There are two mediums that colleges will employ to convince you to apply to them: letters and e-mails. They may seem similar at first glance, but close observation will reveal two very different purposes. While the letters are sent out to get your attention, the e-mails are tasked with getting you in bed.

Letters sent in the mail adhere to college letter standards. There are the obligatory pictures of an African American, Asian American, and Caucasian student, smiling outside, a young woman staring with great concentration at her laptop, and an aging professor standing in front of a blackboard.

You may not be wooed by the display of diversity, scholarly students and charismatic professors that the college offers, which is why the letter includes a second battalion—rankings.

This is the university equivalent of spitting and hair pulling. In other words, college bragging rights in which the university tries to convince you that it is superior to any other school you are looking at.

Very often, you will be asked for your e-mail address. Do not give it to them. Aside from getting thousands of e-mails, there is something about the electronic form of communication that brings out a more application-hungry lust in colleges.

It is with e-mails that colleges switch to titillation mode. The objective—to acquire your application, no matter the cost. And seduction, bribery and scare tactics form their arsenal.

They will attempt to seduce you, saying things like, “I can tell that you have ‘red hot’ potential,” or “You are at the top of my list.” The latter is clearly bogus, as I highly doubt that some guy is walking around with a list of names with mine at the top, and if this guy exists, I would kindly ask that he please destroy this list and stop sending me e-mails.

However, occasionally a college’s attempts at kindness will backfire, such as the school that sent me an e-mail, “Eic, Happy Birthday.” There is something unsettling in receiving a birthday card from a school I expressed no interest in, whether they spelled my name correctly or not. It feels too much like an invasion of privacy; no different than had they sent a card saying, “Hey, good luck with tomorrow’s colonoscopy! Don’t forget to apply!”

Another thing colleges like to do is scare you into thinking that your application is undeniably important, like the school that sent me an e-mail saying, “I hope you will consider applying right away—it may be the best decision you ever make.” That may be one of the most depressing things I ever read.

And do I need to mention all the forms of bribery? Apply now, no essay. Apply now, and we waive the application fee. Apply now, and we waive the fee and the essay. I am still waiting for the school that offers to pay me and write me an essay.

It is not unbelievable to imagine someone suffocating from their growing pile of college letters and e-mails. But there is a solution. Last month I came across an e-mail that tried to get cute with its subject: “Will this e-mail change your life?” Maybe if I opened i