It all started when Josh Berk, one of the Tenners (novelists debuting in 2010), posted something very helpful on the site, and someone referred to him as a font.

I wrote, “Yes, but which one!”

And he, ever witty, wrote, “Mostly I feel like Wingdings.”

Then, since I only have limited flashes of genius each day (sorry), I Tweeted, “If you were a font, what would you be?”

Josh gamely repeated his Wingdings comment, and Amy Brecount White turned me on to this–a bunch of bearded men dancing, New Wave video-style, to a an ode they’d written to a typeface.

In the words of one of my protagonists: that video is hot, hot, hot. (She probably says that about a video, too. There’s a lot of video in Nice and Mean. Actually, it’s about making a video.) But these guys’ video is hot in another way, although sort of like PS22, which I wrote about last month. They’re so Into It. And you know, I think I really like Into It.

And it all started because Josh Berk was a font of information. That’s what we like about the internets. Electric boogie all day long.

Oh: I got my ARCs (Advanced Reader Copies) of Nice and Mean today. They’re adorable. They look just like what I’d think a book of mine would look like. Way to bury the lead, I know. But I’m still thinking how I’m going to announce it more publicly, with cute pictures n giveaways n stuff. So instead I post about fonts.

Number of Christmas cookies decorated with family: countless

Number decorated to resemble this Halloween picture of my nephew: 1

Number of times I thrilled to make this nephew smile by dangling him back and forth and saying, “Tick tock, Min o’clock!”: 4 (okay, 4,000)

Number of New Year’s parties attended: 3

Number at which there were tragically not enough good desserts: 1 (I won’t say which, but if you served bread pudding, you were off the hook.)

Number of movies seen: 3 (Avatar, Broken Embraces, A Single Man)

Number of which were style over substance: 2 (Broken Embraces had both)

Number of amazing books read: 1 (River Town, by Peter Hessler, about teaching English in China)

Number of times I went into bookstores seeking his second book, including times I decided not to because it was too heavy, before capitulating: 4

Number of amazing earrings received: 2 (thanks, Mom!)

Number of times I cursed myself for hiding one of these pairs of earrings in an incredibly stupid place because I was too lazy to put them away someplace better : countless.

Number of friends seen: not sure I can count this one, either, but I am glad for all the meals!

Number of hours our plane was delayed on the way home: 3, but at least we weren’t flying from Newark, which apparently was shut down for security delays.

Number of times I felt grateful and happy: many, many, many.

To quote my friend Rachel’s blog, I’m probably the last person on the planet to discover the PS 22 Chorus, but the wonder of the internets is that Target doesn’t run out of the great new toys.  If you haven’t watched these incredibly talented fifth graders singing songs like Eye of the Tiger, Don’t Stop Believing, Just Dance and Viva La Vida, you are missing a chance at joy.

Part of what I love about the videos is the pure quality of the singing: strong voices, great harmonies, impressive attention to rhythm.  But the other great part is the spirit.  The kids are hilariously ironic, and yet, still sincere and sweet.  Check out the moody chest-clutching during “Viva la Vida!”  The unselfconscious swaying during “Don’t Stop Believing.” 

 It’s as though Greg Breinberg, the chorus director who should be offered a MacArthur Genius Grant any day now, told the kids, “All right, this is old white folks’ music, and one thing we love about the old white folks is that they like to feel emotions deeply.  So everyone, put your hands on your hearts.  Now scrunch down your eyebrows.  Now nod as if to say, ‘Dude.’  Yeah.  Can you do that?  Oh, Srivasti–awesome!  D’Angelo–your sway rules!  Tanika–I love the closed eyes!” 

But the kids aren’t making fun–they’re totally into it.  I’ve thought all this time that the sweet-spot of kidland was the seventh grade classroom—from the teacher’s point of view that is (it’s often inferno for the kids.)  The kids want to please, laugh at your jokes, and can take sarcasm, which can be a necessary buffer to venting actual frustration.  But maybe Eden is waiting for me two doors down, in the fifth grade homeroom, where they’d flinch at my sarcasm but offer something so much sweeter.

In this week’s New Yorker’s table of contents, I saw some article titles that never were:

On the job with a Michelin Impostor

(Michelin being the French restaurant raters.)  It was really “Michelin Inspector,” but “Michelin Impostor” would have yielded a lot of interesting results.  Think about the ire of the French chefs when they realized they were lowering themselves to suck up to someone who was not even the real deal!

Beijing loves Canadian Food

This was a real blurring.  The first article was “Letter from China: Beijing Loves Bordeaux,” followed by “Canadian Journal: Funny Food.”  Honestly, it surprised me that the Chinese loved Canadian food, given that they are pretty much obsessed with domination and doing things their way, and while the Canadians do steadfastly hold to many of their own modus operandi, they’re not exactly who comes to mind when I think of world domination. 

If these are the articles I’m creating in my thirties, I can only marvel at prospect of what I’ll come up with in my 70s.  I’ll start writing a whole new genre of novels!  And become like the grandmother in the movie version of About a Boy.  (“We’re having duck?  Delightful!”)