IT IS THE END of an era for the approximately 37 seniors who opted not to go to grad school or take a job on campus, and summer is in the air. The vegetation has turned a pleasant brownish color and because we’re in California, temperatures less than 70 degrees Fahrenheit are a distant memory. For some of us, this is the final quarter of our senior year at Stanford.

Times like these call for some perspective.

My favorite kind of perspective-getting entails rule breaking. Breaking a rule means crossing an invisible barrier. You cross that barrier, and you look back at the world from the other side, sticking your tongue out at it. You feel rebellious, you feel free.

I don’t think I’m alone in this. We’ve all been steam tunneling around this institution’s twisty innards since we were freshmen. We’ve all snuck into some building after-hours and stayed up all night, drunk on that feeling of derring-do that accompanies even our most insignificant rebellions. We’ve all listed that Jack Kerouac quote in our profiles. You know, the one that goes: “the only people for me are the mad ones....”

Because an end like this one ought to be special, let’s continue to thwart expectations and ignore unspoken rules. Let’s take the time and the effort to end our Stanford careers with pizzazz. We’re about to cross a significant symbolic threshold. We’re done! We’re finally finished!

No, seniors, we simply cannot allow finals to come and go without adding a good dose or two of creative debauchery and regulation-thwarting. So, without further ado, here are some ways to end your Stanford career:

Head up to the Dish at sunrise. You’re not actually supposed to cross the fence at night, but it’s not really that difficult, if you don’t mind the mountain lions. The view from the top is terrific — the sun peeks its head out over the Bay and the streaks of purples, pinks and oranges in the sky are reminiscent of a painting by that artist whose name you’ve never bothered to remember but whose artwork you will never forget.

Ride the bus to a random destination. Apparently, Stanford students ride the public buses so infrequently that even the 22, which runs down El Camino Real, is unexplored territory. With gas prices heading skyward, embracing public transportation in all its glory is a life skill, and there are fun places to go, I promise.

Go to meet a professor whose work you admire. This is Stanford, and you might never have another shot at a conversation with that brilliant geneticist or the Nobel Prize winner you’ve only ever heard about.

Organize an unregistered party. Call it a “gathering of friends” but make sure to live it up, seniors! Make sure to name the party something like, “Crazed Party at which Minors will Undoubtedly Imbibe Alcoholic Beverages and Engage in Lewd Behavior.” Afterwards, send a leftover invitation to the OSA.

Participate in random acts of civil disobedience. Rallies organized by Sweat-Free or any one of the dozens of activist groups on campus are perfect for this. Throw yourself into the act of protesting, even if you couldn’t care less about the cause. Shout loudly, participate in socially unacceptable behavior and embarrass yourself in public. If you plan on going into politics, wear a disguise and don’t talk to the media. You’ll be fine.

Burst the Stanford Bubble before you leave it. Stanford is called a bubble so often that “the Stanford bubble” has become a pointless cliché, a piece of drivel that means nothing. So we hardly leave the buildings in which we live and work and play. So what? Does anyone? In the next couple of weeks, I implore all of you to put some soap on your hands and break through that invisible iridescent membrane!

The most important thing is that we do things that excite us, that scare us, that change our lives. Then, when we turn back around at look at campus we feel vertigo, we feel freedom. But most importantly, we end our Stanford career in style.

We have this one chance to truly become like Kerouac’s mad ones, and never let go of that feeling. For all my pretensions, one of my weaknesses is that I am not fearless. I seldom leave the confines of this campus, which shelters me too much, I think. But these last two weeks are a chance for me to take a trip outside of my comfort zone, to burst my own self-inflicted bubble.

Come on, join me. Raging, we can burn down these soapy fortifications.