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.

Just how easy is it to be green?

Do you know what I love? A college that completely ignores my interests.

When I took the PLAN and the PSAT, there were sections asking about your grades and school career to help colleges scout students. One section asks what career or area of study interests you. On both tests, I answered either Television or Creative writing, or something to that effect.

I got an email the other day from Stony Brook College Southampton. The email told me about their exciting green technology curriculum. What? Apparently they think that the green boom is so big that every student, everywhere, will drop their original college plans, and race to apply to Stony Brook.

The problem is that many schools now have green technology programs, if not majors. Most of them, though, only show it off to students who have already shown interest in similar programs. Just because I'm "focused on my future" doesn't mean I'll be swept off my feet by a green technology program.

In My Own Backyard

Often, college view books include a list of the attractions their school's area has to offer. Schools in New York coo over tourist destinations Broadway or the Empire States Building. Chicago colleges suggest that visitors see a Sox game, or try their famous deep dish pizza. Even schools in small towns can tout their local charm and quaint shops. These pages are useful, since they give student who can't visit a feel for what their city's like, and helps students who do visit get to know the place better. However, when you live near the school, these pages just feel odd.

Instead of enticing me with a world famous cultural center, I see the place I went on my last birthday. When the book offers up an ordinarily impressive museum, instead it's the place I went to on a field trip. If any of these had been in another state, or in a far off city, they would be exciting and even exotic, but because they are all old hat, the college seems behind the times.

I propose that colleges create a veiw book specially for people who live within 200 miles of the school. It would be identical to the ordinary book except for the page about local attractions would be missing. In it's place, there would be a blank page that simply reads "We know you know the area, please come here anyway."

College pamplets: Where Logic Goes to Die

The town I live in has a heavy agricultural background. The FFA fair is the biggest event of the year. Half the kids at my high school own goats, pigs, or cows. I have a few chickens of my own in the backyard, yet I was stunned by just how hickish Grinnell college's booklet was.

Grinnell College is located in the middle of Iowa, and they aren't ashamed. Every page displays a picture of a cow, some corn, or a farm. One page even features a collage version of American

Gothic.

Stylistically, some of the elements are very cool. The pages of the books are all fold out flaps, which, because I'm more easily fascinated than a six year old, kept me amused for way too long. The book itself looks good as well, but it's not put together perfectly.

At times, the page's picture has nothing to do with Grinnell or the page's topic. The page on financial aid proclaims "we are in search of those in search of wonder and knowledge. Students of life, lovers of learning, collaborators, and creators. People who want a profound liberal arts education." The statement does do a good job emphasising that they want students interested in education, and will help worthy students make it there. The picture is of a little boy eating corn. What? Forget that the lines aren't complete sentences (and really, should anyone go to a school where they can't even put together a proper sentence?), the little boy eating an ear of corn has nothing to do with financial aid.

Another page proclaims "Next door has an entirely different meaning here" and goes on to talk about their study abroad program. The picture is a cow with a saddle on its back. There's almost a connection there, but I can't quite figure out what it is. It's one of those "so close and yet so far" things that perplexes and annoys instead of...well, whatever it is a picture of a saddle on a cow is supposed to do.

My favorite page of all though, is a strange one. It has a picture of a woman swimming in a clear pool filled with gigantic beans. It's accompanied by the quote "Amber waves of grain, soybean seas of grain, one swimming championship after another." Once again, what? The inside flap features the headline "everyone plays." For someone like me, whose sports career ended after kindergarten softball-tee ball, this is just the tiniest bit intimidating. Less intimidating, soybeans.

Grinnell college is not ashamed to let their hick flag fly. It's also not afraid to defy logic and grammar. So, if you want to go to a school where ten year olds stand around eating corn, and girls swim with giant soybeans, that might be the place for you.

A Priest, a Rabi, and a Williams Professor Walk into a Bar

The gold standard for college letters is the University of Chicago. One half of the postcard gave you an idea of student life through tidbits about school events--a goal of their scavenger hunt was to make a bat signal over the campus, a past admissions essay asked students to relate themselves to a Cartesian plane, silly bits of information like that. The other half of the card was for a response. It would ask what was on your bookshelf, or tell you to color the school's emblem, then send it back so they could hang it on a wall in the admissions office. The university used wit and brevity to create a memorable advertisement.

Williams College in Massachusetts apparently decided to try to be just as funny. I know this, because their cover letter told me.

"You hold in your hands the Williams Prospectus. I hope you will find its slightly irreverent tone both refreshing and informative. I also hope, after sometime perusing its pages, you'll decide to pay us a visit."

Okay, if you want to be irreverent, don't use the term irreverent, or prospectus, or perusing.

The Prospectus (which is apparently the proper name for the college booklets I keep getting) tries. On the front page it cites the percentage of alumni who think Williams is a good enough school that it shouldn't need brochures. They also try to lighten the statistics portion by including the percent of Williams students who watched less than an hour of TV each week. As someone who often watches more than an hour of TV per night, the number makes me think of Williams students as stuck up fuddy duddies.

This period of joviality (at least, by Williams' standards) could not last. By page twelve of the daunting 53 page "brochure" they're back to their old highfalutin ways.

"These are but three of 315 stories of faculty members who make their livelihood by contributing on both micro and macro levels--to their students' development, to their respective fields, and to the world at large."

Boy, those Williams kids sure do know how to have fun.