In which our "secret" project is revealed to the world

It's January.  I assume you knew that.  Admit letters for regular decision won't be mailed until March.  I assume you've gathered that also.  So technically, we don't need a live, fully functioning admitted student website until March.  (Sorry, ED admits -- no website for you.  At least we sent you an HMC car decal!  That's good, right?)  And, in the interest of honesty, for the past few years, we haven't even started updating the website until the letters are en route to the post office.  And between the adrenaline rush and about sixteen cans of fully caffeinated Coca-Cola, it's always been magically completed, more or less, on time.

But this year, we (and, as always, "we" means "Raissa") had ambitions.  We needed a new website!  A better one!  One that would truly say, with flashing lights and oodles of confetti, "Welcome to Mudd!"

Problem is, none of us knows how to design a website from scratch.  None of us has time to design a website from scratch.  But we do have one thing going for us: we're not above begging.

Which is why the Office of Communications has graciously agreed to design a bright, splashy admitted students website, possibly complete with whistles and free polar bears.  There's just one condition: that we turn in all our final text and photo requests by, oh, today.  You know, the today that occurs in January.

There've been a few moments when this has seemed like a completely crazy idea.  And if it hadn't been the extremely sane, extraordinarily practical Raissa suggesting such a thing, I might've argued that it couldn't be done.  But it happened.  Somehow.  In January.  So now it's official.  By late March, this not-so-snazzy template will be defunct . . .

. . . and replaced by something new and shiny.  What will the revised site look like?  Well, that'll be a surprise, even to the admission office.  I'm sure it will be pretty.  Even without whistles and free polar bears.

A short series of artfully staged photographs in which I am not wearing moose print pajamas

I know.  I'm a bad blogger.  Two weeks -- that's an eternity in the internet world.  What can I say?  It's reading season.  Reading season is when everything besides reading files (and skulking to the kitchen to bake a furtive batch of muffins) goes by the wayside.  I feel guilty checking e-mail.  I feel guilty walking the dog.  I feel guilty going grocery shopping.  Because none of that is reading, and therefore no longer necessary to my day to day existence.

I wanted to give you a glimpse into what I do all day, reading admission files from the comfort of my home, but since a more accurate picture would involve moose print pajama pants and a bedraggled Pittsburgh Panthers sweatshirt, you'll have to settle for the sanitized version.  

This is my kitchen table, where I spend approximately eight to ten hours a day parked in a chair reading essays, evaluating transcripts, and trying to restrain myself from writing comments in the margins.  Add a constant cup of tea, an ever-rotating gallery of snacks, and some non-distracting pleasant-tempoed harpsichord music, and you'll have a sense of the ambiance.  It's not bad, actually, especially if you toss in a pair of fuzzy slippers.  

And below is Louie, who can't figure out why, if I'm home anyway, we're not doing fun stuff like going for long rambles on the Thompson Creek Trail or barking at mailmen.  Harpsichord music does not please him one bit.

I'll be honest: while reading season's in full swing, I gripe about it.  The hours stink, and it's a seven-day-a-week commitment.  But if I had to pick, reading season would rank up there as one of my favorite parts of the admission cycle.  It's intellectually rigorous; I'm diving deep into applications, explicating recommendations, evaluating the nuances of "fit" with our crazy, quirky, challenging college.  Sometimes, yes, my opinion is influenced by quantifiable factors, like curriculum or scores.  But at its best, reading a student's application is like reading a story.  And I'm an English major.  I thrive on stories.  I'm learning about summer camp and cardboard forts and terrifying calculus teachers.  And that's great.

The hard part is remembering that the rest of the world has not magically gone into stasis; there are still e-mails to write and tour guides to hire and websites to update and publications to order.  And adding that on to a full day of reading -- well, there's a reason this blog post is going up after nine, with no immediate expectation of a completed workday.  

But I can deal.  Because I'm a professional.  And I'm wearing moose pants.

Processing and Pizza

The good news is that we're processing applications at a rollicking speed.  The bad news is that we have the papercuts to prove it.  Katie, Sarena, and Joshua have made folders for nearly every student; the rest of us are doing our best to make sure all the documents are ready to be placed inside said folders. 

In between all the hard work (alphabetizing is tiring, no?), we've taken a handful of time outs for fun.  Last Thursday we put in a few hours of overtime.  This involved pizza. 

The pizza party lacked several key elements, like, say, an actual party, but we tackled a lot of data entry and gave Papa John's some business.

And our entire staff was enraptured by this transcript:

See how it magically reads "valid" in the final image?  Yes.  We all had to try it.  Entertainment galore.  

What Life Looks Like Now

Welcome back from break!  Here's a quick snapshot of the chaos in an admission office two days after the application deadline.

• Katie, Sarena, and Joshua are opening lots and lots of mail and doing the preliminary alphabetizing
• Peter and I are doing the final alphabetizing and enjoying ourselves very much.  Who knew the alphabet song would come in handy after preschool?
• Thyra, Falone, and Raissa are occupied by mysterious yet important data entry tasks
• Aasim is wondering why the Common Application data imports are so complicated and how everyone in the admission and financial aid offices managed to have urgent computer trouble the first day back from break (hence no post yesterday)
• Judy is trying to print out several thousand Common Applications and Supplements (no, we don't read online yet -- maybe next year), deal with our giant backlog of e-mail, and make pretty folders in shades of goldenrod and lilac for all our applicants.  All by herself.  Go Judy!
• Pat is doing a little bit of everything and still managing to answer the phones and greet visitors
• Aileen is electronically processing applications and wondering if I'll turn in my credit card receipts on time this month
• Students are probably curious about when we'll let them know about items missing from their applications; I direct these students towards exhibit A (above).  Give us a couple of weeks to cope with the mountains of mail!
• While we're still sorting and collating madly, it seems likely we'll have more than 3,000 applications this year -- first time that's happened in the history of the college!  Thrill!  Of course, that means we need to read all of them . . . 

Wish us luck!  I'll be back when my keyboard isn't covered with alphabetizing.