself in books from the time I was in elementary school (+20) to the ripe age of 17, my vocabulary begged teachers to provide me with extra help. So I grabbed an 800 on the verbal section of the SAT (+15), tutored myself in the SAT II’s, gained an inflated 105 average, volunteered every waking hour, and figured I was pretty much set for life.


Much to my dismay, life had changed since I began my quest for the glory of a college diploma. No longer were we only judged in certain areas, but we were judged in every area. By the time I was in high school, even volunteer groups had caught on to the frenzy of judgment. While searching for a summer experience, I found that many organizations were willing to critique my abilities as a volunteer so as to offer me“a fair judgment of my efforts”in the program. When did working for free become grounds for assessment? What had happened? Everything had seemed so easy. Play by the rules, throw in a witty essay, and then wait in the mail for a big fat envelope. The high school students of America, so willing to be judged, now must face a comprehensive review where an extensive ability in one area is not enough. So today, as I sit here in hopes of winning the heart of an admissions committee, I look back at my life and say I did pretty well. I didn’t even mention all of my achievements, but why should I? I have already spent an ungodly number of hours perfecting a resume (+20) that elaborates on the story of my life.

On a final note, allow me to proclaim that it is the individual students who collectively make up a diverse student body capable of great achievement. If you can find someone capable of contributing to your community in the same way as myself, go ahead and take them, maybe they deserve it. As I calculate a final tally of achievement, I unfortunately wind up at -5. In the end, though, what number is enough anymore? Do you have to be the president, captain, expert of everything just to get an education? Sure I’m a -5, but maybe that’s just what Dartmouth needs. And remember: there is a possibility that I’m laying underneath the ground somewhere while you are reading this. How bad would you feel rejecting a dead man?