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Trần Anh Dũng
(TranAnhDzung)
New Member
Anh Hưng nói đúng đấy các em. Mình chỉ dùng Financial Aid application của riêng các trường hoặc the CSS Fin Aid FOR INTERNATIONAL STUDENTS (hay đại loại như thế) form from CollegeBoard (có thể tìm trên Common App ... supplements rồi vào supplement của bất cứ trường nào, ví dụ như Davidson).
(tưởng cái này hồi ở K32 mình đã nói rồi, hóa ra mấy bạn vẫn quên.)
(tưởng cái này hồi ở K32 mình đã nói rồi, hóa ra mấy bạn vẫn quên.)
Chỉnh sửa lần cuối:
Trần Anh Dũng
(TranAnhDzung)
New Member
Đây:
CSS INTERNATIONAL STUDENT FINANCIAL AID APP:
http://www2.davidson.edu/admission/admis_forms/0304_ISFAA.pdf
CSS CERTIFICATION OF FINANCE
http://www2.davidson.edu/admission/admis_forms/0304_ISCF.pdf
copy and paste the above addresses to your browser's address bar.
Do not use the FAFSA. gút lắc.
CSS INTERNATIONAL STUDENT FINANCIAL AID APP:
http://www2.davidson.edu/admission/admis_forms/0304_ISFAA.pdf
CSS CERTIFICATION OF FINANCE
http://www2.davidson.edu/admission/admis_forms/0304_ISCF.pdf
copy and paste the above addresses to your browser's address bar.
Do not use the FAFSA. gút lắc.
Lê Quỳnh Anh
(LeQuynhAnh)
New Member
muốn mở cái form đấy phải có adobe acrobat thì phải
Nguyễn Thanh Hương
(huongpun)
Thành viên danh dự
Parents: Look, but Don't Touch College Applications
By Jay Mathews
Washington Post Staff Writer
Tuesday, October 1, 2002
When I was 12, there was a contest at my school for best Halloween costume. I decided to dress my little brother like a wrapped Christmas present. It seemed original to me, and had an appropriate pre-holiday theme. My mother helped me scrounge a large cardboard box from behind the supermarket. I got some colored paper for wrapping, and cut out other sheets to make what looked like a big red ribbon. My mother helped me paste it up. My brother slipped it over his head and gamely paraded up and down the school stage when it was time for the contest.
The teacher in charge admired everyone's work, then asked if any contestants had had their parents' help with their projects. I raised my hand, as did several others. He asked us to leave the stage, and awarded the prize to the best of those costumes that remained.
It astonishes me, but I am still angry about this. So what if my mother helped? It was my idea and I did most of the work. I should have gotten the credit.
I think of this story every time I hear students and parents and educators debate how much involvement adults should have in those most unnerving of all special projects, the essays on college applications.
How much should parents help? The easy answer, at least when we are not talking about our own children, is not at all. That is also the answer that is most likely to drive the parents of the applicants crazy. Since my daughter, Katie, is a high school senior applying to college, I want to prevent that, and so am obliged to suggest another way.
When my son Peter attended Scarsdale High School, assistant principal Corwith Hansen advised parents that they could help with homework as long as they never touched the paper. I like that rule. I think it works with college applications too.
Parents should be able to edit essays lightly and conceptually, never making a mark but telling the writer what they think. Proofreading should work the same way. They can point out a misspelling, but the applicant has to do the fixing. (In a recent column I suggested more direct editing, with the traditional red pen, when sharing application drafts with high school friends, but the rules for parents should be more restrictive.)
I think a good essay has two qualities. It is not boring, and it portrays in a vivid way some attractive quality of the applicant. I have some expertise in this area because I have spent much of my professional life trying to make myself look good in essay-length pieces in my newspaper. This column is just another example of that ego-driven quest.
There are all kinds of tricks to making people like what you write. For one, never say anything that might be interpreted as boastful. I know. Faithful readers of this column can remember several instances when I have violated that rule, but that just shows what a hypocrite I am.
(See how I did that? Self-deprecation is an essential tool. There is nothing more attractive than an occasional confession of weakness and error. Of course, you actually have to believe that you have imperfections for this to work. If you have difficulty figuring out what your inadequacies might be, ask a friend. If you don't have any friends, try a sibling, your lab partner, somebody. If all else fails, ask one of your teachers. I hate to burden them, but you need help.)
I will give you some examples of bad essay approaches, using standard college application themes. Here is a no-no: "The hospital administrator said my work as a candy striper was so good that I should apply to medical school." This is also off-putting: "I hit the home run at the bottom of the last inning that won the league championship. But then I wondered, is that all there is?"
It is much better to tell stories that reveal endearing flaws. Here are rewrites of the two samples above:
"My first week working at the hospital, I wondered why I ever considered medicine as a career. The bathrooms reeked. The nurses were mean. I continually tripped over the trolleys that the older patients pushed down the aisles when they sought exercise. In one instance, I was so clumsy I almost disconnected an intravenous drip. At least I think that was what it was."
Or, "After four innings on the mound, I had let in nine runs but only given up two hits. If you think that was a moral victory, think again. I had walked eight batters and hit two more. When I came to the plate with two outs in the last inning, my teammates were hoping that the opposing pitcher would take revenge on me and fire one into my ribs. They said they couldn't imagine I was going to get on base any other way."
You get the idea. Most of your application will be thick with triumphs--grades, honors, club presidencies, whatever. The essay is supposed to bare your soul. If all you reveal are more grades and honors and presidencies, you are going to be rejected for the laudable reason that no one in the admissions office wants to inflict such a dork on some unsuspecting freshman-year roommate.
College application essay questions often ask you to examine some important moment in your life, something that exposes your values and your dreams for the future. That does not mean it has to be about what you want to be when you grow up. My son Joe wrote about coaching Little League, the principal pastime of his high school days, even though he knew his chances of a career in baseball were pretty small and did not figure in the story.
Keep your sentences short. Make your verbs active. Read The Elements of Style by Strunk and White.
And then let your friends and your parents look at what you have done. That is the way writers work. You can never get too many opinions about your words.
But remember one thing. It is your work. If someone says you should change something and you aren't sure, sleep on it and read it again in the morning. In my experience, 75 percent of the time the critical reader is right. I have written something that is too long or too cute or too confusing. But if you still like it the next day, keep it. You don't want to be holding the rejection letter and wondering if it might have been different if you had not cut that paragraph you liked about the aardvark.
You want to win or lose as you, because otherwise it is not as much fun, and that should be at least part of the reason why you are applying to college in the first place.
By Jay Mathews
Washington Post Staff Writer
Tuesday, October 1, 2002
When I was 12, there was a contest at my school for best Halloween costume. I decided to dress my little brother like a wrapped Christmas present. It seemed original to me, and had an appropriate pre-holiday theme. My mother helped me scrounge a large cardboard box from behind the supermarket. I got some colored paper for wrapping, and cut out other sheets to make what looked like a big red ribbon. My mother helped me paste it up. My brother slipped it over his head and gamely paraded up and down the school stage when it was time for the contest.
The teacher in charge admired everyone's work, then asked if any contestants had had their parents' help with their projects. I raised my hand, as did several others. He asked us to leave the stage, and awarded the prize to the best of those costumes that remained.
It astonishes me, but I am still angry about this. So what if my mother helped? It was my idea and I did most of the work. I should have gotten the credit.
I think of this story every time I hear students and parents and educators debate how much involvement adults should have in those most unnerving of all special projects, the essays on college applications.
How much should parents help? The easy answer, at least when we are not talking about our own children, is not at all. That is also the answer that is most likely to drive the parents of the applicants crazy. Since my daughter, Katie, is a high school senior applying to college, I want to prevent that, and so am obliged to suggest another way.
When my son Peter attended Scarsdale High School, assistant principal Corwith Hansen advised parents that they could help with homework as long as they never touched the paper. I like that rule. I think it works with college applications too.
Parents should be able to edit essays lightly and conceptually, never making a mark but telling the writer what they think. Proofreading should work the same way. They can point out a misspelling, but the applicant has to do the fixing. (In a recent column I suggested more direct editing, with the traditional red pen, when sharing application drafts with high school friends, but the rules for parents should be more restrictive.)
I think a good essay has two qualities. It is not boring, and it portrays in a vivid way some attractive quality of the applicant. I have some expertise in this area because I have spent much of my professional life trying to make myself look good in essay-length pieces in my newspaper. This column is just another example of that ego-driven quest.
There are all kinds of tricks to making people like what you write. For one, never say anything that might be interpreted as boastful. I know. Faithful readers of this column can remember several instances when I have violated that rule, but that just shows what a hypocrite I am.
(See how I did that? Self-deprecation is an essential tool. There is nothing more attractive than an occasional confession of weakness and error. Of course, you actually have to believe that you have imperfections for this to work. If you have difficulty figuring out what your inadequacies might be, ask a friend. If you don't have any friends, try a sibling, your lab partner, somebody. If all else fails, ask one of your teachers. I hate to burden them, but you need help.)
I will give you some examples of bad essay approaches, using standard college application themes. Here is a no-no: "The hospital administrator said my work as a candy striper was so good that I should apply to medical school." This is also off-putting: "I hit the home run at the bottom of the last inning that won the league championship. But then I wondered, is that all there is?"
It is much better to tell stories that reveal endearing flaws. Here are rewrites of the two samples above:
"My first week working at the hospital, I wondered why I ever considered medicine as a career. The bathrooms reeked. The nurses were mean. I continually tripped over the trolleys that the older patients pushed down the aisles when they sought exercise. In one instance, I was so clumsy I almost disconnected an intravenous drip. At least I think that was what it was."
Or, "After four innings on the mound, I had let in nine runs but only given up two hits. If you think that was a moral victory, think again. I had walked eight batters and hit two more. When I came to the plate with two outs in the last inning, my teammates were hoping that the opposing pitcher would take revenge on me and fire one into my ribs. They said they couldn't imagine I was going to get on base any other way."
You get the idea. Most of your application will be thick with triumphs--grades, honors, club presidencies, whatever. The essay is supposed to bare your soul. If all you reveal are more grades and honors and presidencies, you are going to be rejected for the laudable reason that no one in the admissions office wants to inflict such a dork on some unsuspecting freshman-year roommate.
College application essay questions often ask you to examine some important moment in your life, something that exposes your values and your dreams for the future. That does not mean it has to be about what you want to be when you grow up. My son Joe wrote about coaching Little League, the principal pastime of his high school days, even though he knew his chances of a career in baseball were pretty small and did not figure in the story.
Keep your sentences short. Make your verbs active. Read The Elements of Style by Strunk and White.
And then let your friends and your parents look at what you have done. That is the way writers work. You can never get too many opinions about your words.
But remember one thing. It is your work. If someone says you should change something and you aren't sure, sleep on it and read it again in the morning. In my experience, 75 percent of the time the critical reader is right. I have written something that is too long or too cute or too confusing. But if you still like it the next day, keep it. You don't want to be holding the rejection letter and wondering if it might have been different if you had not cut that paragraph you liked about the aardvark.
You want to win or lose as you, because otherwise it is not as much fun, and that should be at least part of the reason why you are applying to college in the first place.
Nguyễn Thanh Hương
(huongpun)
Thành viên danh dự
The Biggest Villain in the College Application Drama
By Jay Mathews
Washington Post Staff Writer
Tuesday, September 17, 2002
One lovely morning last spring, sitting in the garden of the admissions office at Occidental College in Eagle Rock, Calif., I heard something disturbing about college applications in the computer age.
Admissions counselor Whitney Jenkins, a slender young woman with short hair and narrow glasses, was conducting an information session for visiting students and parents. She had been so thorough that her audience had run out of questions. "Maybe you would like to hear some of the things that drive us wild when we read applications," she said. We listeners perked up.
"What drives me crazy," she said, "is when we ask you to follow directions in filling out the application and you don't do so."
What could she mean? She went on to explain, and I have saved her words until now, the beginning of application writing season. My wife went over my daughter's checklist Sunday, to see from which colleges we still had no application forms. That is the easy part. I have heard enough about the actually writing of the application--and I am not talking about just the essays--to make me wonder if this is not a good time to visit my 85-year-old mother for a few weeks and let Katie and Linda handle this on their own.
I have a chapter about this in my book, Harvard Schmarvard, coming out in late February. I would not ordinarily pause for a shameless plug, but readers of this column have provided a rich supply of stories for the book, as well as quashing my more inane ideas and telling me which subjects work best.
According to Jenkins of Occidental, the slimiest villain in the application drama is the resume, a once exclusively professional device that has become so common among teenagers that it is beginning to corrupt college applications. "The worst is in reporting extra-curricular activities," she said. "If you want to provide more information, that is fine. But some will not fill out the actual boxes in our application and instead send us a resume. If we have to spend 10 minutes translating your resume into the categories on our form, that is 10 minutes less quality time to consider the merits of your application."
She moved on to spelling and grammar, confirming what several admissions officers have told me. Mistakes are very common, even in the age of spell check and parents eager to proofread.
A spelling error is a small thing. Some grammatical errors, in this inexact age, are often overlooked. But if a mistake stops an admissions office application reader for even a second, it creates an impression that is hard to erase. The same goes for decorative fonts and eye-catching topography. One admissions officer expressed dismay at an essay that had been written in spiral, forcing her to rotate the page in order to read the words that swirled in steadily tightening circles, like you know what going down the toilet. One of the counselors at my daughter's school said some student handwriting is so bad that she enlisted one sure-handed student to fill out portions of classmates' applications best done by hand. The counselor makes each offending applicant pay the copiest $5, as a reminder that they should have practiced their penmanship more in the third grade.
It is also a mistake to fill the extra-curricular activity spaces with every club, hobby and bake sale on which you have ever spent an afternoon. Admissions officials recommend against accumulating these small credits, walk-on parts in the drama of adolescent life, if they keep you from focusing on three or four key activities. If two of those activities are especially demanding, such as running your own business, coaching a Little League team or writing and directing your own play--then that is really all you need. The deeper you go, the more time you spend, the more passion you show for at least one of your activities, the better off you are.
Two good activities are often sufficient, for admissions committees have gotten into the habit of defining applicants with two descriptive terms that summarize their greatest strengths. One applicant is called the poet quarterback. Another is the carpenter debater. A third is the dress-designing science fair winner. If you have two activities strong enough to label yourself in that way, you are in good shape.
But you have to tell the truth. There is a temptation, as you review your life outside the classroom, to exaggerate, just a little bit.
That's lying. Don't lie. It won't work.
Resume padding is part of American culture, but it wears down your self-respect, a precious quality. And it will look false no matter how cleverly you package it. You may think you have a free pass to inflate your accomplishments because the admissions officer reading your file will not have the time or the inclination to check every detail. But that is because you don't understand how the process works.
If you are artificially enhancing your list of activities, you are probably doing so because you are applying to a very selective school and think you need every possible advantage. Unhappily for you, those are the colleges with the best admissions officers. The one reading your file may not know you, but she will probably know at least one counselor at your school, and be quick to pick up the phone and check entries that don't make sense. This is doubly true if you have a good chance of getting in, for you will likely be in competition with a high school classmate for that spot. In those circumstances very careful comparisons will be made.
The admissions officer will call the counselor to discuss the leading applicants from your school. Which has been the most conscientious in his school duties? Which has had the best ideas and the most admirable record for working with others?
See what is coming? The admissions officer will read back to the counselor the activities you have listed on your form. Something false will not only kill your chances of getting into that college, but may win you an unexpected appointment with your high school principal or your student honor committee.
I think the best approach to checking applications is to borrow an idea from our pioneer ancestors. They used to get together for a quilting bee so that everyone could help make the best bedspread. The same method worked for putting up houses and harvesting grain.
Wise applicants who wish to stop worrying once they have filed their applications would do well not only to follow all the instructions but circulate their applications among their friends before mailing them. Since everyone has to meet the same deadlines, why not an application bee?
Somebody offers her basement as a meeting place. Everyone chips in for pizzas and sodas. Each partygoer brings draft copies of his or her applications, to be passed around for everyone else to read. No one dares pad a resume and then show to friends. Granted, this can be embarrassing, but consider the alternative: Would you really rather leave the job to your parents? Spelling and grammatical errors earn red check marks, and maybe a few jokes.
And since the purpose of an application is to convince the college that you would be a positive presence on campus, someone they would like to have around, no one can do a better job at identifying and crossing out unattractive bits of ego or immaturity than the people who know you best.
Then everyone can relax, rent any of a wide assortment of campus comedies at the video store ("P.C.U." is my favorite), enjoy the evening and, when you get home, sleep very soundly.
By Jay Mathews
Washington Post Staff Writer
Tuesday, September 17, 2002
One lovely morning last spring, sitting in the garden of the admissions office at Occidental College in Eagle Rock, Calif., I heard something disturbing about college applications in the computer age.
Admissions counselor Whitney Jenkins, a slender young woman with short hair and narrow glasses, was conducting an information session for visiting students and parents. She had been so thorough that her audience had run out of questions. "Maybe you would like to hear some of the things that drive us wild when we read applications," she said. We listeners perked up.
"What drives me crazy," she said, "is when we ask you to follow directions in filling out the application and you don't do so."
What could she mean? She went on to explain, and I have saved her words until now, the beginning of application writing season. My wife went over my daughter's checklist Sunday, to see from which colleges we still had no application forms. That is the easy part. I have heard enough about the actually writing of the application--and I am not talking about just the essays--to make me wonder if this is not a good time to visit my 85-year-old mother for a few weeks and let Katie and Linda handle this on their own.
I have a chapter about this in my book, Harvard Schmarvard, coming out in late February. I would not ordinarily pause for a shameless plug, but readers of this column have provided a rich supply of stories for the book, as well as quashing my more inane ideas and telling me which subjects work best.
According to Jenkins of Occidental, the slimiest villain in the application drama is the resume, a once exclusively professional device that has become so common among teenagers that it is beginning to corrupt college applications. "The worst is in reporting extra-curricular activities," she said. "If you want to provide more information, that is fine. But some will not fill out the actual boxes in our application and instead send us a resume. If we have to spend 10 minutes translating your resume into the categories on our form, that is 10 minutes less quality time to consider the merits of your application."
She moved on to spelling and grammar, confirming what several admissions officers have told me. Mistakes are very common, even in the age of spell check and parents eager to proofread.
A spelling error is a small thing. Some grammatical errors, in this inexact age, are often overlooked. But if a mistake stops an admissions office application reader for even a second, it creates an impression that is hard to erase. The same goes for decorative fonts and eye-catching topography. One admissions officer expressed dismay at an essay that had been written in spiral, forcing her to rotate the page in order to read the words that swirled in steadily tightening circles, like you know what going down the toilet. One of the counselors at my daughter's school said some student handwriting is so bad that she enlisted one sure-handed student to fill out portions of classmates' applications best done by hand. The counselor makes each offending applicant pay the copiest $5, as a reminder that they should have practiced their penmanship more in the third grade.
It is also a mistake to fill the extra-curricular activity spaces with every club, hobby and bake sale on which you have ever spent an afternoon. Admissions officials recommend against accumulating these small credits, walk-on parts in the drama of adolescent life, if they keep you from focusing on three or four key activities. If two of those activities are especially demanding, such as running your own business, coaching a Little League team or writing and directing your own play--then that is really all you need. The deeper you go, the more time you spend, the more passion you show for at least one of your activities, the better off you are.
Two good activities are often sufficient, for admissions committees have gotten into the habit of defining applicants with two descriptive terms that summarize their greatest strengths. One applicant is called the poet quarterback. Another is the carpenter debater. A third is the dress-designing science fair winner. If you have two activities strong enough to label yourself in that way, you are in good shape.
But you have to tell the truth. There is a temptation, as you review your life outside the classroom, to exaggerate, just a little bit.
That's lying. Don't lie. It won't work.
Resume padding is part of American culture, but it wears down your self-respect, a precious quality. And it will look false no matter how cleverly you package it. You may think you have a free pass to inflate your accomplishments because the admissions officer reading your file will not have the time or the inclination to check every detail. But that is because you don't understand how the process works.
If you are artificially enhancing your list of activities, you are probably doing so because you are applying to a very selective school and think you need every possible advantage. Unhappily for you, those are the colleges with the best admissions officers. The one reading your file may not know you, but she will probably know at least one counselor at your school, and be quick to pick up the phone and check entries that don't make sense. This is doubly true if you have a good chance of getting in, for you will likely be in competition with a high school classmate for that spot. In those circumstances very careful comparisons will be made.
The admissions officer will call the counselor to discuss the leading applicants from your school. Which has been the most conscientious in his school duties? Which has had the best ideas and the most admirable record for working with others?
See what is coming? The admissions officer will read back to the counselor the activities you have listed on your form. Something false will not only kill your chances of getting into that college, but may win you an unexpected appointment with your high school principal or your student honor committee.
I think the best approach to checking applications is to borrow an idea from our pioneer ancestors. They used to get together for a quilting bee so that everyone could help make the best bedspread. The same method worked for putting up houses and harvesting grain.
Wise applicants who wish to stop worrying once they have filed their applications would do well not only to follow all the instructions but circulate their applications among their friends before mailing them. Since everyone has to meet the same deadlines, why not an application bee?
Somebody offers her basement as a meeting place. Everyone chips in for pizzas and sodas. Each partygoer brings draft copies of his or her applications, to be passed around for everyone else to read. No one dares pad a resume and then show to friends. Granted, this can be embarrassing, but consider the alternative: Would you really rather leave the job to your parents? Spelling and grammatical errors earn red check marks, and maybe a few jokes.
And since the purpose of an application is to convince the college that you would be a positive presence on campus, someone they would like to have around, no one can do a better job at identifying and crossing out unattractive bits of ego or immaturity than the people who know you best.
Then everyone can relax, rent any of a wide assortment of campus comedies at the video store ("P.C.U." is my favorite), enjoy the evening and, when you get home, sleep very soundly.
Tran Tuan Vinh
(tuanvinhtran)
New Member
Mọi người cho hỏi một câu là nếu mình muốn làm cái School Report thì phải đợi cho đến khi có final term report à ?
Nếu thế thì đến giữa tháng 12 mới làm xong à?
Lúc đấy gửi cho các trường có muộn quá ko?
Nếu thế thì đến giữa tháng 12 mới làm xong à?
Lúc đấy gửi cho các trường có muộn quá ko?
Trần Anh Dũng
(TranAnhDzung)
New Member
Không muộn, chỉ cần cái application form đến trước là được, điểm và transcript đến sau không sao.
Tran Tuan Vinh
(tuanvinhtran)
New Member
2 ngày nữa là có điểm rồi !!! Chuẩn bị đăng kí thi lần nữa thôi ??? B-)
(Thread thiếu bài quá ,thêm một cái vào cho nó hot
) )
(Thread thiếu bài quá ,thêm một cái vào cho nó hot
) )
Tran Tuan Vinh
(tuanvinhtran)
New Member
Ai bảo là tớ apply nhiều ? Tại mấy trường tớ chọn thấy ai cũng chọn cả , thế có chết mình ko cơ chứ . Chắc mấy cái safety thì mới hi vọng ko gặp các bạn except Minh , my close friend .
Mọi người làm cái list các trường ko phải viết Supp Essay mà tốt nhỉ ? Để anh em ta apply bừa một quả cho vui.
_Williams College
_Trinity College
.Mọi người làm cái list các trường ko phải viết Supp Essay mà tốt nhỉ ? Để anh em ta apply bừa một quả cho vui.
_Williams College
_Trinity College
H
(hermes)
Guest
Ê, bọn nó trong lịch thì nói là 14 có điểm, bây giờ vào My Organizer thì lại thấy nói là 13. Lần trước cũng có điểm trước 1 ngày. Thế chính xác là mấy giờ 13 thì có điểm nhỉ.
H
(hermes)
Guest
Tớ cũng chả hiểu thế nào nữa. Chiều nay vào thì thấy nói là 13, vừa rồi vào lại là 14. Thôi, dù sao ngày mai cũng có, biết sớm hơn chút cũng chả giải quyết vấn đề gì. Đằng nào tháng 12 mới là quyết chiến cơ mà.