<p>I'm surprised that nobody has posted on the NYTIMES article today about the horrendous hardships faced by students at one of the most affluent high schools in the United States, Newton North:</p>
<p>So sad. These pitiful creatures, saddled with the burdens of suburbia. Why, the one poor girl was the only girl in her class who didn't have a credit card. Life is truly unfair.</p>
<p>I had to choke at the snobbishness of her essay about the backwaters of Kentucky:</p>
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Esther Mobley wrote the following essay as part of her college application to Williams College:</p>
<p>Going back to Campbellsville reminds me of who I am and of who I am not. In Campbellsville, Kentucky, where my grandparents live, conservatism is palpable. It manifests itself in many ways: people erect wooden boards on their laws with the Ten Commandments written on them. There is a beauty pageant for every girl age four to seventeen. At the county fair in August, the rides are always creaky, with paint chipping off and an odd red light that doesn't light up. On any given day, the same regular crowd of men sits in Jeff's Deli, wearing baseball caps, ordering the usual. Things are old. But some things aren't grand-old or antique-old; they're just stale, outdated, washed up.</p>
<p>I used to think that I felt alienated from Kentucky because of the oldness and the conservatism. Now I realize that it's more than that: it's that Kentucky is drenched in SLOWNESS. The people walk slowly, talk slowly, breathe slowly. They Sunday-drive every day, and their cars seem to exhale onto the road below them. They drag their ancestors with them, treasuring the past the way Northerners treasure the future. They know exactly who they are. In Kentucky, the people reject change, as if to accept it would be to relinquish their heritage. All of this slowness can take a toll on you. It can suck the momentum out of you, it can STAY you, and that's probably why so many people never, ever leave.
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<p>Hint to next year's applicants. No more "grand theme" college essays. Write about your stamp collecting or something. Save the social commentary until you've actually lived outside the Route 128 suburbs.</p>