A.I. Smackdown — English Major vs. ChatGPT - Part 2

Introduction

In my last post, I considered the writing prowess of ChatGPT, the A.I. text generation platform powered by OpenAI’s GPT-3 engine. A professor quoted in Vice magazine said GPT-3 could get a B or B- on an MBA final exam, which I figured had to be an exaggeration. So, I put ChatGPT through its paces, having it write paragraphs in the style of a scholastic essay, a magazine article, and a blog post. In this essay, I’ll tackle a final writing category: poetry. At least when it comes to very logical matters such as rhyme and meter, A.I. ought to do really well … right? Well, let’s see how it does. (Hint: very poorly. And, I suppose I owe you a trigger warning: ChatGPT seems to think violence to one’s genitals is funny.)

But before I get to all that, I will address a pressing question: who cares about any of this? And why should we? I’ll also address a few follow-up questions from the friend who prompted my last post.

Who cares? And why should we?

In response to my previous post, my software maven friend suggested that A.I. could be used effectively for composition if the user (i.e., the person who’s tasked ChatGPT with responding to a query) has enough expertise to evaluate the response and wisely choose what to use from it, and what to discard. In this way, my friend suggests, “this version [of ChatGPT] could make someone who knows what they’re doing more productive.” He continued, “I wonder if for your next blog you might consider how you might use it? Would you be willing to use it as a first draft in responding to a low performing colleague who asks trivial questions?”

I have two responses to this: a practical one and an ideological one. On the practical side, I can’t imagine starting a work email, proposal, or report with ChatGPT because in my experience so far, most of what the A.I. does is apply window dressing and rhetorical flourishes to the ideas I feed it, along with vague assertions that aren’t backed up (e.g., “[Dura-Ace’s] sleek and understated style has been well-received by riders and industry experts alike”). ChatGPT builds repetitive, junior-high-grade essays that fill out the page but don’t add much value to the original prompt. If I were to obtain my rough drafts from ChatGPT, I would have to prune most of the text to end up with something reasonably concise. It would be faster just to write my own missive from scratch.

I realize this may not be true for everyone, and I’ll grant that I have developed, through decades of practice, uncommon facility with writing (having composed over 1.5 million words for albertnet alone). Nevertheless, the ability to quickly draft a work email or brief report is, I believe, a capability that any adult ought to have, just like being able to fry an egg, drive a car, or brew a good cup of coffee. To my mind, increased efficiency should be a matter of personal development, not outsourcing.

The ideological matter is more complicated. If we decide that producing a work document is the kind of hassle that should be dispatched with as little time and energy as possible, like submitting an expense report or making travel arrangements, we are diminishing the assumed value of that activity. As we prepare the next generation for the workforce, this sense of diminishment would trickle down to our schools. We would be sending students a message that writing is a job for A.I. and that the higher-value human thought lies elsewhere.

Having majored in English in college, I naturally bristle at this idea. I believe that reading and writing, more than so perhaps any other endeavor, teach us how to think. I’ve blogged before (e.g., here) about how strongly I disagree with American society’s obsession with STEM, as opposed to the traditional liberal arts that are all but dismissed in modern education. To those who promote STEM, I’d like to ask, what would you think about discontinuing most math classes in school, since we have calculators and spreadsheets to do that crap for us? Of course you wouldn’t support this, and neither do I. (I took a Calculus class in college just for the hell of it.) Studying math is good for your brain, even though most of the specific math skills you learn will never be used. Studying the craft of writing is also good for your brain, and using words well is a skill we can use every day of our professional and personal lives. Writing is hard, and takes time, sure. But when we strive to write well, we understand better, and we think more deeply.

Here is an interesting quotation from the American philosopher Alasdair Macintyre, quoted in the New Yorker, describing his misgivings about the Enlightenment:

It becomes impossible to settle moral questions or to enforce moral rules; the best we can do is agree to disagree. Such a world falls into the hands of managers and technocrats, who excel at the perfection of means but lack the tools with which to think deeply about ends.

I don’t have strong opinions about the Enlightenment, and MacIntyre was writing in the ‘80s, but I think that last sentence fits modern tech companies, particularly in the realm of A.I. development, rather well. What we see in tech is a lot of people asking “how.” How do we monetize Internet traffic, how do we create algorithms that increase this traffic, how do we increase platform dwell time, how do we make people forward more stuff, how do we make social media products more addictive. I don’t see a lot of people asking “why” or, crucially, “why not.” If we outsource writing to A.I., how will people learn to think more deeply and broadly, a capacity we may need now more than ever?

Okay, on to my main topic now. As you shall see, ChatGPT’s attempts at poetry show, in a particularly stark way, just how totally overrated this platform is today.

Shakespearean sonnet

When poetry is good, it can be transporting (think Shakespeare, Dickinson, and Eminem). But when it’s bad, it can be appalling (think Vogon poetry, the feared method of torture described in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy). Obviously this is largely a subjective matter, so in my analysis I’ll look mainly at what can be objectively measured: proper execution of meter and rhyme. This is highly logical stuff, almost mathematical, so it ought to be right up A.I.’s alley. I started with a classic form: the Shakespearean sonnet.

Now, in case you’re not familiar with that poetic form, A.I. is here to help. At least, it’s supposed to be. I asked ChatGPT, “What is a Shakespearean sonnet?” It replied:

A Shakespearean sonnet … consists of 14 lines and follows a specific rhyme scheme and meter... The structure of a Shakespearean sonnet is as follows:

• Three quatrains (four-line stanzas) with a rhyme scheme of ABAB CDCD EFEF
• A final couplet (two-line stanza) with a rhyme scheme of GG
• Iambic pentameter meter, which means each line has ten syllables with a pattern of unstressed and stressed syllables

This description is pretty good (after I truncated it), though ChatGPT doesn’t get any special points for providing this, since any Google search could lead to you such an explanation, or a far better one such as this. What was missing from ChatGPT’s definition is a more specific explanation of which syllables are stressed vs. unstressed. (Get this backwards and you’ve got trochaic pentameter, which is totally different.)

So next I asked ChatGPT, “Please explain to me how to write a poem in iambic pentameter.” It came back with this:

[Misc. prelude omitted here for brevity.] An iambic foot is a set of two syllables where the first syllable is unstressed, and the second syllable is stressed. Here's an example of a line in iambic pentameter:

“To be or not to be, that is the question.”

[Misc. pointless repetition omitted.] Count the syllables in each line. Each line should have exactly ten syllables. Vary the stress pattern slightly to avoid a monotonous rhythm. [More BS omitted.]

Here, ChatGPT presents probably the most famous line from Shakespeare, rather than a really appropriate one. The line above is a poor example because if you count the syllables, you’ll see there are actually eleven, not the “exactly ten” ChatGPT correctly said there should be. In that line, Shakespeare broke the rules on purpose, to cause the reader and/or theater audience to stumble. This was to draw attention to the word “question,” which in the context of existence is the whole point of the soliloquy. Great writing, but not a great example if you’re really trying to understand iambic pentameter. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day” would be a far better choice.

Okay, sure, that’s a bit nitpicky, but the instruction to “vary the stress pattern slightly to avoid a monotonous rhythm” is completely wrong. If you vary the stress pattern, it’s no longer iambic pentameter! And the notion of monotonous rhythm? Total bullshit! Consider Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18, here. It is absolutely flawless iambic pentameter—not a single syllable out of place—and it’s brilliant throughout, not monotonous whatsoever.

Now, you might wonder what ChatGPT meant about “ABAB” (etc.) rhyme scheme, so I asked it, “What is an ABAB rhyme scheme?” It replied:

An ABAB rhyme scheme is a specific pattern of rhyming words in a poem or song. It indicates that the last word in the first line of the poem or stanza rhymes with the last word in the third line, while the last word in the second line rhymes with the last word in the fourth line, and so on. In this rhyme scheme, the letters “A” and “B” represent different rhyming sounds. For example, in the following stanza:

I walked along the beach in the bright sun,
And listened to the waves as they did run.
The sand was warm and soft beneath my feet,
And seagulls flew overhead in the heat.

The words “sun” and “run” rhyme, so they are represented by the letter “A”, while the words “feet” and “heat” rhyme, so they are represented by the letter “B”. This pattern continues throughout the poem or stanza, creating a consistent and pleasing rhyme scheme.

Did you catch that? How full of crap ChatGPT was just there? If not, let me make it a little clearer: let’s take those A and B labels and apply them to the four lines: you’d have A for “sun,” and A for “run,” and B for “feet,” and B for “heat.” It’s AABB. It’s not ABAB. It doesn’t match the first paragraph of ChatGPT’s response. And it’s not the rhyme scheme of a Shakespearean sonnet. (It’s not even the rhyme scheme of a Petrarchan sonnet, which is ABBA. It’s just a rhyme scheme ChatGPT kind of made up, which it uses for every poem I’ve seen it write.)

We have established that ChatGPT totally blew it at describing a Shakespearean sonnet. So how does it do when actually writing one? I told it, “Write a quatrain in iambic pentameter, with an ABAB rhyme scheme, followed by a rhyming couplet, also in iambic pentameter, about post-urinal drip. Try to make it funny.” Here’s its response.

Inevitable, yet always a surprise,
Post-urinal drip can make one despise
The feeling of wetness that lingers on,
A sensation that’s not easily gone.
It’s a cruel trick of the human form,
To leave us damp after we perform.
But fear not, my friends, for there’s a way out,
Just shake it off and give it a good clout!

Oh. My. God. Is this the same priggish ChatGPT that, as mentioned in my last post, balked at writing humorously about how bad a laxative drink tastes, claiming “I cannot provide humorous anecdotes about sensitive medical procedures” and “I do not generate inappropriate or insensitive content”? It’s talking about violence to one’s genitals! I had to look up “clout” just to make sure there isn’t some alternate meaning that wouldn’t be this awful. A.I. is advocating, albeit jocularly, giving one’s penis “a heavy blow with the hand or a hard object.” WTF?! That’s not funny at all!

Meanwhile, ChatGPT simply didn’t follow my instructions. I asked for a quatrain followed by a couplet. That’s six lines total; it gave me eight (i.e., two quatrains). The rhyme scheme is also not what I asked for. As for iambic pentameter, this poem is a train wreck. Certain brief phrases (e.g., “To leave us damp,” “Just shake it off”) are iambic, but not a single line of the poem achieves this meter consistently. The very first word, “inevitable,” is fundamentally incompatible with iambic pentameter. Chat GPT just wrote whatever the hell it felt like in a very loosey-goosey meter of its own design. If you’re not getting my point, read the above poem aloud and see how hung up you get. Then compare it to this example of an actual iambic pentameter quatrain and couplet, penned by a human:

Relax, because you’ve earned your potty break;
Unburden your poor bladder of its pee.
And when you’re done you’ll shake and shake and shake;
An effort all in vain, it seems to me.
     For urine flow can never really stop,
     Until your undies drink the final drop.

Note that this second example doesn’t resort to crude ideas like clouting your penis. And note how naturally the poem gallops along because it truly follows the meter. Also notice that it doesn’t have vague throwaway notions like “A sensation that’s not easily gone.” Then consider that I wrote those lines (full poem is here) when I was only seventeen. I guess someone accustomed to the crap poems printed on Hallmark cards might be impressed at ChatGPT’s effort, but I’m not. It’s almost cynical how casually it breaks all the rules, including that of decency.

Dactylic trimeter

A.I. learns through being fed “training data” from the Internet. In case its struggle with the sonnet was based on bad information, the Shakespearean form being a very popular one, I decided to give it another shot, with dactylic trimeter, a much rarer form I have come to enjoy. I asked ChatGPT, “Please explain how to write in dactylic trimeter.” It responded:

Dactylic trimeter … consists of three dactyls, or three stressed syllables, followed by an unstressed syllable, in each line… Count the syllables in each line. Each line should have exactly three dactyls, or three stressed syllables, followed by an unstressed syllable. This means the line should contain a total of seven syllables. 

The description above is completely wrong. A dactyl is not a stressed syllable. It is a three-syllable foot in which the first syllable is stressed and the second two are not. A line of dactylic trimeter has three feet, with three syllables per foot, for nine syllables total, not seven. And even if a line did have three stressed syllables followed by an unstressed syllable, that would be four, not seven. Is ChatGPT just stupid? If I have to start reading work emails written by ChatGPT, I think I’ll just blow my brains out.

Okay, let’s see how A.I. did at actually composing this type of poem. I told it, “Please write a 10-line poem in dactylic trimeter about bike riding up two very difficult climbs, called El Toyonal and Lomas Cantadas, celebrating caprice and radical freedom.” It produced this:

Pedaling up Toyonal, heart pumping fast
My mind is clear, free from the world’s contrast
With caprice and freedom, I take each turn
Pushing through pain, for what I will earn
Onward I climb, up Lomas Cantadas
My legs scream out, but my spirit never fades
The wind in my hair, the world fades away
A moment of peace, that I long to stay
And at last I reach the summit high
A sense of triumph, that no words can deny

You can see right away what an awful poem this is. It’s what Thomas Kincade would produce if he were a writer instead of an “artist.” I mean, “free from the word’s contrast”—what does that even mean? And “the wind in my hair”—seriously? What is this, a Harlequin romance novel? Lomas is a 10% grade, and I’m wearing a helmet! But what particularly stands out is that again, ChatGPT didn’t follow my prompt whatsoever. In the entire poem, only two of the feet are proper dactylic trimeter (“pushing through” and the first three syllables of “Lomas Cantadas”), which is surely just luck. As it did with the sonnet, ChatGPT just wrote whatever the hell it felt like. So why does everybody praise ChatGPT so much? It sucks! (For a proper poem on this topic, with actual dactylic trimeter, click here.)

One more thing

Okay, I can almost hear you now: “Oh, this particular chatbot is just using GPT-3! The technology getting better all the time! All the glitches you’ve found will soon be fixed! The next version’s gonna be amazing!”

Well, maybe GPT-4 (etc.) will get better at poetic meter, and maybe it’ll learn how to be more concise. But I could also imagine its errors getting propagated further. Remember, GTP-3 learned mostly from training on massive amounts of human output from across the Internet, and (as I learned from my software maven friend) has over 100 billion parameters allowing it in some sense to memorize an enormous portion of its training set. Over time, as more people outsource their writing to A.I., its errors could be added to the pile of training data, and thus reinforced. Meanwhile, the content may stray ever further from that created by humans. The growing body of text on the Internet may come to have less and less to do with us—that is, with creators who have a soul, and a conscience. It’s tempting to hope that somehow the works of great writers will one day be scored higher somehow, to help the A.I., but why would we expect this when politicians, the media, and academia are kicking liberal arts to the curb? Meanwhile, most social media platforms today seem to prize forwards and re-posts as the most valuable Internet currency, so if any scoring were to be applied to A.I.’s learning, it’s probably more likely to be whatever gets a rise out of people—i.e., trolling and other bombastic vitriol.

As ChatGPT and its ilk gain ever more traction, what passes for writing could become, to borrow a phrase from Nabokov, the “copulation of clichés.” (He was talking about pornography, but the metaphor holds here, too.) As the data set A.I. uses becomes more and more generic, while the tool gets used by more and more people seeking to avoid engagement with the craft of writing, most real insight and individuality might gradually vanish from written correspondence. O brave new world!

Other albertnet posts on A.I. 

• I, Chatbot
• Almost Intelligent – Part I
• Almost Intelligent – Part II
• Smartphones & Artificial Stupidity
• A.I. Smackdown – Moto vs. Cortana vs. Siri
• Could Artificial Intelligence Replace Writers? – Part 1
• Could Artificial Intelligence Replace Writers? – Part 2
• Could Artificial Intelligence Replace Writers? – Part 3
• A.I. Smackdown – English Major vs. ChatGPT – Part 1

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More Q&A With a Grammar Lover

Dear Grammar Lover,

A friend put it to me that “fuck” is the most elastic word in the English language, since it can be a noun, adjective, verb, etc. I’m guessing it’s not truly unique in this, but I can’t really prove it. What’s your take?

Tom G, Brooklyn, NY

Dear Tom:

By my count, of the eight parts of speech, “fuck” can be used as five:

• Noun: I don’t give a fuck
• Verb: He really fucked it up
• Interjection: Fuck!
• Adjective: He doesn’t have a fucking clue
• Adverb: Are you fucking shitting me?

These last two are of course gerunds, which to me isn’t as wholly satisfying as if “fuck” itself could be used as an adjective or adverb. Thus, I’m tempted to say “well” is more elastic, because (as detailed here), it can also be used as five parts of speech … and it doesn’t need an –ing suffix. However, as one commenter pointed out, “well” isn’t actually one word. It’s a pair of homonyms. “Well” as in “good or satisfactory” is an entirely different word, with a different etymology, from “well” as in “shaft sunk into the ground.” So to my mind, “fuck” wins, at least between these two.

One more thing: bonus points go to “fuck” for being useful not just as an interjection, but as the most powerful interjection of all time.

Dear Grammar Lover,

In a previous column you asserted that it’s not always appropriate to correct somebody’s grammar. What’s the most tasteless, tactless context for a grammar correction you’ve ever encountered?

Wanda L, Las Cruces, NM

Dear Wanda,

When my father was dying of cancer, I suggested he write up his own obituary, just so I wouldn’t miss a life detail he felt was important. He inadvertently wrote his draft from the perspective of someone who was still alive, which is understandable … he may not have fully accepted yet that he would actually die. Accordingly, among my revisions were a number of necessary verb tense changes. I also included an email address so people could send tidings without wasting paper on cards (feeling that this was what my dad would have wanted). One of his friends sent a very terse email pointing out that I’d made a verb tense error in the obituary. The obituary had noted, “He has also done work for NBS/NIST on computer peripherals, power supplies, and the atomic clock” which, as this guy pointed out, should have read “He also did work for NBS/NIST….” The guy was right, of course; my sentence did not properly convey that my father was dead, dead, dead and would never do any more work for NBS/NIST, or anyone else, ever again. (The email itself didn’t say “dead, dead, dead,” but it might as well have.)

Since the email didn’t say anything else beyond pointing out the error, my (admittedly ungrammatical) response was quite brief: “Asperger’s much?” (Just kidding. I did not respond.)

Dear Grammar Lover,

In a previous column you said the silliest example of bad grammar you have come across in music is “exactly whom I’m supposed to be” in the song “Should I Stay or Should I Go” by the Clash. How is this any worse than Eminem repeatedly using the non-word “insaneness” in the song “Brainless”?

Sean C, Boston, MA

Dear Sean,

For one thing, using a non-word isn’t the same class of error as using “whom” incorrectly; “insaneness” is more like a playful stylistic stretch in the Ogden Nash vein. And this non-word opened the door for Eminem to rhyme with “brainless” and “pain in the anus,” whereas the Clash’s goof didn’t accomplish anything. Besides, Eminem freely acknowledges the poetic liberty; in a muted aside at the end of the song, some nameless adversary says, “‘Insaneness’ ain’t even a word you stupid fuck,” to which the singer replies, “Neither is ‘ain’t.’” Meanwhile, at least two dictionaries (such as this one, for example) do include “insaneness” as a legit word. And above all, the whole point of the song is that the singer is brainless, so why wouldn’t he use a non-word?

Dear Grammar Lover,

What do you make of “their” as a singular possessive pronoun? I know this has long been used when the speaker doesn’t wish to specify one sex or another, but it’s technically wrong and can cause confusion, such as with singular vs. plural. Doesn’t clarity trump convenience here? Can’t we all agree that “their” as a singular pronoun is just plain wrong?

John S, San Leandro, CA

Dear John,

I try to avoid using “their” to refer to an unnamed or hypothetical person, preferring “his or her” or some other way around the construction. But I haven’t traditionally worried too much about other people doing this, as it doesn’t tend to cause that much confusion, really. For example, “Everyone must bring their workbook” could imply that a bunch of students share a single workbook … but common sense should easily put that vagueness to rest.

Things get a bit more complicated around the more recent trend of using a plural pronoun for an individual who doesn’t wish to identify as one sex or another. For example, a non-binary person may request that people use “they” or “their” to refer to “them.” This plural pronoun begets a plural verb, to achieve subject-verb agreement, which can also add confusion.

I will cautiously assert that spoken grammar evolves more quickly than formal, written grammar, so if we’re looking for what’s officially “correct,” it’s useful to take after the dictionary publishers and see what’s in print in a mainstream magazine written for an educated audience. (I wouldn’t look to “Us” magazine, which is all about celebrities, because they don’t even get their own name right; the magazine should be called “Them.”) So, as I’d done when trying to determine the definitive spelling of “kindergartner,” I looked for non-gendered pronouns in “The New Yorker.” Consider this passage from a recent article:

    Caro Murphy … said that a Disney rep had told them not to talk about their work at the park, so we spoke about LARPs in general terms. “There is this tension between the commercial part of LARP and the community part,” they said.

The word “them” confused me a bit initially because I thought perhaps it referred to Murphy plus one or more colleagues previously mentioned or implied. But the confusion was dispelled when the quote was followed by “they said.” Obviously this was not two or more persons speaking in unison.

Still, this new usage can get a bit confusing when obvious clues like that quotation aren’t provided. This was the case in the previous paragraph of the same article, which coincidentally involved another non-binary interviewee. And more confusion arose later, with Kes, a LARPer whom the writer and her colleague Tim met onboard a Disney theme park spaceship:

     [Tim] told me he thought that Kes might be a cast member. He’d seen her being chummy with Croy in the engineering room.

     I [Googled] the name of the LARPer Disney had just hired. I edged around the crowd. “Caro?” I whispered to Kes.

     “Yes!” Murphy said, grinning.

Some of the confusion here comes from a single person being referred to by three different names in the span of seven words, which has nothing to do with pronouns. But the earlier bit about “her being chummy with Croy” did complicate things. Kes, when in character, may have identified as female, unless the writer just made an assumption. But when out of character, Murphy prefers they/them. The writer, when composing the article, knew that Kes was Murphy and thus could have said “them” instead of “her,” but this would have spoiled the surprise of the secret identity.

I got some good advice once in a writing class, which is that a writer should never make the reader do extra work unless there’s a good reason. So is honoring the preference of a source a good reason? Of course! Interviewees are at the crux of journalism (and in this case in particular, Murphy was taking some risk, having been told by Disney not to talk about their work). Meanwhile, professional courtesy aside, I think acknowledgement of any human’s self-identity is more important than ease of reading comprehension. Yes, this can mean extra work for the reader, especially for those of us with a lifelong habit of thinking about gender as a very cut-and-dried, binary matter, but isn’t this kind of work good for us, as we grapple with the more complicated reality?

Dear Grammar Lover,

How good are the grammar checkers in Microsoft Word and Google Docs?

Linda S, Broomfield, CO

Dear Linda,

Artificial Intelligence is really bad at grammar. If you asked A.I. to diagram a sentence it simply couldn’t. It is powerless to understand context, so its suggestions can seem practically random. Thus, software grammar checkers are pretty much worthless.

To validate this assertion, I ran a Microsoft Word grammar check against a recent blog post, and then ran the same post through the grammar checker in Google Docs. In theory, both programs should flag the same “errors,” right? After all, if you handed an essay to two different human newspaper or magazine editors, the feedback on grammar and spelling would be similar, one to the next. What I found with the software was that a) there was zero overlap in feedback between the two grammar checkers, and b) most of their suggestions were flat-out wrong.

Here are some of the “errors” flagged by Word (click to enlarge):

As you can see, Word was wrong in every single case. I sincerely hope nobody is trying to learn grammar by reviewing this software’s suggestions and rationale.

Google did a bit better, finding one bona fide error (I had “other the internal” instead of “other internal”), and only making four incorrect suggestions. One suggestion was particularly inane: in the sentence “I considered his feat from the perspective of coach,” Google suggested I change “feat” to “feet.” Why does this software think I’d be looking at a rider’s feet? Does it assume coaches, and/or writers, are likely to have a foot fetish? The less facetious question is this: as an educated human, why would I ever outsource my editing to software that makes so many mistakes?

Dear Grammar Lover,

In a previous column you said the silliest instance of bad grammar you’ve found in rock music is “exactly whom I’m supposed to be” in the song “Should I Stay or Should I Go” by the Clash. How is this any worse than “If looks could kill they probably will” in “Games Without Frontiers” by Peter Gabriel?

Simon Taylor, London, UK

Dear Simon,

Indeed, this is a clear example of inconsistent verb tense, but why would you suppose it is unintentional? Not only does “will” create a nice internal rhyme with “kill,” but the sudden shift from the hypothetical subjunctive to the future indicative active creates the most jarring—and best—lyric in the whole song. It’s a similar effect to what the masterful novelist Muriel Spark achieves in her story “The Portobello Road” with the immortal line, “He looked as if he would murder me and he did.” In both cases, death goes from hypothetical to real in a split second. So Peter Gabriel’s verb shift isn’t just intentional; it’s brilliant. I wouldn’t say rules were made to be broken, but in the right hands they can be, and to good effect.

Got a question for the Grammar Lover? Click here.

A Grammar Lover is a syndicated journalist whose advice column, “Ask a Grammar Lover,” appears in over 0 blogs worldwide.

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Ask a Grammar Lover

Dear Grammar Lover,

When is it okay to correct someone’s grammar? I feel this should be welcomed, but it seems like so often it’s not.

Emily D, Madison, WI

Dear Emily,

Alas, correcting someone’s grammar is more complicated than pointing out that she’s got food in her teeth, or that his fly is open. For one thing, since grammar is to some degree a matter of education and social class, a person can easily feel a bit offended.

For example, an old boss of mine from my teenage days, whom I also counted as a friend, said to me once, “Between you and I, the money I collect on rent more than covers the mortgage.” I replied, “You mean ‘between you and me.’” He was pretty ticked, because a) I sounded like a pedantic prick, and b) I was evidently more interested in his grammar than his financial flex.

Beyond that, matters of grammar aren’t as obvious as food in the teeth so you can end up getting into arguments. This can escalate the insult when your interlocutor is eventually proven wrong. I was once at a party and the late-crew stragglers were gossiping, and D— mentioned something really stupid that some third party (not present) had said. I didn’t figure there was any risk in pointing out an absent party’s error, and responded, “That’s not even grammatical!” D— said, “What do you mean not grammatical?” I said, “You know, it’s wrong grammatically.” He fired back, “That’s not what ‘grammatical’ means.” I told him it was indeed one sense of “grammatical,” and he said “Wanna bet?” etc. I really tried to talk him out of going toe-to-toe with me, assuring him that when I proved him wrong he’d would be embarrassed. But he was adamant, so I had to get out my dictionary (a very thick Webster’s New International Dictionary of the English Language, second edition, which for obvious reasons I call the “big dick”). His downfall caused much mirth at his expense, and indeed, he was embarrassed … which I’d truly wanted to avoid because I have always had the impression D— never much liked me to begin with.

So, I recommend you choose your battles, by which I mean you only assert your position if someone erroneously calls you out on an error. And you better be right.

A final point: since so much communication these days takes place via text on a smartphone, you should be extra careful. Quite frequently, the phone software will introduce errors, either through poor voice transcription or because it simply decides to “correct” what you typed. For example, it will add an apostrophe to “its” when it doesn’t belong there.

Dear Grammar Lover,

I read a blog post once where a guy lamely justified the outdated practice of putting two spaces after a period, on the grounds that it honored the memory of his typing teacher. This is obviously BS because a) standards do evolve over time, and b) his old typing teacher is surely dead and gone by now. Can you weigh in on the matter, so I can troll the blogger in the comments section below his post?

Lawrence T, Oakland, CA

Dear Larry,

Until fairly recently, I myself used two spaces after a period (and after a colon, and in most cases after a question mark) as I’d been taught in typing class in the early ‘80s. Lots of people continue to use two spaces. There’s plenty of ongoing debate on this; here is an article from 2011 condemning the two-space behavior, and here is another from 2018 asserting that using two spaces does improve readability. I suspect most style guides now specify just one space, though I haven’t bothered to confirm this.

Actually, the best reason to adopt the one-period convention is simply that digital interfaces, such as Blogger, Gmail, and Google Workspace, don’t properly handle a pair of spaces (as older word processing programs did). If a line ends with a period, and there are two spaces, the software should know to replace both spaces with a single line break. But, increasingly, the software doesn’t—it replaces the first space with a line break, and moves the second space to the beginning of the next line. This looks terrible. So anybody who continues to use two spaces will have sloppy-looking output. Give it up, two-spacers … you’ve lost.

Dear Grammar Lover,

Why do people like you think it’s important to follow these arbitrary, pedantic rules when it’s perfectly clear what somebody is trying to say, whether he follows these rules or not?

Ian B, Columbus, OH

Dear Ian,

I suppose that in a perfect world, people might judge one another on, say, the quality of their souls, or the generosity of their behavior, or something similarly noble. In reality, we judge one another in a variety of less lofty ways, and one such measure is perceived level of education. So if you don’t learn the rules, you’re bound to break some of them in ways that suggest you either never went to college or didn’t pay much attention. (Never mind that in this modern STEM-obsessed era, many college graduates are trained instead of educated, and say things like “think different.”) Suffice to say, certain people will judge you for poor grammar, and they’re not necessarily wrong to do so. If you know all the rules, you can choose which ones to break, based on your audience. So it’s not necessary to always follow the rules, but it’s important to know them.

Another reason to know the rules is to avoid phishing attacks. Incorrect grammar is one of the best “tells” when you’re deciding whether an email is legit.

Dear Grammar Lover,

What’s the silliest grammar error you have seen? Extra points for inappropriate context…

Gertrude S, Spokane, WA

Dear Trudy,

In my opinion, the worst errors occur when someone is trying to be completely correct, even at the risk of seeming pedantic—but gets it wrong. If somebody says “who” where “whom” is correct, I always cut him or her some slack because “whom” can sound stuffy. But when somebody uses “whom” where “who” is called for, particularly in an informal context, I kind of cringe. So, in answer to your query, my poster child is the  line “exactly whom I’m supposed to be” from the song “Should I Stay or Should I Go” by the Clash. What rock star says “whom” in this construction? I’ll tell you: a rock star who a) doesn’t grasp that a predicate nominative requires a subject pronoun, and b) doesn’t realize the word “whom” doesn’t belong in a rock song to begin with (as George Thorogood obviously understood when he wrote the song “Who Do You Love?”).

Dear Grammar Lover,

Is it okay to break the rules if you’re consistent about it, and there’s some precedent for the way you break them? I ask because I prefer to put punctuation outside of quotation marks “like this”, because I just like it better. Since the Brits do it this way, do you think maybe I can get away with it?

Alexa A, Isla Vista, CA

Dear Alexa,

If you’re emailing a friend or tagging a wall with a spray can, go crazy. Or, if you become an Oxford Rhodes Scholar. But here in the US, if you’re writing college papers or business documents, you do need to follow the American standard.

My dad decided he could make up some of his own rules, such as punctuating with two periods in a row, which I gather was supposed to be halfway between a period and an ellipsis. I suppose this wouldn’t have irritated me except that he liked to “correct” my grammar, as with this exact quote from an email he wrote to a friend, with me copied: “It would be fun to tease [Dana] about ‘That's me’ as opposed to the grammatically correct ‘That's I’..” I think it’s worth pointing out here that he put his homegrown punctuation outside the quotation marks. It’s a slippery slope, Alexa…

Dear Grammar Lover,

My brainiac friend insists that learned people will sometimes use bad grammar on purpose. Is this really a thing, or just a cop-out along the lines of Pee Wee Herman’s “I meant to do that”?

Sandra R, Phoenix, AZ

Dear Sandy,

I suppose the cop-out theory holds some water; after all, whenever I correct my brother’s grammar he replies, “I know, I was speaking colloquially … you know, coming down to your level.” But educated and well-spoken speakers and writers break the rules all the time, stylistically. Here’s an example, with some subtle commentary baked in by the writer (Kenneth Grahame in The Wind In the Willows):

     The Toad, having finished his breakfast, picked up a stout stick and swung it vigorously, belabouring imaginary animals. “I’ll learn ‘em to steal my house!” he cried. “I’ll learn ‘em! I’ll learn ‘em!”

     “Don’t say ‘learn ‘em,’ Toad,” said the Rat, greatly shocked. “It’s not good English.”

     “What are you always nagging at the Toad for?” inquired the Badger, rather peevishly. “What’s the  matter with his English? It’s the same what I use myself, and if it’s good enough for me, it ought to be good enough for you!”

     “I’m very sorry,” said the Rat humbly. “Only I think it ought to be ‘teach ‘em,’ not ‘learn ‘em.’”

     “But we don’t want to teach ‘em,” replied the Badger. “We want to learn ‘em—learn ‘em, learn ‘em! And what’s more, we’re going to do it, too!”

I suppose you could object to this example on the basis of these characters being animals, and British ones, and this being a very old source (i.e., 1908). But stylistic breaking of the rules is also done by modern Americans, and very learned ones at that. Consider this sentence from Elif Batuman’s recent novel Either/Or: “Imre had graduated and was supposed to be at Caltech, so probably it wasn’t him.”

Could this simply be an accident? I sincerely doubt it, as Batuman has a Ph.D. in comparative literature from Stanford. (If her doctorate were from Berkeley I would declare it impossible for this to be an accident.) (Yes, I’m kind of required, out of loyalty to my alma mater, to make that last wisecrack.) Batuman’s narrator, meanwhile, is a literature major at Harvard so I doubt we’re to assume she’s bad at grammar. I think Batuman’s choice of pronoun here is to demonstrate that her character, though very intelligent, is not pompous or overly punctilious (i.e., she’s cooler than my dad).

 A Grammar Lover is a syndicated journalist whose advice column, “Ask a Grammar Lover,” appears in over 0 blogs worldwide.

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Is It Harder to Get Into a Top College Now?

Introduction

In my last post, I presented a list of college application “frequently asked questions.” Because research is a hassle, I didn’t do any. My answers were all based on what I’ve heard from parents in my community and from my older daughter. I regurgitated these people’s collected wisdom in slightly distorted form to inject humor. My main point was to satirize the doom-and-gloom attitude of pretty much everybody around me (except my wife, who also finds the prevailing attitude pointless and annoying).

                                                                     

That being said, I assumed that my answer to the first FAQ—”Is it harder to get into college now?”—was basically correct. (My answer was, “Yes, it absolutely is. Your child is way, way smarter, more industrious, and more resourceful than you, and yet won’t be able to sail through the process and attend a top college like you did.”) I took everybody’s word for it that top colleges really are more selective nowadays, simply because this opinion was always given with such an air of authority. I took it on faith that my community was actually basing this position on facts and research. It turns out that these people are all just a bunch of ninnies, mistaking fear for reality … Chicken Littles all, spouting falsehoods irresponsibly. This post debunks all that and presents a theory on the origin of this mass hysteria.

The conventional wisdom

All the parents and high school kids around me say the same thing: “It’s way harder getting into a top college than it used to be.” This is stated as irrefutable fact and when I’ve expressed skepticism, I’ve been shot down. The evidence given (if any) is the lower rate of acceptance—i.e., the number of rejected applications. So many more students are being rejected, the logic goes, our crop of kids may well be among them.

I have instinctively doubted this, and in trying to buck up my daughter I said, “It’s probably just more pack fodder. The field is larger, but not the front of the group that actually has a chance.” I chose this bike race analogy to try to make the dialogue briefer and a bit less dull. My point was, if you have 20 good racers who are all competitive, and then a bunch of poseurs buy fancy bikes and jump in to the race, without a prayer of placing high, your race hasn’t really gotten harder. It’s just gotten bigger.

My daughter refuted this counterpoint on the grounds that a) students with really good grades and SAT/ACT scores are being turned away, and b) everybody knows it’s gotten harder—this is just established fact. Out of sheer laziness and a sense that pessimists are usually right, I never pursued the truth. Until now.

The truth

The truth is, the increased difficulty of a top student getting into a top school has been greatly exaggerated. Here is a summary of my findings:

• The number of high school seniors is shrinking
• The number of qualified applicants to top colleges has not significantly grown
• Students apply to far more colleges than ever before, out of fear of being rejected and because electronic application methodologies like Common App have made this so easy to do
• This application inflation is greatly decreasing the acceptance rate
• This acceptance rate number is illusory because so many applicants are not qualified
• Colleges are deliberately encouraging behaviors that shrink this acceptance rate number, to appear more elite
• Looking at the metric that matters—the percentage of top students accepted by at least one top college—paints a picture that is astonishingly rosier

I will cite evidence from six articles (all from mainstream news magazines) to support all this. My conclusion? Virtually every member of my community owes my kid and me an apology for all the unwarranted anxiety they have caused by perpetuating this myth of increased selectivity.

And now, here is my point-by-point evidence of the above, to thoroughly document and explain what is really going on.

The number of high school seniors is declining

This article in The Atlantic states, “The number of American high school seniors is shrinking, having peaked in 2011.” This is also stated by Time magazine here. (Actually, the Atlantic cites Time on this point, but presumably The Atlantic does fact-check.)

The number of qualified applicants to top colleges has not significantly grown

The Atlantic reports that “according to [education company] Noodle[.org]’s data, the number of seats at competitive colleges has grown faster than the total pool of qualified applicants—raising a student’s chances of getting into a ‘selective college.’” Meanwhile, US News & World Report declares, “As selective as they’d like prospective students to believe they are, colleges and universities have been watching enrollment decline for five years, according to the National Student Clearinghouse Research Center. Last year alone, it dropped 1.4 percent, or by about 270,000 students, at institutions nationwide…. Part of that is due to the shrinking supply of 18-year-olds and to families’ concerns about the high cost, and relative value, of college.”

Students are applying to far more colleges than before

The Atlantic reports, “Many high achieving students will apply to 10 or 15 schools, so you’re looking at doubling or even tripling the number of applications from the same pool of applicants. Application inflation is linked, [the Noodle.org VP] believes, to the Common App.” The Washington Post reports, “More than 800,000 students used the Common Application last year to submit some 3.5 million applications to more than 700 colleges. Plenty of students today apply to colleges they have hardly any intention of attending.” The New York Times explains it thus: “Enabled by technology that makes it easier to copy and send electronic documents and driven by the competitive anxiety that plummeting admission rates produce, top students have been sending out more applications…. In essence, the growth in applications per student creates a vicious cycle, causing admission rates at the best schools to artificially decline, students to become more anxious, and the number of applications per student to grow even more.”

Application inflation is greatly decreasing the acceptance rate

The Washington Post article describes the acceptance rate number in somewhat useful terms: “The top 20 national universities in the U.S. News & World Report rankings, for instance, enroll only about 100,000 students out of 17 million undergraduates nationwide. So the denominator is rising as the numerator stays the same in an equation that is more like the odds of playing the lottery for most students and parents.” This explanation is only somewhat useful, though, because of course colleges aren’t accepting students at random. This is the whole problem: the acceptance rate is being treated like odds in a lottery when in fact colleges have an objective basis to discard most applications.

This acceptance rate number is illusory

As reported in Time magazine, “What many parents and students don’t realize is that increasing numbers of applications isn’t necessarily a sign that it’s harder to get into a selective school; rather, it’s a sign of changes in behavior among high school seniors. More and more people who aren’t necessarily qualified are applying to top schools, inflating the application numbers while not seriously impacting admissions.” The New York Times makes a similar analysis: “[Admission rates] don’t represent the true odds of a well-qualified student’s being admitted to a top school. That’s because anyone can apply to college, well qualified or otherwise. Selective colleges immediately toss the long shots and dreamers from the admissions pile in order to concentrate on students with a legitimate shot at getting in. But they don’t parse their admissions statistics that way, in part because it’s in their best interests to seem as selective as possible.”

Colleges are deliberately shrinking the acceptance rate

US News & World Report declares, “Some [colleges] have encouraged the applications boom, with its resulting effect on their ability to predict yields, by urging marginally qualified students to apply. Known as ‘recruit to deny,’ this practice makes them appear more selective and boosts their standings in some college rankings.” The Washington Post reports, “Colleges buy more than 80 million names of test takers from the College Board annually. In some cases, schools simply encouraged more students to apply as a way to improve their standings in the rankings.”

As far as I can tell, my daughter has received solicitations from every college in the country, even the ones she’s sure would never accept her. She now holds the distinction of getting more junk mail than the rest of the family combined (to say nothing of her e-mail spam, which currently stands at over 2,500 messages with 50 in the last week alone). Hell, Carleton College even sent her a Frisbee!

The metric that matters

My favorite among these articles is the one from the New York Times, which makes a valiant effort to talk us off the ledge: “For well-qualified students, getting into a good college isn’t difficult. It probably isn’t that much harder than it was generations ago. The fact that everyone believes otherwise shows how reliance on a single set of data—in this case, institutional admission rates—can create a false sense of what’s really going on.” The article goes on to say: 

Some students are applying to 20 or more schools: to increase their odds of making a single match. The most important elite college admissions statistic, then, is not the percentage of applications top schools accept. It’s the percentage of top students who are admitted to at least one top school. And that number isn’t 5 percent or 20 percent or even 50 percent. It’s 80 percent. It turns out that four out of five well-qualified students who apply to elite schools are accepted by at least one…. Since there has never been a time when 100 percent of well-qualified students were successful in the college admissions market, the truism that elite colleges are far more difficult to crack than in years gone by can’t be correct: 80 percent is too close, mathematically, to nearly everyone.

Needless to say, this Times article should be required reading for all parents of college-bound teenagers, and for those teenagers.

My daughter’s reaction

When I presented all this to my daughter—the one person I’m willing to bother arguing with about this, because I hope to reduce her anxiety—she was understandably skeptical. She immediately began Googling all this for herself. “You don’t have to do that,” I said. “I’ve already compiled the relevant articles for you.” She gave me one of those looks. Acknowledging that of course she’d fact-check me later anyway, I asked for a few minutes of her attention to read her some of the passages I’ve quoted above.

My daughter didn’t actually seem relieved. Perhaps all this seems too good to be true given the atmosphere of doom she has been trapped in for the last year or so. Or maybe being optimistic just feels weird and wrong at this point. She immediately came up with some hard questions. “What do they mean ‘top school’?” she asked. I cited the article: it defines top school as “one of the 113 schools identified by Barron’s Profiles of American Colleges as the most selective.” My daughter, naturally, looked this up on the spot and read off the list. I’d heard of at last 90% of the colleges listed, and they really are elite. (My alma mater, UC Berkeley, didn’t even make the list.)

Next she questioned how the Times defined a “well-qualified” student. The answer is, it’s “combined SAT scores (or an ACT equivalent) of at least 1300.” My daughter stared in blank disbelief. “That’s not high at all. That’s like 60th percentile,” she said. Then she fact-checked herself: it’s actually 90th percentile. Competitive, sure, but not insanely high. Could the Times really be right about this? Well, they based their findings on the applications of 800,000 students. And they’re the New York Times, for crying out loud.

Why the hysteria?

So the natural question is, how could every adult I’ve talked to about this be so wrong? Why this widespread panic? I have two theories.

First, it’s far more exciting and engaging to paint everything in the darkest shades possible. FUD (fear, uncertainty, and doubt) gives a nice urgent edge to your sidebar chatter at book club. FUD also makes better headlines, which might be all most people bother to read. Consider this one , in Business Insider: “It was the hardest year on record to get into elite colleges—admissions experts explain why.” What’s remarkable about the article is that it doesn’t really support this “hardest” assertion, but rather says much the same thing as the other articles I’ve cited. For example: “The steady uptick of college applicants, especially at elite schools, is stark, driven in part by the emergence of Common App, which allows students to apply to many schools at once.” It goes on to say, “There may be reason to view this lowering acceptance rate with some skepticism.” It trails off talking about how the strong cohort of high-scoring international applicants, “while it may drive down the overall acceptance rate, likely has less impact on US applicants than is sometimes believed.”

Meanwhile, beyond being typical drama queens, I think a lot of these parents are responding to their deep-seated fear that their kid(s) will wash out. (If so, they’re likely sharing their kids’ experience.) Perhaps by portraying the college admission game as nearly unwinnable they’re assuaging, in advance, the shame of their kid’s defeat.

It’s tempting to have sympathy for these beleaguered people, but in fact I’m kind of pissed off. Their willingness to be readily duped by deliberately misleading statistics, and to heap that unfounded fear on their poor children—and mine!—has caused untold unnecessary anxiety. And that’s not the only collateral damage. By creating so much fear and angst, our communities are teaching children to be self-absorbed and monomaniacal. My teen years involved a lot of messing around, having fun, killing time, and basically being a kid. Our current crop of teens are like 16 going on 40. Practically every action they take has their college admission in mind. As a group they’re just a huge buzz-kill. You know who they remind me of? Stressed out middle-aged parents. It’s pathetic.

Will it ever end?

Alas, I’m not sure getting into a good college will actually help. By that point, worrying and hand-wringing will have become a habit that is hard to shake. I’m basing this on a couple of things.

The first is an anecdote shared with me by an acquaintance whose sister works at Duke University, and whose job includes interviewing prospective students—i.e., those who have been accepted—to determine scholarship eligibility. She was struck, my acquaintance told me, by how unexcited and often downright sullen many of these kids were. I mean, here they’d been accepted by Duke, but they seemed so downcast! So finally she asked one of them why he wasn’t more excited. “I’m still waiting to hear from Harvard,” the ungrateful, over-privileged little shit replied.

Here is my second anecdote, from spending an afternoon at UC Berkeley at an internship fair. My role there, as I was quick to explain to every Cal student I talked to, was simply to answer their questions and describe the culture at the company I work for. I made it clear that I wasn’t the one evaluating them. But almost every student treated our chat like a job interview. They all had pretty extensive résumés, even the freshmen (which made up a surprisingly high proportion of the group, given that they were only like six weeks into their college careers). They all had this air of desperation about them.

One interaction in particular illustrates what I’m talking about. This student asked me, “What classes should I take?” I replied, “Well, I didn’t major in Computer Science, so I wouldn’t know anything about that.” She pressed on, “No … I mean, what classes should I take?” She was practically winking at me. I finally grasped her meaning: she meant what classes would look good on her résumé and help her get an internship at my company. I had no idea. I told her, “What I’ve witnessed in tech is that a lot of engineering types don’t write well. I think you should take a couple of writing classes.” She seemed perplexed and asked, “Can I?” I replied, “Of course you can! You can take whatever class you want! And you should … I mean, you’re at a world class university. You should take advantage of your opportunities here!” Her expression was priceless, like a light bulb on a dimmer switch gradually coming on. She had clearly never thought about college in any other terms than advancement and career prospects. “Wow … I guess I can!” she replied, astonished.

Call to action

If you’ve been sowing doom and gloom by parroting all this received wisdom about colleges being more selective, please stop. If you have a freaked out kid, please tell him or her to relax and try not to worry. And if you don’t believe me about any of this, go click on some of the links I’ve included here and read these articles for yourself.

As for me, next time some fellow parent trots out all this malarkey about college admissions being way more competitive, I’m going to tell him flat-out that he’s wrong. No, I won’t subject him to a withering argument … I’ll go one worse. I’ll ask him to read this post. This of course will end the dialogue forever, since as you well know, nobody reads this blog … except, apparently, you (and I hereby offer my congratulations at your intellectual stamina).

Postscript

This post only scratches the surface of my disgust at prevailing attitudes toward higher education. For a more comprehensive (but lighter-weight) survey, check out my previous post.

For further reading

• The Truth About Elite College Admissions
• College Application Frequently Asked Questions
• How to Choose a Major
• The Best Advice I’ve Received
• Going Broke at College
• The Importance of Goals - Debunked!
• Parables from the Rooster Father

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For a complete index of albertnet posts, click here.

College Application Frequently Asked Questions

Introduction

I have a teenager who is a junior in high school and will apply to colleges this fall. Through her advance work and the helpful advice I have received from other parents, teachers, articles, and the community at large, I have learned a lot about the modern admissions process, and want to pass this information on to you. Even if you don’t have a teenager applying for colleges any time soon (or at all) you should read this anyway, for the schadenfreude.

Note: the beer in the photo above was mine, not my daughter’s. I want to be very clear on that.

College Application Frequently Asked Questions

Is it harder to get into college now?

Yes, it absolutely is. Your child is way, way smarter, more industrious, and more resourceful than you, and yet won’t be able to sail through the process and attend a top college like you did. In case you were feeling pretty good about graduating summa cum laude from a great school, just stop. You really achieved nothing. They were practically giving degrees away back then and you know it.

Is college more expensive now?

Of course it is. By way of illustration, tuition at UC Berkeley—which cost about $2,000 a year in 1992—now costs about $14,000. But that’s probably not a good example because there’s no way your kid will get in there. Nobody gets in there anymore, except a few insanely successful students.

Your kid will probably need to go to a private university, even if it’s not a very good one. It’s unlikely she’ll get a scholarship anywhere because all the kids are so much smarter now—smarter than you, smarter than your spouse, and smarter than your kid.

Is it important to tour the colleges my child is planning to apply to?

The conventional wisdom is that it’s pointless to tour a college that probably won’t accept your kid anyway. After all, this will only increase your kid’s heartbreak, while wasting your valuable time and money. But let’s be real here. College tours are important for two reasons. One, the college wants to see that your kid is serious about attending (in the event they’re even considering her). Two, you need to prove to your kid that you’re serious about parenting. She probably already resents you for having had it so easy, the way you soared effortlessly through the admissions process all those years ago. Don’t make things worse by being a cheapskate.

There’s a silver lining to the college tour, though: you get to brag about it. “Yes, we took our Priscilla to tour M.I.T. last weekend. She thinks it will be a great fit.” This might be as close as you get to being able to brag about anything college-related.

Is there any chance that my child will qualify for financial aid?

No. None.

 Is there any hope at all for a good college, or is my child doomed?

That depends on what you mean by “doomed.” If you mean she won’t be able to get into a good college, then yes, she’s doomed. If you mean she won’t be able to get a good job without a degree from a good college, then yes, she’s doomed. If you mean her friends will be disgraced by her failure to launch, then yes, she’s doomed. If you mean that she will resent you for her failure, and that it’s all your fault, then yes, she’s doomed, and so are you … this will haunt you for the rest of your life. Huh, come to think of it, this question doesn’t actually depend on what you mean by “doomed.”

You claim that nobody can get into the top colleges anymore, but several of my child’s friends’ siblings got into the Ivy League. Perhaps you’re exaggerating?

No, those students are the exceptions that prove the rule. And their grades were of course much better than your kid’s.

Is there anything my child can do, beyond straight As and stellar SAT/ACT scores, to improve his college prospects?

Yes, if your child chases after every activity that could (say this with me) “look good on a college application,” and manages to gain entry into programs like digging latrines in Ecuador, enduring an unpaid internship at an important-sounding company, launching a startup, and/or paying lots of money for college summer programs, his application will be more competitive.

Does this actually help?

Probably not. But he has to do it anyway.

Is there any value in my child having fun, enjoying her summer, trying to relax, and basically being a kid while she still can, knowing that adulthood is forever?

Of course not. How could you be so naïve?

Do I need to remind my child how much harder it is to get into college nowadays?

No, pretty much every single one of her friends, along with her friends’ parents, her teachers, and her counselors are telling her this every single day. So, if you don’t feel like rubbing it in, you don’t have to. However, it’s important never to contradict your child when she reminds you of all this. Don’t you dare say anything absurdly false like “top colleges have always been difficult to get into.” This just undermines your student’s ability to blame the system for the cesspool of failure that she is currently wading into.

Should my child be talking all kinds of AP classes and exams?

Yes. These will (say it with me) “look good on a college application”—but only if your child scores high on the exams. If your child does poorly—which is probably a given, since the AP curriculum doesn’t match the Common Core, and because you’re probably raising your child in an inferior school district—then the AP strategy will backfire and make your child toxic to all good colleges. The good news is that the experience of taking these courses and exams will be really stressful, which is good practice for the rest of your child’s life.

I’m concerned about all the debt my child will take on, even if he goes to a mediocre college. Is the cost of tuition really a good investment?

Probably not. The only people making any money anymore are genius coders who launch tech startups. But since your kid isn’t going to be one of those, you kind of have to toss the dice on an expensive education.

Okay, I suppose there’s still money to be made in law and medicine. But don’t get me started on the ruinous amount of debt grad school involves.

Is there any benefit to going to college other than the possibility of realizing a fiscal return on your tuition investment?

Of course not.

It seems intuitively obvious to me that only STEM curriculums have any value, since the entire point of a college degree is to increase your income potential. And yet, some students do still pursue liberal arts programs. Why is this?

It’s because they’re idiots, married to antiquated notions like there being value in understanding and appreciating literature, nurturing curiosity around abstract ideas, knowing arcane things like the plural of curriculum actually being “curricula,” and so forth. Don’t worry, society will soon be rid of these helplessly impractical people.

My child slaves over his schoolwork, is preparing tirelessly for his SAT exams, is involved in multiple extracurricular activities, and has digested enough information about the college application process to write a thick book on the topic … and yet he is still totally stressed out about the process, with little hope for a positive outcome. Is there anything else he can do?

Yes, he should continue to worry as much as possible. This will drive him to unturn even more stones, because there must be some way to break through this impossible college entry barrier.

You just used the word “unturn.” Is that even a word? And if so, will it be on the SAT?

In fact, it is not a word. “Unturned” is a gerund adjective, but this is one of those weird cases of a gerund that cannot be used as a verb. And while “unturn” isn’t on the SAT, your child better know what a gerund is, even though he’s pursuing STEM, because that’s just how this game works. Your poor kid. You better go give him a hug.

Can things like hugs make my child less anxious about college applications?

No, I was kidding. Hugging your kid is just wasting his time. Don’t be so ignorant and sentimental.

Is there any silver lining to my child ending up at an inferior school?

Yes: the coursework might be manageable. At the top universities, where every single student admitted has an absolutely perfect track record, there will be professors who give Bs and even Cs, which these students have never received in their lives. The shock of this “failure” could cause major angst, even complete nervous breakdowns. But your kid, who has already learned to deal with blemishes on her record, can finally relax a bit once she is actually in college. Which brings us to our next question:

Are there good career prospects for college grads these days?

No. Getting a good job was so much easier back in our day. In case you were feeling pretty good about being gainfully employed, just stop.

Related reading

• The Truth About Elite College Admissions
• Is It Harder to Get Into a Top College Now?
• How to Choose a Major 
• The Best Advice I’ve Received
• Going Broke at College
• The Importance of Goals - Debunked!
• Parables from the Rooster Father

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