Lull

The downside of the end of applications is it means the end of college recruitment letters. Now most of the mail at my house is for my little sister who is just old enough to start getting the spam. Maybe in the fall this will turn into a college blog, but if I posted on it now, it would only be to complain about scholarship applications (not so interesting, trust me.) I'll keep updating my acceptances, and my final decision might merit a posting, but things are going to be quieter soon. So, until the fall, see you round.

More magical fun than you can handle

As the applications deadlines loom, college recruiters get a little loopy. They want to get as many students to choose from as possible, and that means emailing every possible students five times a day until the fateful deadline day passes. All this pressure has to be getting to them, since their emails have gotten odder. This says nothing about the schools, which are all very reputable and educational I'm sure, Cabin Fever can affect anyone.

Consider this subject line from Mills College in Oakland, California: "The Magic Runs Out At Midnight"

The Mills application is due at midnight, which explains part of the title. The rest of the subject was obviously inspired of the mystical magical semester of Senior year where any free time is spent blissfully writing essays, typing up majestic community service activity sheets, and filling out the same personal information again and again. If only I could be there once again. Too bad the magic runs out at midnight. At least I had it while it lasted.

St. Olaf's most recent email gave me a glimpse of what people think is "fun" in their hallowed halls. "Meanwhile, for a little fun…As inspiration to push you through to the final “submit,” play our fight song and imagine yourself being cheered on as an Ole (or at least envision explaining to your friends how your college fight song is a waltz). Or how about some serious fun? Become a fan of St. Olaf on Facebook and get your questions answered while you finish up your application."

What's that Liz? You want to hang out Thursday? Well, I would except I've kinda got the St. Olaf fight song cued up for the next three hours. It's just so peppy.

Sorry Steve, I can't go out with you this weekend. I'm joining a St. Olaf group on Facebook! Pressing that join button is more fun than the movies, and they have helpful-slash-informative answers to all my questions about my application.

I don't know, maybe I'm just not cut out for the excitement of life at Olaf.

Needy much?

When I checked my email Saturday night, this email was staring back up at me*:

Subject:Why haven't I heard from you?

Applications are pouring in here at Whitworth University, and I'm a bit concerned because I haven't seen yours and the extended deadline is January 15. If you've recently submitted it - thank you - I'll be in touch! But if not, I would like to remind you why the Dean's Priority Application best way to apply...(insert long boring description of the Dean's application which I found dull here)... It doesn't get much better than this (did I mention how convenient the application is?).I look forward to seeing your application and wish you a happy new year!

Regards,
Fred R. Pfursich (pronounced fur-sic)
Vice President for Admissions and Financial Aid
Whitworth University

Wow. Hands down this is the most pathetic email I have ever received. Colleges receive hundreds, maybe thousands of applications every year. It would sadden me to think that they are so desperate to get students that they have to beg each and every possible student to submit this application. This approach changes my entire view of the school. It stops being a high-falutin' ivory tower, and instead becomes an overly worried parent who throws a hissy fit if you don't call ever ten minutes.

Next, it assures you that "I'll be in touch!" So, if the tone of this email is any indication, not only is the application staff at Whitworth needy, they're excited to start a motherly stalker relationship with their students. "Have you had dinner yet, you really should, I'm getting worried about your health." "Now Susan, you haven't visited office hours in the last two weeks, and we're concerned."

Mr. Pfursich also assures me that college applications don't get much better than the Dean's Application. I think he's trying to be casual, and put students at ease, but since I haven't heard the phrase "it doesn't get much better than this" in an infomercial, that was filmed in the late nineties, the effect is totally radical.

He also makes sure we know how to pronounce his, admittedly difficult, last name. Whitworth has over twenty five hundred students, so somehow I doubt that every one of them is buddy buddy enough with the Admissions Vice president that they need to know his name. Even if they are, couldn't he tell them how to pronounce it when they talk to him? Was it so scaring to him, as a child, when people couldn't pronounce his name, that he has to include a pronunciation on every document he writes? Does he write a little note saying "it's pronounced fur-sic" on every utilities bill, tax form, and Starbucks order?

Sorry Whitworth, I'm done with my college apps, and I don't think I'm applying to there. Don't worry, it's not you, it's me.

*This is the actual email, but it has been shortened because the original email was longer, and most of it was pretty dull. The original meaning, though is not changed.

The downside of tenure

I haven't updated in awhile. Amazingly, when you are writing a blog about college admissions, college admissions sometimes get in the way of my writing. The writing was also delayed because the college stuff that came in the mail was not quite ridiculous enough to post here. Sure, a line here, or a phrase there might strike me as odd, but not enough to interrupt my very busy TV schedule to take time to post. Then I came upon the Mount Holyoke financial aid letter.

The letter was not addressed to me, but as every kid knows come report card time, a letter addressed to "the parents of so-and-so" really means "hey kid, this letter is for you, open it right now." Okay, maybe that's not really what it means, but it might as well.

The letter was written by Diane Anci, Mount Holyoke's Dean of Admission. My suspicions, based on absolutely zero research, is that Ms. Anci spent many years in a cramped little admissions room for months on end reading essays about "How racquetball changed my life," and went a little eccentric. The only way she could get out all this nervous energy is through writing odd pieces. I would know, I do this in Civics every day.

The first paragraph of the letter is promising, it describes how hectic things must be in our lives, getting a child ready to go to college. This picture might apply to a one child family where the parent's only goal is to get their kid into a good school so they can have something to put in their Christmas letter, but in my house, my college search is not the center of our world. This kid-centric tone continued throughout the letter.

The college process is "beginning of letting go," so your daughter can live"the star spangled promise of her life," by becoming one of Mount Holyoke's "brilliant ambitious students." "You can start to let your daughter go," the letter concludes, "and watch her fly." Some might find this brilliantly touching, but I see a Dean going a little potty, and sending out supposedly sentimental notes.

At other points in the note, Anci uses enough literary devices to make the most greedy English teacher beg for mercy. Metaphor: "There's never been a more important time for young people to flex the muscles of the brain." Alliteration: "Cultivating a campus" "finances of college loom large, " and a disconnect from normal language--a little known device but an extremely common one--"Of course, we're not cavalier about practicality." Yes, because obviously if you use words that no one uses in conversation, you must mean business.

The letter also cannot stop fawning about Mt. Holyoke. Of course, this doesn't actually mean they use evidence to back up their information, just pretty pretty words. "This means cultivating a campus full of curious and motivated thinkers: our brilliant, ambitious students of course, as well as accomplished faculty that wins prestigious awards...add to this our world class facilities, rigorous and innovated curriculum, and notably diverse community." That sounds great, but it doesn't really mean anything.

Most college kids are curious. Many are curious about how drunk they can get before they become best friends with the toilet. Ambitious could mean that a student trying to become a level 40 orc during history class. The professors could have won "Hottest prof over 40" for all we know, and diverse could mean that they have upper class white kids and middle class white kids. I doubt that a good school like Mt. Holyoke, this is what any of that means, but vague self praise is confusing and boasty.

I also do not doubt Diane Anci's abilities as a dean since I'm sure she does a good job, but I think the school should let her out once in awhile. It might do her good.

You can tell they really care

College mail is spam. Sure, it's sent to a very specific audience (high schoolers that may be eligible for their school) from a prestigious source, but it's a mass mailing, spam. Many schools take the time and trouble to put your name on the page, or even send you the brochure related to a possible major, but that's about as personal as it gets. Sometimes, though, it seems to go past that into the territory of "just doesn't care".

The University of Montana sent a nice, albeit dull, postcard about the balance between academics and nature that can be found at their school. I was about to chuck it into my equally dull trash bin, but the address caught my eye.

"To Jane Doe*, or current resident." Obviously the University of Montana is really interested in me as a student. Or my mom, or my brother, or, for that matter, my cat, who are all residents of my house. I wonder how they would respond to getting an application from "Kinsey Cat." Her transcript is lacking, but her extracurriculars are spectacular.

*My name isn't Jane Doe, and thankfully, they actually went to the effort of putting my name in the slot, but I don't feel like putting my name on this blog thanks.

Omg Early response Lol*

The following is a real quote from a University of Michigan email: "I wish UM had early response when I applied. There could be no better holiday gift to give a parent than to tell them you're going to be a Wolverine."

My parents will be so proud of me, fighting the commies, taking back the streets. Oh, what's that you say? Not those Wolverines? Dang, if they're not talking about Red Dawn, what's so exciting about wolverines?

For those of you who haven't had to apply to college in the last couple of years, Early Admissions, or Early Response, is a system where a students choose to turn in their applications in at an earlier date, get a response back more quickly, and are locked into that college. It's an option at many, possibly most, colleges. It's not that exciting.

There could be no better nondescript holiday gift to give a parent than to tell them that they're going to have to pay tuition to go to a college that whose alumni include Bill Ayers and the voice of Sonic the Hedgehog.

*For the entirely internet illiterate this entry's title should be read: Oh my gosh, early response, laughing out loud. Also, if you're that non-internet savvy, how in the world are you reading a blog?

They're coming

The University of Chicago has a zombie readiness task force. Which is awesome. That is all.