Quitting college and hanging with Nazis isn't helping anyone's brand.

Nick Fuentes, an 18-year old student from the suburbs of Chicago who was about to start his sophomore year at Boston University, has decided to abruptly quit the school before the new semester starts. Why? Because he swung on down to Charlottesville and protested alongside KKK members and Nazis, and apparently folks back in the Boston area haven't been too thrilled with him.

"Massachusetts, and Boston in particular, are among the most left wing states and cities," Fuentes told the Boston Globe. "Probably anywhere I would go would be safer than Boston."

I'm sure some people in Barcelona and Syria might note the hyperbole from Fuentes, but I digress.

Fuentes claims he's received a number of death threats, telling the Globe the area is very dangerous. In a video with Time Magazine, Fuentes explained why quitting Boston University was for the best:





His brand? His brand? I'm fairly certain sometime in Marketing 101 at college they don't suggest the Neo-Nazi or KKK association as a good idea for branding. OHHH, but Fuentes is quitting college, so he might miss that class.

According to the Globe, though:

Fuentes said he thought the event was intended as a demonstration against “immigration, multiculturalism, and post-modernism.”

“The rally was about not replacing white people,” he said.

Public officials handled the event poorly, he said. The police were not allowed to do their jobs properly, making the rally “a total disaster from start to finish,” he said.

That seems to contrast mightily with how Fuentes felt while actually at the rally itself, when he let his thumbs do the talking on Facebook:




Ahh, those "incredible" "disasters."

The same thing could be said of Fuentes' decision-making as of late.

The battle over where the lyrics to 'Jingle Bells' were written still rages on.

That's right--strangely the debate for once is where, not who.

James Lord Pierpont was born in Boston, the son of a Unitarian pastor and abolitionist, and worked as a songwriter. His most noted composition was "The One Horse Open Sleigh," which would later gain worldwide fame entitled "Jingle Bells"--that holiday earworm beloved by kindergarteners worldwide hopped up on candy and caffeine and sung until their parents' ears bleed.

This means largely nothing except to local boards and chambers of commerce that are looking for any angle to promote their small towns and make a buck off a hapless tourist.

Enter Medford, MA, and Savannah, GA.

Savannah dances around the actual "where" part on their plaque.

Both locales have commemorative plaques honoring Pierpont, and both are damned if they're going to claim otherwise about their histories. If you're going to hang your hat on anything, it's a generic holiday song about sled races.

Are we going to call Mrs. Otis Waterman a liar?

Kyna Hamill, a theater historian at Boston University (and volunteer at the Medford Historical Society) decided to do the grunt work to figure out where, exactly, Pierpont penned the words. Her verdict? As she told BU Today and the Boston Globe, there's no proof he wrote the song in either town.

What's fact is the Pierpont's song was published in 1857 by Oliver Diston's publishing group out of Boston. Yet, throughout the 1850s, Pierpont moved back and forth between both Medford and Savannah. He moved down south to work with his brother, also a Unitarian pastor, and perform at the church as the organist and music director. He would also marry Savannah's mayor's daughter, and later fight for the Confederacy in the Civil War.

According to Hamill, Medford's claim that Pierpont wrote the song in 1850 is probably an editing screw-up based on a 1946 Boston Globe article that said the song was written in the 1850s, and the "s" simply was misplaced.

Yet, Hamill believes the most concrete evidence is that Pierpont actually wrote the song in Boston--not Medford or Savannah at all. Hamill discovered an 1857 playbill of a show in Boston where "Jingle Bells" was performed by actors in blackface as part of a minstrel show.

This would clash with The Songwriters Hall of Fame--which inducted Pierpont in 1970 (no rush or anything, folks)--as their biography of Pierpont simply says he wrote the song for a Thanksgiving church service in Savannah in 1857, and children loved it. Sure, Savannah doesn't get much snow ever, but he was channeling his inner New Englander apparently.

I'm feeling jngly all of a sudden.

Medford's mayor, Stephanie Burke, is having none of that. As she told the Globe, "It was written here, in the tavern. We take full ownership of it. It’s got a long history, and we’re proud of it."

She also noted the city would go out caroling and that "Jingle Bells will be sung repeatedly."

So you might want to avoid Medford for the time being to protect your ears.

Even distinguished people have failed before.

You'd never know it of course. In an era where social media allows individuals to craft idealized versions of themselves for public consumption, you'd never realize that failure and disappointment exists for others.

Princeton University psychology assistant professor Johannes Haushofer decided to post a CV of every professional and academic failure he's encountered in his career, including rejections from degree programs, research journals, and funding for projects. Haushofer did this to "balance the record" in the public sphere and hopefully encourage others facing similar disappointments.

New "publication": My CV of Failures! https://t.co/d8ot5vvynY

— Johannes Haushofer (@jhaushofer) April 23, 2016

As Haushofer wrote on his website:


"Most of what I try fails, but these failures are often invisible, while the successes are visible," he noted.

"I have noticed that this sometimes gives others the impression that most things work out for me.

"As a result, they are more likely to attribute their own failures to themselves, rather than the fact that the world is stochastic, applications are crapshoots, and selection committees and referees have bad days."


So when life has you down because you're somehow reenacting the lyrics to a stereotypical 1970s-era country song, when life is really just miserable, realize even an Ivy League professor has had those days, too.

Code of Conduct: Boston College Edition

This is part of a continuing series where we examine the codes of conduct at various colleges and universities.

I can't make this stuff up.









Next up:

Boston College

Don't confuse Boston College with Boston University. There's a couple ways to tell the difference.

1.) BC's mascot is an eagle. BU's is a terrier. Put another way, one is a ubiquitous bird mascot. The other is a buggy-eyed dog.

2.) BC's student body is largely made up of Harvard rejects. BU's student body is largely made up Brown rejects. Which is to say, BC's student body is a slightly more pompous group of rejects. That includes me! ((high five!))

3.) BC is a Catholic university. You can tell this by the crucifixes they subtly place in every classroom. It's like a Where's Waldo? moment trying to find them. But they're there.

BU isn't Catholic. You can tell this by their sheer lack of Catholic guilt.

"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.