What a Tom and Jerry Mix and my new IBM Selectric Type Element Have in Common.

It's not what you think. Using different typefaces in your work is a type of play that will make you feel alive.

I bought a plastic canister of Tom and Jerry mix last month on a whim. It was 61 cents. I thought what the heck. I’ll try it out one day when I’m bored. I’ll buy those little bottles of brandy, whiskey and make my own out-of-season Tom and Jerry cocktail, a classic Wisconsin Christmas drink.

So the canister sat in my freezer , staring at me with that price tag, taunting me for weeks. I nearly threw it out. I had this idea that this oozy sugary concoction made sometime last year would taste toxic. But I resisted for some reason. I bought it for a reason for no other reason that it was on sale and I like a good deal (something I learned during a hand-writing analysis by a cafeteria checker during college while she was checking my ID. I had to at least taste the mix before I tossed it, if only to spit it out and reel in disgust.

So one morning I made a packet of instant oatmeal as you do. I looked for a sweet topper. Molasses? Eh, it would turn the oatmeal the color of tar. Regular sugar? Boring, besides I’d have to dig into hardened granules. Honey from the bottom of plastic bottle? I’d have to warm up some water, set the bottle in it and wait a few long minutes for it to soften.

I opened the freezer once again. There was that red-and-white festive Tom and Jerry Mix taunting me. I opened it up, expecting a hardened white mass. I dug in with a plastic spoon and surprisingly, it didn’t break. I scooped up a generous amount, slid off the spoon with my finger and plopped it on top of my oatmeal. If Tom and Jerry was good enough for French toast according to a canister recipe, well, it had to be good enough for oatmeal.

Well, let me you. My oatmeal died and went to heaven. Or at least I died and went to heaven eating that Tom and Jerry infused (you can infuse oatmeal, can’t you?) oatmeal. I reached back into the canister for another scoop to finish my oatmeal. That was the best oatmeal ever, a great beginning to my day. Surprises like that take a regular morning from ordinary to fantastic.

After that experiment, I began to think of other unusual ways to use Tom and Jerry mix. After all, I still have a nearly full container in the refrigerator, keeping companions with a bag of ice, a moldering ziplock bag of chicken bones (for bone broth). I don’t another use yet.

In the meantime, I revisited the Selectric Rescue site, looking to see if Dave Hayden had re opened his shop. I remembered at one point he had shuttered the place to tweak his growing collection of 3D type elements. I really, really wanted a Vogue 12 for my Selectric 721. To my surprise last week, I saw Dave had his shingle out and type elements galore for sale. With giddy glee, I bought the Vogue 12, with visions of smooth, elegant typing.

The word Vogue alone connotes glamour. There’s Vogue magazine, an international publication. Broody models and actresses pose for the cover, snotty writers type pensive essays on the state of the world, side-by-side with pictorial essays of scantily clad aforementioned models posing with little else besides a $12,000 handbag on a mountain top in Peru, winding blowing through their hair extensions.

Honestly, my first exposure to the word Vogue was Vogue Fabrics in Evanston, Illinois. That’s where my mom shopped for quilting fabrics to make her hand-stitched squares that she turned into quilts for all 10 of us. Yes, all 10 of us got quilts that were largely hand stitched. I think the sewing machine was only involved with connecting the backing to the quilt. All quilts were lovingly torn and a few now exist as pillows.

I returned to Vogue as an adult learning to sew clothes. I lived in Chicago’s Rogers Park neighborhood, hitching rides one stop to the Main Street stop on Metra’s northern line. Every Monday, sewing instructor Mac Berg would teach some new hack for a half-hour. I filled my notebook and later phone with notes on those tutorials. So the word Vogue become synonymous with the purchase of a serger/coverstitch machine and a closet full of stretch fabrics. That’s Midwest glamour for you.

Now to type with the Vogue typeface (available on vintage Royal and Olivetti Letters manual typewriters, highly sought after by collectors). I sat down this morning, mounted the new element, locked it with the plastic tab, turned on my 721. Gibberish ensued when I typed. I turned off the machine. Re-mounted the plastic element. Again, I typed. More undecipherable hieroglyphics.

I sighed as one does in this situation. I dug into the box that Dave sent me with complimentary type elements that he’s still refining. I mounted the Senatorial typeface element and typed again. Words from the English language emerged under my finger tips.

With this typing problem solved, I slipped an index card with a print of an Oliver typewriter that I made over the weekend on my provisional press. I typed out my recipe for a Tom and Jerry oatmeal (that’s a great topic for a cocktail party). The recipe card looks so pretty.

In this case, Tom and Jerry oatmeal and a new typeface have one thing in common: me. A new typeface had me playing with words in a new way. Imagine what words Vogue will stir up once I get it working (or Dave gives me a replacement). Or what about my friend Susan Kuver’s favorite, Papyrus? Atkinson HL is winking at me right now, eager to get in the sandbox of words, but of course, his cousin Atkinson HL Bold italic wants to nudge him aside. The self-importance on anything in italics, you know. That’s so Vogue. And one day soon, I want to return to my Spencerian script 12 which was giving me fits the last time I used. The romantic in me really loves this one. I might have to buy a new version of the Spencerian, which was a gift from Susan and the starter of my 3-D printed type element collection.

Whether you have a manual or electric typewriter with a unique typeface, use it early and often for your creative writing. You might find yourself reaching for words, punctuation marks even rarely useful symbols like cent signs just for fun. If you’re not having fun typing, changing your type face might just what you need.

With Dave’s generous donation, I now own 11 IBM type elements. I basically have 11 typewriters. 11! All in one machine. I don’t ever have to buy another typewriter (although a Selectric III, with the capability to use 10 and 12 elements and the correction-type ink cartridge is terribly tempting) I don’t have to stash machines in a closet, a storage locker or under a bed. The machine generally sits a top a file cabinet; the elements, the aforementioned drawer. You can have the same amount of fun stashed in a desk drawer, ready for you whenever you need them. You might even come to associate certain elements with what you want to project on paper. Feeling important? Go for Senatorial. Got a delicate topic to share? Anything italic will work. Want to make your point clear. You must use bold. Eager to fit in? Letter Gothic is so at home with all the letterpress influence on signage everywhere.

I set out to type my oatmeal recipe in Vogue, but here you have it in Senatorial. Let me know if you try this one. I’m tempted to buy another canister of Tom and Jerry. I saw a shelf of the stuff at another grocery store this morning. But it’s not priced at 61 cents a container. Can 1 container of Tom and Jerry get me through to next Christmas? One enquiring mind wants to know.

That image of the Oliver? It’s from The Typewriter: An Illustrated History originally published by Typewriter Topics, reprinted by Dover Books. Note the pencil holder on the right side, right below the word cinnamon. Blue ink ribbon cartridge is from Ribbons Unlimited.

Feel free to leave a comment below on Vogue typefaces, Tom and Jerry recipes or typing.