Thursday, July 26, 2007
the balance btwn likeability and assertiveness
walking from the subway to the office, crossing the street... car that must have raced through the red light coming perpendicular to the crosswalk, blocks the traffic from the other section, parallel tou us. i wanted to shout and force everyone to stop crossing the street and let the car through, but i haven't reached that stage yet. i want to. but i think i have an inherent fear of not being liked. i thinki the key to success in business is to be a liked person, and i have not yet uncovered that fine balance between likeability and assertiveness.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Michael Moritz, the venture capitalist who built a personal $1.5 billion fortune discovering the likes of Google, YouTube, Yahoo and PayPal, and taking them public, may seem preternaturally in tune with new media. But it is the imprint of old media — books by the thousands sprawling through his Bay Area house — that occupies his mind.
Jim Wilson/The New York Times
Enlarge This Image
Jim Wilson/The New York Times
Books in the California home of Michael Moritz.
“My wife calls me the Imelda Marcos of books,” Mr. Moritz said in an interview. “As soon as a book enters our home it is guaranteed a permanent place in our lives. Because I have never been able to part with even one, they have gradually accumulated like sediment.”
Serious leaders who are serious readers build personal libraries dedicated to how to think, not how to compete. Ken Lopez, a bookseller in Hadley, Mass., says it is impossible to put together a serious library on almost any subject for less than several hundred thousand dollars.
Perhaps that is why — more than their sex lives or bank accounts — chief executives keep their libraries private. Few Nike colleagues, for example, ever saw the personal library of the founder, Phil Knight, a room behind his formal office. To enter, one had to remove one’s shoes and bow: the ceilings were low, the space intimate, the degree of reverence demanded for these volumes on Asian history, art and poetry greater than any the self-effacing Mr. Knight, who is no longer chief executive, demanded for himself.
The Knight collection remains in the Nike headquarters. “Of course the library still exists,” Mr. Knight said in an interview. “I’m always learning.”
Until recently when Steven P. Jobs of Apple sold his collection, he reportedly had an “inexhaustible interest” in the books of William Blake — the mad visionary 18th-century mystic poet and artist. Perhaps future historians will track down Mr. Jobs’s Blake library to trace the inspiration for Pixar and the grail-like appeal of the iPhone.
If there is a C.E.O. canon, its rule is this: “Don’t follow your mentors, follow your mentors’ mentors,” suggests David Leach, chief executive of the American Medical Association’s accreditation division. Mr. Leach has stocked his cabin in the woods of North Carolina with the collected works of Aristotle.
Forget finding the business best-seller list in these libraries. “I try to vary my reading diet and ensure that I read more fiction than nonfiction,” Mr. Moritz said. “I rarely read business books, except for Andy Grove’s ‘Swimming Across,’ which has nothing to do with business but describes the emotional foundation of a remarkable man. I re-read from time to time T. E. Lawrence’s ‘Seven Pillars of Wisdom,’ an exquisite lyric of derring-do, the navigation of strange places and the imaginative ruses of a peculiar character. It has to be the best book ever written about leading people from atop a camel.” Students of power should take note that C.E.O.’s are starting to collect books on climate change and global warming, not Al Gore’s tomes but books from the 15th century about the weather, Egyptian droughts, even replicas of Sumerian tablets recording extraordinary changes in climate, according to John Windle, the owner of John Windle Antiquarian Booksellers in San Francisco.
Darwin’s “Origin of Species” was priced at a few thousand dollars in the 1950s. “Then DNA became the scientific rage,” said Mr. Windle. “Now copies are selling for $250,000. But the desire to own a piece of Darwin’s mind is coming to an end. I have a customer who collects diaries of people of no importance at all. The entries say, ‘It was 63 degrees and raining this morning.’ Once the big boys amass libraries of weather patterns, everyone will want these works.”
C.E.O. libraries typically lack a Dewey Decimal or even org-chart order. “My books are organized by topic and interest but in a manner that would make a librarian weep,” Mr. Moritz said. Is there something “Da Vinci Code”-like about mixing books up in an otherwise ordered life?
Could it be possible to read Phil Knight’s books in the order in which Mr. Knight read them — like following a recipe — and gain the mojo to see a future global entertainment company in something as modest as a sneaker? The great gourmand of libraries, the writer Jorge Luis Borges, analyzed the quest for knowledge that causes people to accumulate books: “There must exist a book which is the formula and perfect compendium of all the rest.”
Personal libraries have always been a biopsy of power. The empire-loving Elizabeth I surrounded herself with the Roman historians, many of whom she translated, and kept one book under lock and key in her bedroom, in a French translation she alone of her court could read: Machiavelli’s treatise on how to overthrow republics, “The Prince.” Churchill retreated to his library to heal his wounds after being voted out of power in 1945 — and after reading for six years came back to power.
Over the years, the philanthropist and junk-bond king Michael R. Milken has collected biographies, plays, novels and papers on Galileo, the renegade who was jailed in his time but redeemed by history.
It took Dee Hock, father of the credit card and founder of Visa, a thousand books to find The One. Mr. Hock walked away from business life in 1984 and looked back only from his library’s walls. He built a dream 2,000-square-foot wing for his books in a pink stucco mansion atop a hill in Pescadero, Calif. He sat among the great philosophers and the novelists of Western life like Steinbeck and Stegner and dreamed up a word for what Visa is: “chaordic” — complex systems that blend order and chaos.
In his library, Mr. Hock found the book that contained the thoughts of all of them. Visitors can see opened on his library table for daily consulting, Omar Khayyam’s “Rubáiyát,” the Persian poem that warns of the dangers of greatness and the instability of fortune.
Poetry speaks to many C.E.O.’s. “I used to tell my senior staff to get me poets as managers,” says Sidney Harman, founder of Harman Industries, a $3 billion producer of sound systems for luxury cars, theaters and airports. Mr. Harman maintains a library in each of his three homes, in Washington, Los Angeles and Aspen, Colo. “Poets are our original systems thinkers,” he said. “They look at our most complex environments and they reduce the complexity to something they begin to understand.”
He never could find a poet who was willing to be a manager. So Mr. Harman became his own de facto poet, quoting from his volumes of Shakespeare, Tennyson, and the poetry he found in Arthur Miller’s “Death of a Salesman” and Camus’s “Stranger” to help him define the dignity of working life — a poetry he made real in his worker-friendly factories.
Mr. Harman reads books the way writers write books, methodically over time. For two years Mr. Harman would take down from the shelf “The City of God” by E. L. Doctorow read the novel slowly, return it to the shelves, and then take it down again for his next trip. “Almost everything I have read has been useful to me — science, poetry, politics, novels. I have a lifelong interest in epistemology and learning. My books have helped me develop a way of thinking critically in business and in golf — a fabulous metaphor for the most interesting stuff in life. My library is full of things I might go back to.”
It was the empty library room and its floor-to-ceiling ladder that made Shelly Lazarus, the chairwoman and chief executive of Ogilvy & Mather, fall in love with her house in the Berkshires, which was built in 1740. “When my husband and I moved in, we said, ‘We’re never going to fill this room,’ and just last week I realized we needed to build an addition to the library. Once I’ve read a book I keep it. It becomes a part of me.
“As head of a global company, everything attracts me as a reader, books about different cultures, countries, problems. I read for pleasure and to find other perspectives on how to think or solve a problem, like Jerome Groopman’s ‘How Doctors Think’; John Cornwall’s autobiography, ‘Seminary Boy’; ‘The Wife,’ a novel by Meg Wolitzer; and before that, ‘Team of Rivals.’
“David Ogilvy said advertising is a great field, anything prepares you for it,” she said. “That gives me license to read everything.”
Harriet Rubin is the author of “Dante in Love” and, most recently, “The Mona Lisa Stratagem: The Art of Women, Age and Power.”
Jim Wilson/The New York Times
Enlarge This Image
Jim Wilson/The New York Times
Books in the California home of Michael Moritz.
“My wife calls me the Imelda Marcos of books,” Mr. Moritz said in an interview. “As soon as a book enters our home it is guaranteed a permanent place in our lives. Because I have never been able to part with even one, they have gradually accumulated like sediment.”
Serious leaders who are serious readers build personal libraries dedicated to how to think, not how to compete. Ken Lopez, a bookseller in Hadley, Mass., says it is impossible to put together a serious library on almost any subject for less than several hundred thousand dollars.
Perhaps that is why — more than their sex lives or bank accounts — chief executives keep their libraries private. Few Nike colleagues, for example, ever saw the personal library of the founder, Phil Knight, a room behind his formal office. To enter, one had to remove one’s shoes and bow: the ceilings were low, the space intimate, the degree of reverence demanded for these volumes on Asian history, art and poetry greater than any the self-effacing Mr. Knight, who is no longer chief executive, demanded for himself.
The Knight collection remains in the Nike headquarters. “Of course the library still exists,” Mr. Knight said in an interview. “I’m always learning.”
Until recently when Steven P. Jobs of Apple sold his collection, he reportedly had an “inexhaustible interest” in the books of William Blake — the mad visionary 18th-century mystic poet and artist. Perhaps future historians will track down Mr. Jobs’s Blake library to trace the inspiration for Pixar and the grail-like appeal of the iPhone.
If there is a C.E.O. canon, its rule is this: “Don’t follow your mentors, follow your mentors’ mentors,” suggests David Leach, chief executive of the American Medical Association’s accreditation division. Mr. Leach has stocked his cabin in the woods of North Carolina with the collected works of Aristotle.
Forget finding the business best-seller list in these libraries. “I try to vary my reading diet and ensure that I read more fiction than nonfiction,” Mr. Moritz said. “I rarely read business books, except for Andy Grove’s ‘Swimming Across,’ which has nothing to do with business but describes the emotional foundation of a remarkable man. I re-read from time to time T. E. Lawrence’s ‘Seven Pillars of Wisdom,’ an exquisite lyric of derring-do, the navigation of strange places and the imaginative ruses of a peculiar character. It has to be the best book ever written about leading people from atop a camel.” Students of power should take note that C.E.O.’s are starting to collect books on climate change and global warming, not Al Gore’s tomes but books from the 15th century about the weather, Egyptian droughts, even replicas of Sumerian tablets recording extraordinary changes in climate, according to John Windle, the owner of John Windle Antiquarian Booksellers in San Francisco.
Darwin’s “Origin of Species” was priced at a few thousand dollars in the 1950s. “Then DNA became the scientific rage,” said Mr. Windle. “Now copies are selling for $250,000. But the desire to own a piece of Darwin’s mind is coming to an end. I have a customer who collects diaries of people of no importance at all. The entries say, ‘It was 63 degrees and raining this morning.’ Once the big boys amass libraries of weather patterns, everyone will want these works.”
C.E.O. libraries typically lack a Dewey Decimal or even org-chart order. “My books are organized by topic and interest but in a manner that would make a librarian weep,” Mr. Moritz said. Is there something “Da Vinci Code”-like about mixing books up in an otherwise ordered life?
Could it be possible to read Phil Knight’s books in the order in which Mr. Knight read them — like following a recipe — and gain the mojo to see a future global entertainment company in something as modest as a sneaker? The great gourmand of libraries, the writer Jorge Luis Borges, analyzed the quest for knowledge that causes people to accumulate books: “There must exist a book which is the formula and perfect compendium of all the rest.”
Personal libraries have always been a biopsy of power. The empire-loving Elizabeth I surrounded herself with the Roman historians, many of whom she translated, and kept one book under lock and key in her bedroom, in a French translation she alone of her court could read: Machiavelli’s treatise on how to overthrow republics, “The Prince.” Churchill retreated to his library to heal his wounds after being voted out of power in 1945 — and after reading for six years came back to power.
Over the years, the philanthropist and junk-bond king Michael R. Milken has collected biographies, plays, novels and papers on Galileo, the renegade who was jailed in his time but redeemed by history.
It took Dee Hock, father of the credit card and founder of Visa, a thousand books to find The One. Mr. Hock walked away from business life in 1984 and looked back only from his library’s walls. He built a dream 2,000-square-foot wing for his books in a pink stucco mansion atop a hill in Pescadero, Calif. He sat among the great philosophers and the novelists of Western life like Steinbeck and Stegner and dreamed up a word for what Visa is: “chaordic” — complex systems that blend order and chaos.
In his library, Mr. Hock found the book that contained the thoughts of all of them. Visitors can see opened on his library table for daily consulting, Omar Khayyam’s “Rubáiyát,” the Persian poem that warns of the dangers of greatness and the instability of fortune.
Poetry speaks to many C.E.O.’s. “I used to tell my senior staff to get me poets as managers,” says Sidney Harman, founder of Harman Industries, a $3 billion producer of sound systems for luxury cars, theaters and airports. Mr. Harman maintains a library in each of his three homes, in Washington, Los Angeles and Aspen, Colo. “Poets are our original systems thinkers,” he said. “They look at our most complex environments and they reduce the complexity to something they begin to understand.”
He never could find a poet who was willing to be a manager. So Mr. Harman became his own de facto poet, quoting from his volumes of Shakespeare, Tennyson, and the poetry he found in Arthur Miller’s “Death of a Salesman” and Camus’s “Stranger” to help him define the dignity of working life — a poetry he made real in his worker-friendly factories.
Mr. Harman reads books the way writers write books, methodically over time. For two years Mr. Harman would take down from the shelf “The City of God” by E. L. Doctorow read the novel slowly, return it to the shelves, and then take it down again for his next trip. “Almost everything I have read has been useful to me — science, poetry, politics, novels. I have a lifelong interest in epistemology and learning. My books have helped me develop a way of thinking critically in business and in golf — a fabulous metaphor for the most interesting stuff in life. My library is full of things I might go back to.”
It was the empty library room and its floor-to-ceiling ladder that made Shelly Lazarus, the chairwoman and chief executive of Ogilvy & Mather, fall in love with her house in the Berkshires, which was built in 1740. “When my husband and I moved in, we said, ‘We’re never going to fill this room,’ and just last week I realized we needed to build an addition to the library. Once I’ve read a book I keep it. It becomes a part of me.
“As head of a global company, everything attracts me as a reader, books about different cultures, countries, problems. I read for pleasure and to find other perspectives on how to think or solve a problem, like Jerome Groopman’s ‘How Doctors Think’; John Cornwall’s autobiography, ‘Seminary Boy’; ‘The Wife,’ a novel by Meg Wolitzer; and before that, ‘Team of Rivals.’
“David Ogilvy said advertising is a great field, anything prepares you for it,” she said. “That gives me license to read everything.”
Harriet Rubin is the author of “Dante in Love” and, most recently, “The Mona Lisa Stratagem: The Art of Women, Age and Power.”
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Everybody's Business
Getting a Boost Up the Ladder of Success
By BEN STEIN
Published: July 15, 2007
TO begin, I am lying in a lavish sleeper bed in first class on a wonderful British Airways Boeing 777, heading from Heathrow to Dulles. I am the only person in first class who isn’t asleep. Even my night owl wife-for-life is fast asleep on the bed next to me.
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This week: The current upturn in the market; the financial affairs of the British royal family and the dangers of magnets in toys from China.
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I am happy because I just finished a pleasant two-week stay in Frankfurt, Berlin and London, working on a movie, staying in great hotels and eating amazing filet of sole. And I hardly had to pay for a penny of it. That was a big part of why I enjoyed it so much.
I can’t sleep, though, so I close my eyes and think about something soothing and reassuring — namely, my late father, Herbert Stein. I think about him for a long time, and what comes to me is this: Almost everything I have I can trace back to my father and mother. To their efforts, to who they were, to their character.
For example — and the list could go on forever — here I am writing this column about economics and finance. But how do I know a tiny bit about them? Because my father was a learned economist who talked about it around the dinner table, along with my mother, who was also a highly educated economist.
Because my father and mother’s close friend from grad school at the University of Chicago, C. Lowell Harriss, was my teacher for three economics classes at Columbia University and was especially kind to me, often walking with me for a long time after class to elaborate on what he had just been teaching. Because another great economics teacher at Barnard College, Robert Lekachman, was also a family friend and took extra time with me.
And because I had grown up around economics, I just assumed that I could learn it and assimilate it, and so I had confidence in my abilities in the field. This led to my getting good grades and helped me get into Yale Law School and Yale’s graduate school, where I studied with still more friends of my parents, like Henry Wallich and James Tobin.
And how did I get started as a writer? Because I had written an essay about Richard Nixon and pop culture and did not have a clue about where to sell it. My mother and father were friends with the powers that be at the editorial page of The Wall Street Journal, and that greased the skids there, during and after my time writing speeches about economics for Mr. Nixon and Gerald Ford at the White House.
And of course, I got my first full-time writing job there in good measure because my father was chairman of the Council of Economic Advisers for President Nixon from 1972 to 1974.
From then on, I’ve been writing about economics, especially how it affects individuals.
And what about my wife, the world’s most nearly perfect human? Well, we met at the Junior Foreign Service Officers’ Ball at the State Department on July 4, 1966. I was there because my father had gotten me some consideration as a summer intern at the Arms Control and Disarmament Agency, now defunct, at the State Department. If I had not gotten that job, who knows?
How did I get my start as a performer in front of the camera? Well, here we go again. It was from a chain of connections I made starting in 1973 at a Yom Kippur breaking of the fast at the home of William Safire, then a Nixon speech writer and fast friend — and later pallbearer — of my father’s. His wife, Helene, was a close friend of my mother’s.
So all of it can be traced back to the help of my father and mother: the first-class seat, the wife next to me, the fact that I am writing this at all.
Now, there’s a point to all this. I write mostly about investments, and they are important. But for most people everywhere, their livelihood comes primarily from working. Their success depends largely on a combination of education, ability, work habits and connections. If you are like me and a great many other people who fly first class, you started out with some connections and made the most of them, or at least made something of them.
When I consider my friends who are extremely successful (much more successful than I am), many of them were given a big push in their education and career from family members.
But what if you don’t have a well-connected father? What if you don’t have a well-connected mother? What if you don’t have a father at all? What if you are an immigrant without any connections, with parents who barely speak English, if at all? What do you do?
What if you are a young man or woman who has some talent and ambition but little or no idea of how to get onto the ladder? To tell you the truth, I am not at all sure what you do.
But I do know that there is a large class of baby boomers who have done well in their financial lives. They are retiring now and looking for things to do to help the community that gave so much to them.
I KNOW that I have beaten this drum before, but let me beat it again. I wonder whether there is some well-organized human being in the government or private sector who could create an organization that would go into schools on a continuing basis and teach people how careers are made. I wonder whether there could be some link with teachers in schools in nonrich neighborhoods who could tell helpful men and women about boys and girls who need mentors to get them going into higher education and entry-level jobs, and then to counsel them about how to behave on the job and in school.
I keep thinking that if the big hedge funds and investment banks and private investment firms deployed even a tiny fraction of their ability to help boys and girls, and if they really are as effective as they seem to be, and if they worked with retired boomers looking to make a difference, they could do a lot.
There is an immense problem of inequality in this country. It is getting worse, not better. It cannot be solved entirely by tax policy. And it certainly cannot be solved by monetary policy. But we could take a stab at it, even if it’s a small stab, by sharing the skills and connections that some of us have — and were born with — with those young people who have what it takes in the cerebral cortex but need an outside connection.
My father was one of those kids. His mentor was a professor at Williams College named F. Taylor Ostrander. His friendship and support of my pop changed his life. What if there were a league of Taylor Ostranders out there? It would not change everything for everyone, but it would change life for some, and that’s a good day’s work.
Ben Stein is a lawyer, writer, actor and economist. E-mail: ebiz@nytimes.com.
Getting a Boost Up the Ladder of Success
By BEN STEIN
Published: July 15, 2007
TO begin, I am lying in a lavish sleeper bed in first class on a wonderful British Airways Boeing 777, heading from Heathrow to Dulles. I am the only person in first class who isn’t asleep. Even my night owl wife-for-life is fast asleep on the bed next to me.
Skip to next paragraph
Podcast
Weekend Business
Weekend Business
This week: The current upturn in the market; the financial affairs of the British royal family and the dangers of magnets in toys from China.
* How to Subscribe
*
Audio This Week’s Podcast (mp3)
I am happy because I just finished a pleasant two-week stay in Frankfurt, Berlin and London, working on a movie, staying in great hotels and eating amazing filet of sole. And I hardly had to pay for a penny of it. That was a big part of why I enjoyed it so much.
I can’t sleep, though, so I close my eyes and think about something soothing and reassuring — namely, my late father, Herbert Stein. I think about him for a long time, and what comes to me is this: Almost everything I have I can trace back to my father and mother. To their efforts, to who they were, to their character.
For example — and the list could go on forever — here I am writing this column about economics and finance. But how do I know a tiny bit about them? Because my father was a learned economist who talked about it around the dinner table, along with my mother, who was also a highly educated economist.
Because my father and mother’s close friend from grad school at the University of Chicago, C. Lowell Harriss, was my teacher for three economics classes at Columbia University and was especially kind to me, often walking with me for a long time after class to elaborate on what he had just been teaching. Because another great economics teacher at Barnard College, Robert Lekachman, was also a family friend and took extra time with me.
And because I had grown up around economics, I just assumed that I could learn it and assimilate it, and so I had confidence in my abilities in the field. This led to my getting good grades and helped me get into Yale Law School and Yale’s graduate school, where I studied with still more friends of my parents, like Henry Wallich and James Tobin.
And how did I get started as a writer? Because I had written an essay about Richard Nixon and pop culture and did not have a clue about where to sell it. My mother and father were friends with the powers that be at the editorial page of The Wall Street Journal, and that greased the skids there, during and after my time writing speeches about economics for Mr. Nixon and Gerald Ford at the White House.
And of course, I got my first full-time writing job there in good measure because my father was chairman of the Council of Economic Advisers for President Nixon from 1972 to 1974.
From then on, I’ve been writing about economics, especially how it affects individuals.
And what about my wife, the world’s most nearly perfect human? Well, we met at the Junior Foreign Service Officers’ Ball at the State Department on July 4, 1966. I was there because my father had gotten me some consideration as a summer intern at the Arms Control and Disarmament Agency, now defunct, at the State Department. If I had not gotten that job, who knows?
How did I get my start as a performer in front of the camera? Well, here we go again. It was from a chain of connections I made starting in 1973 at a Yom Kippur breaking of the fast at the home of William Safire, then a Nixon speech writer and fast friend — and later pallbearer — of my father’s. His wife, Helene, was a close friend of my mother’s.
So all of it can be traced back to the help of my father and mother: the first-class seat, the wife next to me, the fact that I am writing this at all.
Now, there’s a point to all this. I write mostly about investments, and they are important. But for most people everywhere, their livelihood comes primarily from working. Their success depends largely on a combination of education, ability, work habits and connections. If you are like me and a great many other people who fly first class, you started out with some connections and made the most of them, or at least made something of them.
When I consider my friends who are extremely successful (much more successful than I am), many of them were given a big push in their education and career from family members.
But what if you don’t have a well-connected father? What if you don’t have a well-connected mother? What if you don’t have a father at all? What if you are an immigrant without any connections, with parents who barely speak English, if at all? What do you do?
What if you are a young man or woman who has some talent and ambition but little or no idea of how to get onto the ladder? To tell you the truth, I am not at all sure what you do.
But I do know that there is a large class of baby boomers who have done well in their financial lives. They are retiring now and looking for things to do to help the community that gave so much to them.
I KNOW that I have beaten this drum before, but let me beat it again. I wonder whether there is some well-organized human being in the government or private sector who could create an organization that would go into schools on a continuing basis and teach people how careers are made. I wonder whether there could be some link with teachers in schools in nonrich neighborhoods who could tell helpful men and women about boys and girls who need mentors to get them going into higher education and entry-level jobs, and then to counsel them about how to behave on the job and in school.
I keep thinking that if the big hedge funds and investment banks and private investment firms deployed even a tiny fraction of their ability to help boys and girls, and if they really are as effective as they seem to be, and if they worked with retired boomers looking to make a difference, they could do a lot.
There is an immense problem of inequality in this country. It is getting worse, not better. It cannot be solved entirely by tax policy. And it certainly cannot be solved by monetary policy. But we could take a stab at it, even if it’s a small stab, by sharing the skills and connections that some of us have — and were born with — with those young people who have what it takes in the cerebral cortex but need an outside connection.
My father was one of those kids. His mentor was a professor at Williams College named F. Taylor Ostrander. His friendship and support of my pop changed his life. What if there were a league of Taylor Ostranders out there? It would not change everything for everyone, but it would change life for some, and that’s a good day’s work.
Ben Stein is a lawyer, writer, actor and economist. E-mail: ebiz@nytimes.com.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
"good weaknesses"
too many vast, divergent interests... not sure what to pursue. all over the place.
what sucks is that i am a better worker than she is... at lesat at this company
4:09 PM but i bet she will get into a better b school
because she has cooler activities
for instance, she is writing for the travel section for the new york times
because her dad has a connection
and she's also really smart and a good writer
anyway i must remember this
and you could use this for your interview too
all of our accomplishments: we did ourselves
that's the difference
a big difference from buying your way up
from being served with a silver spoon
\
The winner is not the one who was dealth the better hand, but the one who plays the bad hand wisely
4:09 PM but i bet she will get into a better b school
because she has cooler activities
for instance, she is writing for the travel section for the new york times
because her dad has a connection
and she's also really smart and a good writer
anyway i must remember this
and you could use this for your interview too
all of our accomplishments: we did ourselves
that's the difference
a big difference from buying your way up
from being served with a silver spoon
\
The winner is not the one who was dealth the better hand, but the one who plays the bad hand wisely
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