I personally can barely remember what I was like before I came to college, what made me happy or worried or confident. I don't remember what I expected in my future, except that "President of the United States" was about halfway up the ladder. I don't remember how I used to read books or look or even read a newspaper. The very way I think has been changed by the last four years. That's not to say that it wouldn't have changed at Stanford, but to wish I'd attended Stanford instead is to wish away the topmost layer of myself. That's easy enough on Cher's butt, but pretty damn difficult on my psyche.
So, graduates of the Class of 2000 and all you other gold-plated undergraduates, you won't be seeing me on stage during Class Day. But I'll be glad to be unbitter in the audience, knowing I've augmented myself substantially.
Just like Britney Spears.
At least that joke made it in.
David A. Fahrenthold '00 is a history concentrator in Dunster House. His column appears on alternate Tuesdays.