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We know our product is our data, and if our data sucks, our product sucks. I like being able to talk to people and tell them that we have the most comprehensive AND most accurate adult movie database on the planet. In short, Search Extreme has gone from being a fun project to the bane of my existence and back again. It is my baby, and I treat it accordingly. Bush and his potential appointments to the Supreme Court. The words send chills down many a naked spine. An average day in the life is a balancing act.

I know if I devote my entire life to the business, my parents will kick my ass come grade time. In my final quarter right now at NU, I am taking only two classes, with eight total class hours a week.


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But for my morning classes that make me get up at 7 a. Nobody ever believes it when I tell them, but my job does have a lot of elements of a normal gig. I work hard, deal with clients and sit at a computer all day. Some days are a lot of fun, some days really suck. I keep a bottle of aspirin by my desk just like any corporate executive. Sure, it was a big deal when I got my first call at home from a porn chick, or when I first heard Max tell me about a video shoot over the phone. Jenna Jameson. Gorgeous girl, amazing name-branding by Wicked Pictures, a perfect example of right-place-right-time.

Before I got into this line of work, she was one of the few girls I could pick out in a pornstar lineup. I met her. The coolest part was when her brother-in-law also the president of ClubJenna.

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That was amazing. Also in New Orleans, I was invited to be one of a handful of guys in a room watching a live girl-girl Webcast. My first porn set. Toor is characteristically dismissive of white kids who are drawn to "novels of nonidentity" and write "gee-whiz essays about 'Native Son,' 'Invisible Man,' or any of a number of Toni Morrison books. Be creative. You might also enter into a brief, awareness-raising romance with someone of either a different race or the same sex or—Hello, New Haven! Today's applicant to the elite colleges enters a game in which the opportunity for committing a faux pas is just as great as it was fifty years ago, only now the faux pas is on the order of joining the Junior Statesmen of America rather than of sporting ill-fitting khakis.

The Junior Statesmen strike an infelicitous note in the elite-college admissions office in part because they are presumably not keenly sensitized to the tyranny of the patriarchy, but even more so because the very name is redolent of the kind of middle-middle-class earnestness that the elite colleges have always shunned. At the deep heart of the current college mania is something irrational and inexpressible, and it largely stems from that most irrational and inexpressible of American anxieties: class anxiety. As a college counselor, I saw that even the parents of applicants, much asthey talked about wanting their children to get a "good education," seemed to know that more was driving their family's mania for certain colleges than simply the quality of the academic fare on offer.

Often one of the parents, usually the father, would tell me about the way he had chosen his own college, how it had been a painless and straightforward process. Often the choice had hinged on geography many had gone to UCLA or the recommendation of a guidance counselor or a parent.

These remarks never concluded with a confession that "because of the indiscriminate nature of my college-selection process, I sit before you as dumb as a bunny rabbit. The parents tended to be highly—sometimes stratospherically—successful. They ran studios, they were partners in huge law firms, surgeons with national reputations, CEOs, bankers.

But they wanted something more than that for their children. What was it, exactly? This is somewhat uncharitable. For the most part, I found that the parents I dealt with wanted what all good parents want: to give their children the very best. To a certain kind of parent—to me, for example—the very words "better" or "best" are often potent enough to preclude rational analysis of almost any given set of options.

Perhaps one might leave all the fads and fashions aside and think sensibly, calmly, about what one wants from college. Revealingly, although Berezin wrote a whole book about how he got into Yale, he never answered the most obvious question his book provokes: Why, precisely, did he want to go there so desperately?

Almost all the parents I dealt with believed that an elite college would give their children the best education, the best chance of success in their chosen fields particularly in the most remunerative fields , and a set of incalculably valuable "connections" that would open doors the phrase "the way the world really works" was often employed in this context for the child long after the parents had gone on to their own reward. On at least one count they were perhaps misinformed. As James Fallows points out elsewhere in this issue citing a study for the National Bureau of Economic Research , "the economic benefit of attending a more selective school [is] negligible.

Do the most highly selective colleges really offer a better education than less selective ones? This would be a much easier question to answer if the University of Chicago weren't such an unfashionable place among so many undergraduates. There it sits, with its dreamy Gothic architecture of the precise type that kids nowadays go in for, its bumper crop of Nobel laureates the most in the nation , its hugely impressive student-faculty ratio, its demonstrably extraordinary programs and departments. But the kids don't really like it.

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It's too intellectual. What, then, do they mean by the term "good education"? Good but not too good, I guess. It's the kind of education you can get at certain places but not others—at Georgetown but not at the University of Washington; at Duke but not at Chapel Hill. It's the kind of education you can get definitely at Stanford, less so at Berkeley, much less so at Michigan, hardly at all at Wisconsin, and not at all at the University of Illinois.

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That kind of thinking has always bewildered me. Even though Rachel Toor has genuine respect for Duke, she finds herself unable to provide a rational explanation for the school's current enormous popularity with students eyeing elite colleges. During admissions presentations for the university she would, for example, dutifully conclude her remarks about the faculty by saying that "the best-known professors are teaching our youngest students. She writes,. And Duke is a place where many of Toor's friends on the faculty complained "that their students never challenged them, that the kids tended to imbibe information dully and without questioning"—a place that a politically active and aware Berkeley girl might find "oppressively politically apathetic.

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The perception of what constitutes an "elite" school often has little to do with academic excellence. After all, one important measure of a university's quality is how many of its faculty members belong to the National Academy of Sciences, the National Academy of Engineering, and the Institute of Medicine. The ultra-selective Brown counts among its faculty sixteen who are members. Duke, the object of many a prep school student's swoon, has thirty-five.

But the University of Washington has seventy-one, Wisconsin sixty-four, Michigan fifty-eight, Texas fifty-four, and Illinois fifty-three. Part of my problem in getting on board the college frenzy was that I genuinely believed that any one of the colleges on our approved list of a hundred or so was capable of providing students with a good, even a great, education. The funny thing about teenagers is that very often the best of them, the most interesting and curious, are rather lousy high school students. They have other things on their minds than geeking out every single point on the AP U.

They are very often readers, and preparation for elite-college admission does not allow one to be a reader; it's far too time consuming.

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These "lousy" students were often among my favorites, and I never feared that they were going to lose a chance at a great education because they didn't have the stuff of an "elite" admission. They themselves were smart. They didn't need some Ferrari of a college nudging them along the path to a great education; they were going to get one wherever they went.


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So, what we are left with is "the way the world really works. Wait a minute, your roommate says.

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That guy Joe Blow—isn't his mom on like the board or something at like the Met? You know Joe! You and Joe were in a semiotics seminar junior year! Somebody stubs out a joint and gets you the student directory it's the spirit of camaraderie that really makes these places so wonderful. Badda-bing, badda-boom, Joe's mom makes a phone call.

Before you know it, you, your best suit, and your soon-to-be-conferred Brown degree are hurtling toward the island of Manhattan, where the curator of works on paper eagerly awaits your thoughts on the Caprichos; if they're good enough, you'll be answering the works-on-paper telephone and enjoying an employee discount at the gift shop in no time flat.


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