So you want to go to grad school? (Part Three)

Congratulations! Because of your love of literature (or self-flogging) and education (or need of a good laugh) you've made it as an English major into grad school! Now is as good a time as any to learn the ins and outs of fitting in with the grad school culture.

First up: How to speak like a grad student!

Word-A-Day calendars needn't be used for just an office cubicle. Now they can get a second lease on life as a grad student-to-English translation guide.

To be a grad student you MUST use the following words during every class if you want to fit in. Bonus points if you can use them all in a sentence at the same time. (Note: do not high five yourself if you accomplish this. It just looks sad.)

WORDS YOU MUST USE:

a.) anachronistic: (also acceptable: anachronism, anachronically)
    
What it means:
Something or someone that is not in its correct historical or chronological period, especially a thing or person from an earlier time.

What it doesn't mean, but you might think it does:

Anarchist--as in busting up a Starbucks during a protest while you wear a bandanna across your face, screaming about the injustice over energy prices and health care, while you dig into your hemp bag for a Molotov cocktail to lob at another anarchist by accident.

Why grad students use it:

Because it's five syllables long and easily dropped into just about any conversation about literature. Also, because grad students believe it makes them sound like they've aced the GREs.

Ratio-of-use:

Within 15 minutes of a 2hr+ class someone will use it--sooner if the class is about pre-20th century literature. Within 15 minutes of that initial use, four other students will rapidly fire it off in quick succession to prove, indeed, they passed the GREs, too.

Pretentiousness Scale (scale of 1 to 5):

Four!  Can reasonably be used 10% of the time. The other 90% of the time you just look like you're auditioning to host Masterpiece Theater.

b.) paradigm: (pronounced: PARA-dime, not PARA-dig-em)

What it means:
a set of forms all of which contain a similar element

What it doesn't mean, but you might think it does:
"Pair of dimes"--as in, "I'm so broke, all I have to my name is a pair of dimes."

Why grad students use it:
It sounds techy and modern. It's like the iPhone of words. You want to whip it out and make everyone coo at what a pretty word you have.

Ratio-of-use:
It's used by the smartest/most pretentious classmate at least once per class. Three to five other classmates will follow, using it correctly in a sentence only 50% of the time.

Pretentiousness scale:
Five!  Never needs to be used in an English class unless Alex Trabek has shown up to do a little impromptu Jeopardy. "I'll take 'Polysyllabic P-words Potpourri' for $800, Alex."

c.) narrative:

What it means:
A story or account of events, experiences, or the like, whether true or fictitious. A book, literary work, etc., containing such a story.

What it doesn't mean, but you might think it does:
Narrator. So close, but no.

Why grad students use it:
Anything with letters in it is referred to as "the narrative." A thousand page Dickens book? It's "the narrative." A poem? It's "the narrative." A bibliography? It's "the narrative." A recipe for American Chop Suey? It's "the narrative." A sudoku puzzle? It's "the narrative."

Ratio-of-use:
The narrative narrative narrative narrative narrative narrative narrative narrative narrative narrative narrative narrative narrative narrative narrative narrative narrative narrative...

Pretentiousness scale:
Two!  Legitimately can be used once in awhile. Preferably if that "awhile" isn't every 2.3 seconds.

Little Known Fact: Once you enter grad school, books are no longer books, and stories are no longer stories.

d.) agency:

What it means:
Grad students use the tenth definition listed under "agency" on dictionary.com, which is: the means of exerting power or influence; instrumentality.

What it doesn't mean, but you might think it does:
The FBI, CIA, or some super-secret government organization that is tapping your phones and reading your emails. Don't worry. It still means that, too. But grad students never mean it that way.

Why grad students use it:
They like to dig deep into the definition list to throw classmates for a loop.

Ratio-of-use:
Once a class, maybe. This is usually because many grad students are too busy thumbing through a dictionary looking for the eleventh and twelfth definition for "agency."

Pretentiousness scale:

Five! Somewhere, George Orwell is rolling over in his grave.

Truth be told, Apollo Creed did have a mean right hook.

The University of Central Florida has a case of paranoia. Not the kind of paranoia that is cute really, like wondering if you left the iron on when you left for vacation, or whether your dog can read your mind. No, UCF generally thinks every single student is going to cheat. It's like the girlfriend who checks your cellphone and wants to know who this woman named "Grandma" is, and why did you call her one Sunday morning?

According to the New York Times, UCF has gone to the extreme:

No gum is allowed during an exam: chewing could disguise a student’s speaking into a hands-free cellphone to an accomplice outside.

The 228 computers that students use are recessed into desk tops so that anyone trying to photograph the screen — using, say, a pen with a hidden camera, in order to help a friend who will take the test later — is easy to spot.

Scratch paper is allowed — but it is stamped with the date and must be turned in later.

When a proctor sees something suspicious, he records the student’s real-time work at the computer and directs an overhead camera to zoom in, and both sets of images are burned onto a CD for evidence.

So, in other words, UCF builds a culture of trust.

One student the Times talked to, an MBA student named Ashley Haumann, prefers being watched by Big Brother. According to Ashley, being watched by surveillance cameras "encourages you to be ready for the test because you can’t turn and ask, ‘What’d you get?'" Statements like this show what a cog Ashley will be in the near future working as middle-management with little room for advancement for some Fortune 500 company.

Paranoia over cheating has gone to the extreme, and not just with UCF. I've even been a party to it. Back when I took the GRE subject test, I encountered a glitch with the Great Fear of Cheating in our educational culture. During the three hour subject test, test takers weren't allowed to leave the room. No bathroom breaks, no stretching your legs, no, no, no. "But can I--"

No.

But, suddenly, my nose sprung a leak. A bloody nose, as if I struck oil in the middle of my face. (Hooray, uncirculating dry air!!) In a matter of seconds, I looked like I went ten rounds with Apollo Creed. I didn't have a napkin, a tissue, a rag--anything--to hold the blood in. But would the GRE folks let me grab a tissue? No. To do so would void my test. The fear? That I'd rush into the bathroom and grab some answers. Clearly, making my face look like it was hemorrhaging was all an elaborate ruse to pad my test grades.

A proctor took pity on me and handed me a tissue--of which I tried to stem the blood flow for the next hour (while still taking the test) in what can be casually described as epically failing at modern medicine practices. Reading giant passages of a GRE test, while scribbling in answers--all the while trying to hold back a bloody nose that looks like open-heart surgery being conducted on your face--is a skill set not regularly suggested in GRE practice books.

It is instances like that, Ashley, when sometimes--just maybe--maybe possibly--common sense can be allowed for just a moment.

"Not favorable"? What--am I dealing with Roger Ebert here?

I've posted a few accounts of the easy (or difficult), simple (or tortuous), and cheap (haha..ha......ha) grad school application process.

Now, the letters of acceptance/rejection have arrived from various schools.

But let's not be weepy on the rejections. Life's too short. Alas, it's not short enough to write a blog entry about it.

First up: Boston University!

Rejection letter: In five sentences, someone named Rebekah Alexander whispers sweet nothings to me. And by sweet nothings I mean she says "nothing" is offered by BU in as sweet a way as possible.

Here is her entire letter in full, with my notes in the parentheses:

Dear Mr. Cuff: (a colon instead of a comma is never a good sign)

The Committee on Admissions has carefully reviewed (thank God--I was worried they'd be nonchalant about it) your application for admission to the Graduate School of Arts and Sciences. I am sorry to inform you (sounds like I'm getting medical tests back) that your application has not been approved. (Rejected. "Rejected"--it's okay to say the word. Otherwise it sounds like I've been denied a credit card.)

The number of people we can admit each year for graduate study is quite limited. (Limited amounts of actual people? But thanks to Twilight, vampire admissions are at an all-time high.) Unfortunately (she seems really broken up about this), because of intense competition (alright, I get it, I'll slip you a $20), we must in many instances deny admission (reject--it's okay to say the word, really) even to highly qualified candidates. (Might I change your mind if I told you I was only moderately qualified? It's worked for former presidents of the United States.)

We appreciate your interest in Boston University (and to think, I would have bought you dinner) and regret (hey, no regrets--just go ahead and accept me and we'll pretend this letter didn't happen) that the decision on your application was not favorable.

("...was a huge thumbs down.")
("...was changed from favorable to not favorable after Charles Schwab said your stock price was overinflated.")
("...was runny and lacked a touch of sea salt and oregano.")
("...was, gotta say, not too pleasant.")
("...was a little less than enthusiastic because Dancing with the Stars came on the tv in the office and we all got a little distracted.")
("...was favorable, but then we realized your application was stuck to some guy's from a private school. So, we made sure to accept him, and then we sent you this lovely letter.")

Sincerely, (well, at least they're sincere in their rejection)
Rebekah Alexander

She did actually sign it. Or at least had some assistant fake it. So, that's a personal touch. I do appreciate that.

Really now, did Boston University get sued by a disgruntled former applicant because they once used the word "rejected"? It's okay, BU--you can use the word. I'm a big boy. More than that, I'm an English major. My brain kind of works like a thesaurus, so I sort of notice when you're beating around the bush using euphemisms.

Now, Boston University, here's some basic advice for future rejections to grad school applicants:

1.) Use the word "rejection."

2.) Can't use the word "rejection"? Why not sass the letter up? See, not all applicants you reject will be as jovial as me. So, why not be creative. Try these various words in a variety of ways when rejecting people:

rebuffed        (for white collar applicants)

abandoned    (like a puppy!)

denied           (sounds like a verbal slap)

dropped        (for people who work for Verizon Wireless or AT&T)

forsaken       (for the religious applicants)

jilted             (sort of like a blushing bride)

refused         (kind of like a parent telling a child no)

shunned        (for any lepers that might apply)

disown          (to be used when BU undergrad applicants apply)

renounce      (for when your own children apply)

cast aside     (when you want to put a little visual action into your rejection letters)

discarded     (don't use when Earthy, recycling-types apply)

eliminated    (for when the Terminator applies)

As a side note, they CCed the letter to the English Department, as apparently the English Department can't be bothered. Really--that's like asking out someone to the prom, and then having their parents call you to say no. 

Thankfully, I didn't rent a limo or a tux just yet. It's their loss, though. I look pretty good in a bow-tie.

So you want to go to grad school? (Part Two)

Congratulations! Because of your tenacity (or masochism) and perseverance (or mom and dad's checkbook), you've fought through the battery of GRE tests and now are looking to apply to the graduate schools themselves.

Let's break down the next few steps in an easy-to-follow plan!

1.) Statement of Purpose

Much like an Emo song, chances are you've always wondered if your life had a purpose. Now is as good a time as any to try and explain that purpose in 1000 words or fewer. Have a sense of humor? Humor doesn't sell in the world of grad schools. Pretend you're as dry as your grandma's bundt cake.

Realize that statements of purpose require you to explain what you want to study while in graduate school. Act scholarly. Act knowledgeable. Act passionate. Act like you actually know literary theorists from the 18th century, and randomly drop their names into your statement. Polysyllabic foreign last names are all the rage. Find the foreign theorist with the longest last name and make sure to refer to them often. Bonus points if their last name doesn't include any vowels.

Determine your area of expertise in literature and what you love most. Include William Shakespeare's sonnets. Include Allen Ginsberg's obscenity references. Include Wilkie Collins simply because you like the name "Wilkie." Try and figure out how you can make all of them work as an area of study by weaving together the fact they're all old dead men who could spell without many mistakes.

Then, like a used car salesman...sell, sell, sell! It doesn't matter if your statement of purpose has the appeal of a 1971 Ford Pinto. Sell it. Is your academic record weak? Is your GPA more anemic than your uncle Frank's blood flow? Gloss over those facts. Instead, refer to that 8th place showing you once had in a poetry competition at the local public library. After all, one man's 8th place is another man's 1st place after 7th.

2.) Resume

Many schools require you submit a resume. Polish up the resume you've used in your failed job search after graduating with a bachelors degree. Sprinkle keywords like "skilled" and "energetic" and "motivated" and "experienced" throughout the resume. Don't mention that those words refer to your skills at XBox or Playstation. What they don't know won't kill them.

List all the jobs you've ever held in your life. Have you only been a bagger boy at the local A & P? Use phrases like "lead sales associate" or "team lead assistant." After all, you're assisting the cashier in bagging the groceries, aren't you? And it sounds so much more debonair.

Have you worked at least twenty jobs, staying with none longer than two weeks? Have you even been fired by family members? Lie. Fib. Play the odds. Grad schools probably won't know if you actually worked 10 years in the Peace Corps staving off malaria.

3.) Letters of Recommendation

Being outspoken and annoying in English classes all those years wasn't a total waste. It showed professors you cared. Caring = potential glowing letter of recommendation. Protocol suggests giving professors four weeks advance notice before you need the letters sent out. Professors can be busy/procrastinators. Give them four months.

Graduate schools usually demand letters of recommendation from three professors. Odds are you fall into one of of two categories:

1.) You were quiet and barely known in any English class you took. Professors often mistook you for someone else. If your name is Alyssa, they call you Ashley. If your name is Dan, they call you Dave. Hand over documents that prove you actually took five courses with them over the years. It's likely the professors will write you a basic catch-all letter of recommendation, randomly inserting your name at key points. No matter what, make sure they use the correct name. Nothing is a buzz kill quite like, "I write to you today to strongly recommend Robert..." when your name is actually Steve.

2.) You were chatty and well-known and volunteered for every social activity throughout the English Department. Professors often mistook you for their adopted child, kind of like Madonna or Angelina Jolie, but on a much lower celebrity profile level. Countless professors will be willing to write you a letter of recommendation. Casually remind them that you might be their only hope. It is a state school after all. A small state school. A little known, small, state school.

Remember that "busy/procrastinator" label above? English professors were once English students. English students are all procrastinators. Hey, reading books takes time. The eyeballs only move so fast from left to right. Tell the professors the deadline for their letters is two days or two weeks or two months earlier than it actually is. Leave the professors envelopes for each college...envelopes already stamped...envelopes already addressed to each college. Undoubtedly, they will all forget the deadline.

Why? They all were once English students, too.

4.) Applications

Are you broke from taking the GREs? Thankfully, grad schools are understanding. They only want anywhere from $40 to $110 per application, so it's not like they want your kidneys or anything.

Yes, of course, you ask, "What if I don't have anywhere from $40 to $110 to apply to every school?" Well, my friend, grad schools understand some of you aren't living off mommy and daddy's bank account. Why, look at how understanding Boston University is with their explanation about their $70 application fee:

"No, the application fee is not waived under any circumstance. Applications will not be considered without the application fee being submitted."

That's right, folks! The caste system isn't just a way of living in India anymore! It exists in the graduate school application process, too! See, Boston University isn't the only graduate school that demands money. Many schools follow this method. Sure, occasionally there's a school that will waive the fee if you fill out tons of forms, then show tax proof that you're poverty-stricken, then get a financial aid dean of your undergraduate school to confirm this fact. They make it so simple and easy! It's not like they're asking you to sign documents with your own blood or anything. But most schools won't waive the fee under any circumstance.

Grad schools would also like to see transcripts from your undergraduate school. Here at FSC, they demand you pay $5 for every grad school you want a copy of a transcript sent to. Going to apply to ten schools? You're dropping another $50 total for this. Does the grad school want two or three copies? (Some do.) Make sure to add appropriately. You might want someone who's an expert in accounting to get involved soon.

Oh, and don't forget those GRE score reports! $20 for every subject test score report and another $20 for every general test score...so $40 more for every school you're applying to.

Let's play a game! As mentioned before, let's pretend you make the federal minimum wage and work full time. That means, before taxes, you'll make $290 for a week. That equals $1160 a month--again, before taxes. Assuming, once again, that you entirely shaft Uncle Sam on his taxes and just deal with a gross salary, you more or less can expect to spend more than an entire month's salary in the application process--sometimes much more than one month's salary--without any guarantee of being accepted to any school, and no guarantee of bettering your life. But, gee golly whiz, grad schools don't want to hear you crying poor mouth! Like a mob syndicate or a Washington politician, they want to see cash up front before they ever glance at your application.

Don't be a Debbie Downer about it all. How are you going to pay your rent or mortgage? How are you going to pay for your car? How are you going to eat, or have heat or electricity? What am I, Wikipedia or Miss Cleo? I don't have all the answers.

Oh, and if you live in Georgia or Wyoming, two places with a much lower minimum wage than the federal limit, you might want to look into buying cardboard boxes soon. You'll be forking over multiple months of salary in order to apply.

5.) Waiting

Do you have an unedited version of Das Boot hanging around that you've just been dying to watch? Are there some Victor Hugo novels that you've been using as a door stop in your home? Have you been looking to find a random few days where you could make some baklava from scratch?

You're in luck! Grad schools are in no rush to send out those acceptances (maybe) or rejections (likely). Use your free time to think. Use your free time to ponder. Use your free time to question why you didn't just use a lash on your back like that albino monk in The DaVinci Code these past few months. It might be equally as productive as the grad school process.

Then grab another piece of baklava. It's going to be a hell of a wait.

So you want to go to grad school? (Part One)

Congratulations! Because of your dreams (or fickle nature) and determination (or horrible economy) you've decided to apply to grad school. In just a few, easy, hundred steps, you, too, can make it to grad school.

Let's break down the process for you in this easy-to-follow plan!

GRE General Test Overview:

1.) Have you always wanted to feel like a two-bit criminal and revel in the charm of home imprisonment without the pesky need for an ankle bracelet? Well, good news! Registering online for the GRE general test requires endless hours trapped indoors chained to your computer. A Thomas Pynchon novel makes more sense than the GRE website. It's a labyrinth of information that feels like an endless maze with no sure outcome. Kind of like the tv show LOST, except for less good looking people.

2.) Are you struggling to make ends meet? Do the tender pains of malnutrition make you feel lightheaded with excitement? Get ready to feel your rib cage protrude a little bit more, because the GRE general test costs $150 to take. Do mom and dad still love you despite that one year of college that you totally wasted? Have they forgiven those incriminating photos/police arrests/school probations/sobbing late-night phone calls traced back to you? If so, they might be your source for paying the GRE fees.

Have your parents smartened up and disowned you? Or are you poor and working through college on your own? The folks who run the GRE have a "fee reduction" for those who are financially crippled. If you are literally poverty-stricken and on the verge of living in the slums of Calcutta and don't see any Slumdog Millionare opportunities coming your way in the near future--then the GRE folks will be more than happy to allow you to pay only $75 instead. Only $75?! That's right! For the price of two weeks worth of groceries, you, too, can get a miserly discount to take the GRE. That's just like Christmas morning! What a present!

That $75 you just saved? Don't go spending it all on food and any actual life-sustaining things just yet. The good GRE folks will be asking for it later on.

3.) They say the camera adds ten pounds. Get ready to look morbidly obese then, because the GRE test center has more cameras than the paparazzi at a Lindsay Lohan meltdown. You'll be on camera when you fill out forms in the main office...when they take your picture...and during the entire duration of your test. You also get to sit in a small room with windows to an outside office where test proctors stare at you for the entire duration to make sure you're not cheating. It's like being admitted into a mental hospital without any complimentary straight-jackets.

4.) Countdown clocks needn't only be used as a cheap plot device to action movies or for New Year's Eve celebrations. When you're in the midst of taking the GRE general test, feel free to take the optional 10 minute break between the two major portions of the test.

Sure, the computer counts down from 10 minutes until it will automatically continue the test with or without you.

Sure, the bathroom might be 15 minutes away from the testing office.

Sure, you might be blessed with a horrible bladder.

But why not add a little spice to your testing session and see if you can make the mad dash to the bathroom in the 10 minute window? Do some wind sprints and squat thrusts in the weeks leading up to the test. Get that fast-twitch muscle fiber in your thighs to work for your benefit!

5.) Those math classes you avoided and scraped by in college will be useless when it comes to the math portion of the test. Flip a coin to answer the multiple choice questions. Draw straws. Try one-potato, two-potato. Later, when grad schools ask you to defend your meager math score, tell them not to worry. Your math skills are still good enough to make sure you pay your tuition bill on time.

6.) When the GRE computer asks if you want to see your grades instantly at the test's conclusion, debate the merits of such a decision. Realize you don't have to. Realize you can walk away. Realize you're free to start over from scratch.

Realize your curiosity is lethal enough to kill both the cat and your patience, and accept the grades...and get ready for the GRE subject test.



GRE Subject Test Overview:

1.) Do you like money? Does it burn a hole in your pocket? Do you like spending it? You do? Good! Because the GRE folks like your money, too. In fact, they probably like it more than you do. Because they're going to charge you another $130 to take the subject test. That's right. Between the general and subject tests, you'll spend $280.

For comparison's sake, let's say you get paid the federal minimum wage and work 40hrs in a week. Before taxes, you'll make $290. Assuming you stiff Uncle Sam on the taxes, after paying the GRE folks their testing fees, you'll have $10 left. That will pay for at least 10 to 15 packages of Ramen noodles to feed you for the week. If you're still hungry, might I suggest dumpster diving?

2.) Taking the subject test in literature requires only a small effort: covering 1000 years worth of literature that spans the entire world. Thankfully, the Kingdom of Bhutan was a total deadbeat with their literature. They can be ignored.

Of course, the GRE folks casually define "world literature" as literature created only as far east as France, and as far west as Ohio. In reality, the subject test is so xenophobic of world influences that it makes a box of chalk look multicultural by comparison. Asian literature? It never happened. African literature? It only counts if it was written by a visiting European. South American literature? Well, South America already uses the word "America," and that's already being used in the name of the United States of America, so why quibble?

3.) The British literary scene from the years 1000 to 2009 is like that overachiever we all know in college. That person who gets involved in every group, every organization, raises their hand for every question in class, and maintains a 4.0 GPA. That's British literature. They pumped out more novels than Nora Roberts--and sometimes it was even of better quality than Nora, too.

There's poetry, novels, short stories, drama--all from thousands of well-known writers, of which the GRE folks assume you'll know everything about. From Shakespeare's sad addiction to horse racing to Salman Rushdie's strange fascination with pickled beets, every random fact will be covered.

(Note: Neither of those facts are true about Shakespeare or Rushdie---yet. Give me ten minutes with their respective Wikipedia entries and I'll make them true.)

4.) Relive the magic of your childhood use of pencils. The subject test is done on paper, using bubble answer sheets and only wooden #2 pencils. Why not a mechanical pencil? The GRE folks assume you're channeling the spirit of MacGyver and are smuggling an answer sheet in the spring-loaded fire power of your mechanical pencil. As an English major, this is the only time in your life someone will assume you know how some technological gadget works. Take it as a compliment.

5.) Patience is a virtue. Don't pitch a fit over not receiving your grades immediately. Getting the test results are a lot like you taking a literature test at 8am on a Monday: slow, confused, and unlikely to impress.

It takes six weeks for grades to come in.

6.) You know that $75 you saved earlier when you cried poverty? Hopefully you didn't go spending it on any actual life-sustaining nutrition at the grocery store, because the GRE folks would like that money back. Why? Well, in order for many grad schools to actually see your grades, you need to pay the GRE people $20 per school. Sure, the folks at the GRE give you a few "free" schools you can send the grades to as part of your $130 subject test fee. But assuming you're not cockier about your grad school chances than Mick Jagger at a convention full of supermodels, you're going to need to apply to a lot of grad schools. More than just the "free" scores will cover.

Please don't cry. Poverty is only a state of mind. Really. Oprah tells me so.

7.) If you haven't crawled into the fetal position and started rocking back and forth over the psychological trauma you've just put yourself through, take a breather before applying to actual grad schools. A good breather. Long, deeply drawn-out breaths. Preferably into a paper bag.

Why?

Grad schools like money, as well. And they won't acknowledge your application's existence until they see some cash first, too.

Have you thought about panhandling yet?

To be continued in part two...

The GRE is to suspect testing as...

A.) A fat kid is to cake.

B.) Lawyers are to slip and falls.

C.) Vermont is to Birkenstock wearing.

D.) A Phish concert is to hazy memories.

If you feel like this is a trick question, then you're a sharp one. Nothing gets by you. All four apply! Congratulations on being perceptive! You win nothing. Sorry.

If you're completely unaware, or if you simply haven't brushed up on your acronyms in awhile, the GRE stands for Graduate Records Examinations. It's like the SATs, except only for go-getters and masochists: those who really want to get a Masters degree or a Ph.D. The GRE is run by the fine folks at ETS. They sure do love them the acronyms at ETS. ETS is "Educational Testing Service," a company founded in 1947 and based out of New Jersey. (Nothing comes from Jersey without raising a few eyebrows. Not even Bruce Springsteen.)

ETS runs countless standardized tests, from the ones you've heard of (SAT, GRE) to the head-scratchers (TOEFL, TOEIC, NMSQT). They're also a registered nonprofit organization with the United States, specifically a 501(c)(3). Most of us envision a quaint little group of do-gooders with Crest smiles trying to make the world a better place whenever we hear the words "nonprofit organization." We picture people handing out medicine to sick children or saving trees or rebuilding homes after a devastating hurricane. You know, doing the stuff you and I are too lazy to do.

But ETS can't be bothered with noble measures to earn their non-profit status. They're too busy living large in Jersey on a 376 acre campus and making some sweet, sweet handfuls of cash. Now, we could quibble over the very legal definition of what a "nonprofit organization" means, but why be such a Debbie Downer about it all? Okay, sure, a "nonprofit organization" means an organization that distributes its surplus funds only for the benefit of their cause--not as money for shareholders, individuals, or executives. And being a non-profit means you get a delightful little federal tax-exempt status AND never have to report any financial information to the Securities and Exchange commission. But using legal definitions is such a downer when ETS is the epitome of class.

See, ETS claims they're simply creating standardized tests for the benefit of the individual. They're not trying to make a buck off anyone. (Pretend the GRE doesn't cost $150 to take.) And, yeah, sure, they've pretty much monopolized the marketplace on standardized testing around the world to the extent that Wal-Mart looks like a quaint mom and pop country store. But that's just because they offer a quality product!

Actually, a good number of people are questioning what kind of product ETS is really offering, and whether they're quite as noble as a nonprofit organization should be. New York state passed the Educational Testing Act, which requires ETS to become a little less opaque to students when it comes to questions and graded sheets.

That's amateur hour compared to what's going on in the good ol' U.K. According to David Laws, a member of the House of Commons in Parliament, ETS Europe was considered to be in "shambles" (presumably said in a very thick English accent while drinking a spot of tea). Read all about it...here. See, it seems the British run a standardized test as well for their schools, and it appears they gave the testing contract to ETS in 2008. Except ETS screwed up a little. And by "a little" I mean they forgot to score some of the tests...or scored them improperly...or completely lost people's tests and scores altogether.

Or, as my grandmother used to say, "If you're going to screw up, screw up royally and really make your mark." (She was a sage. Especially after a few cocktails.)

Americans for Educational Testing Reform (who like to go by the acronym AETR, because apparently the world is obsessed with acornyms) have begun raising a ruckus about ETS, claiming that ETS violates its non-profit status routinely. ETS does have to file tax forms to the IRS, even if they're tax-exempt, and if you do a little digging you can find out some fun facts, which is what AETR did. Like:

1.) ETS' CEO Karl Landgraf makes seven times the average of the compensation-to-revenue of the top five non-profit CEOs in the country.

2.) Landgraf makes just a wee less than $1 million dollars at ETS.

3.) ETS has sixteen "trustees" that make an average of $32,688 a year. The trustees work so little that they actually get paid about $419 per hour on average, with some making $600 to $800 an hour.

4.) The "trustees" collectively make over a half million dollars a year.

5.) ETS made a profit of $94 million in 2007.

Now, the one thing about being an English major is that reading comprehension is usually one of my main skills. So, consider me a bit confused when ETS--a non-profit company--makes a $94 million profit. How does that work? And, more importantly, why do I need to pay $150 to take a GRE test when ETS is floating on $94 million profit from its last reporting period? But, like I mentioned at the beginning, being designated a non-profit company means the SEC doesn't have to investigate any curious financial dealings by ETS. Thank God. I wouldn't want to feel like I was going broke for some unseemly reason.

Karl Landgraf, the CEO making almost $1 million for a non-profit, once said, "Tests and quality go hand in hand. At ETS, we're doing our part."

And Karl is right. ETS sure is doing its part. The question is if that part is to fatten their wallet.