On ways to look at Nellie McKay, in 13 parts.

Nellie McKay is an NPR listener's idea of what a young person should be like.

When I saw Nellie McKay perform in Seattle in the summer of 2008, she came onstage an hour late, alone with a ukulele, and played "Mother of Pearl." Then -- still solo on ukulele -- she played "Feed the Birds" from "Mary Poppins." There were tears in audience eyes.

Nellie McKay went to sleep in 1936 and woke up, confused but reenergized, in 2003.

I had always just assumed that Nellie McKay had attended Columbia, because she's so New York, and so smart, and so broadly educated, and her song "Columbia Is Bleeding" is so great. At some point I realized that I had no actual evidence for this claim.

Nellie McKay told us, at that same concert: "You guys, don't not vote for John McCain because he's old. Don't vote for him because he has f---ed up views on policy. But don't not vote for him because he's old. That's f---ed up." On at least four occasions through the evening, she complained of the heat, swayed dangerously, or gave signs of suddenly coming to consciousness after a lapse. She was wearing a red, fringed flapper dress and just coming off a stint in "The Threepenny Opera."

When Nellie McKay was born, three wise men made a pilgrimage to offer her mother gifts of frankincense, myrrh, and a well-thumbed edition of The Collected Witticisms of the Algonquin Round Table Set.

If Nellie McKay had a large enough lever and an outside vantage point, she could turn everyone on Earth into a vegan.

Nellie McKay has never met a piece of wordplay she can't find a place for.

If Nellie McKay and Stephin Merritt had babies together, they would be the people whose irony was least stably detectable ever.

Nellie McKay occasionally appears in completely bland Hollywood romantic comedies. No one knows why.

Nellie McKay goes too far because she can. Then she mocks you for thinking she's gone too far. Loser.

Nellie McKay's fourth album is a Doris Day tribute album. It's fabulous.

Nellie McKay thinks a work of art isn't finished until it's been sabotaged. Preferably by the artist.