I am bored. This daily dose was shorter orignally. I will now include my complete college portfolio:

For the University of Chicago:

Essay 1:

Describe your relationship with a sibling?

In "Bottle Rockets," by Wes Anderson, twenty-four year old Anthony comments to his friend Dignin that his twelve-year-old sister "thinks [he's] a failure." Dignin responds, "She thinks you're a failure, what's she ever done with her life?" Anderson's dialogue demonstrates that siblings tend to compare themselves to each other, even when these comparisons are irrational.
I have wanted to be like my brother for as long as I can remember wanting to be anything. When I was thirteen and he was seventeen, a girl told me that my brother was hot. That very same night, I became agonized by trying to detect and correct every difference between my brother's face, at my age, and mine. Once my parents retired to their bedrooms, I rushed downstairs to the family pictures and stole my brother's thirteen-year-old portrait. In my bathroom, I hung his picture on the mirror and began to note the differences. My face was round, his was angular; my hair parted on the left, his in the center; he shaved, I didn't. Immediately, I knew I could do nothing about the different shapes of our faces, but perhaps, I thought, perhaps if I parted my hair like his, maybe I would look like him. I had prepared all the necessary tools for this endeavor in advance: an electric shaver, a comb, a brush, a bottle of styling gel, oxy-pads, and cologne. I carefully began reading all the instructions. "Wash face thoroughly," the oxy-pads commanded. "Wet hair and apply desired amount of gel into your palms. Spread evenly and apply to hair roots." With my hair parted in the center and my face clean of intruding 'ugly' bacteria, I shaved and sprayed cologne on my wrists and neck. Convinced I had successfully mimicked my brother, I eagerly returned to bed.
I have many more stories that demonstrate how much I tried to be like my brother when I was younger, and they often involve my mimicking more than just his looks. However, as we both grew up, we both changed and matured, and so did our relationship. I became handsomer, wittier and taller, and while I continue to look up to my brother, I think that, today, our relationship is characterized more by our ability to rely upon one another for anything. During one of the more depressed days of the second semester in my junior year, my brother surprised me by flying home from college in the middle of the week so that he could spend a few days with me. I woke up that morning, and he was just there, waiting to do whatever he could to please me. With "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" in mind, we sprang my best friend from school. Well, not really -- he had the day off, but it was cool nonetheless. We went into Manhattan to have Vietnamese food, and then we saw "In the Mood for Love." Later that evening, we sat in a coffee shop for a couple hours and philosophized about all sorts of important things. It was a great day. It took my mind off many things that were bothering me then. It also made me realize that even though I would probably not feel entirely better right away, I could, and would eventually. After all, here was a day in the middle of the worst depression that I had felt where, suddenly, I felt pretty good. I knew that my brother would always be willing to be there to help me feel happy, and this helped me become happy in the long run.
The four-year age difference between my brother and me set up our relationship for irrational comparisons like the one described in Wes Anderson's movie. As we have become older, though, we have become extremely close. Wanting to do things like the other has transformed into wanting to do things with the other. When I began thinking about colleges, my brother, a decorated veteran of that battle, volunteered to visit my top choices with me. Together, we flew to Chicago for the weekend. There, we prepared for my interviews together, toured campuses, saw movies, and had lunch and dinner at the same sandwich place every day, "Potbellies." It was an excellent trip, and although I will never apply to colleges again after this year, I think it is a the kind of trip that my brother and I will make many more times in the future.

Paragraph 2:

List some of your interests / hobbies?

I thought I would answer this question with a list of my favorite things and,
perhaps, a joke to end. As I began, I could not help but remember this past summer
when I stood in line to purchase tickets for "American Pie 2." A classmate,
female in the most wonderful sense of the word, caught sight of me as she exited
the theatre. "What's your favorite thing in the whole wide world?" she
begged. Eager to impress, I started, "Well, I do find it hard to limit myself
to such a constraining category as 'whole wide world.'" I laughed. "But
if I must," I continued, "I suppose it would be…" I began
deciding -- thinking of works of art that have affected me and why I loved them:
"The 400 Blows" because of Antoine Doinel's enduring will to be content
in life; The Great Gatsby because reading it makes me giddy; Woody Allen in general
because I am reminiscent of his betterside; and William Carlos Williams' poetry
is just fun to read, hear and see. As I thought, I noticed her mouthing, cueing
me, an answer. I interrupted myself mid-thought with a smile and said, "American
Pie 2."

A general essay about an event that changed me

I became depressed during the my junior year in high school. I do not know exactly how, or why, and I cannot really even describe what it felt like on the inside. My parents believe that this happened as result of a serious head injury that I suffered, though recovered from completely, only a few years earlier. I do not really think that this is the case, and I speculate that it had more to do with my not feeling quite validated by performance in school or in extracurricular activities. I felt as though every decision I made, however inconsequential, was a break from years of standards and measures. I tore myself apart wondering about everything -- if that was what I really wanted -- and I felt that this constant worrying was out of my control. Still, I do not know for sure why it happened. I did not like it when I was diagnosed and put on medication, and I quickly ended my drug treatment. I did, however, find therapy helpful, and I saw a psychologist for a while.

This is what happened to me, in a factual sense, and, unfortunately, it was the most transforming experience I had during high school. Obviously, this experience was a significant moment in my life just because it was a major challenge that I have overcome. Perhaps more importantly, I think I came away with a better sense of the subjects and activities that really interest me and make me happy, the types of things that I would like to do and study in college.

When I was the most depressed, during the second semester of my junior year, I was unable to focus on anything. My grades suffered during this time because I could not concentrate on schoolwork; I could not even find the motivation to program on my computer -- something that had previously made me happy a lot of the time. Because I could not find anything to sustain my attention, I became increasingly depressed -- that is, until I started experiencing great film and writing fiction.
Over the summer, I started to feel better. In the same way that it set upon me so suddenly, the depression just started to feel less intense, and I am not sure exactly why. School is fun for me again, as are many other things that lost their appeal when I was especially sad. But writing and movies still occupy much of my time. I like telling stories, hearing, seeing, and reading stories as they are told, and I like to think about how telling stories in different ways changes them. I am sure that my interests will change in some ways in college and afterwards, but I also think that in some way or another, making movies, writing stories, and thinking about these things will remain at the center of whatever I dedicate myself to doing and studying. I do not know how most people figure out what it is that they want to do. Becoming depressed, ironically, that forced me to figure out what exactly could make me happy, even in circumstances when being happy did not seem to be my choice.

Yeh thats really about it for college stuff. Hope you enjoyed that.

The rest of the daily dose...

I am soo tired. I must have yawned twelve times in the last two minutes. Why am I tired? I was all up night having sex. I saw a decent french movie last night, Time Out. It has some merit, im not in the mood to discuss it. Actually, I am not in the mood to discuss much. I am dying for a ciggerette, my room is fucking cold, my room's a mess, I havent done any of my school work...oh and I AM NOT A WHINY. See remember that daily dose about the death of uber, where I made fun of them and all, well todays mildly amusing, but really it is the same "OH LOOK HOW COOL UBER IS" piece we have all read in the past, they wrote that in order to be an uber junkie, you have to not like me at all because I sound whiny? DO I SOUND WHINY?