Newspapers in general and columnists in particular have a reputation for harping on the negative and ignoring happy people doing good things on a sunny day with a song in their ... I'm sorry, I'm not sure I have enough insulin to finish that sentence.

It's our job to point out that the emperor has no clothes, though you can make the argument that jeering his hairy back and pot belly verges on overkill.

Sometimes, when people scold me for being a cranky curmudgeonette, I take the lemon wedge out of my mouth long enough to say, "Ha! Someday I'm going to write a column that's relentlessly, gushingly positive, just to show 'em!"

This is that column.

Because, honestly, you need it now. Gas prices, war, foreclosures, natural disasters, another "High School Musical" movie -- there's enough suffering in the world. Let me tell you about my trip to a place of joy and optimism. A place where people are smiling, ice cream flows, and most inhabitants' bills are paid by someone far away.

Happy Valley.

I visited State College for the first time recently, and while I found the Penn State campus itself a bit sprawling and sterile for my taste, there is no denying that as valleys go, that one is feeling no pain.

Of course, part of the feeling of euphoria is simply relief at arriving there. State College is in the exact geographical center of nowhere and a three-hour drive from any population center where people outnumber cows. From Pittsburgh, you follow a 14th-century cart track to where it merges onto the Autobahn and you can finally make the jump to light speed. By the time I got there, I'd forgotten where I came from.

In the hotel hospitality suite, after the awards banquet we were attending, I met a delightful young couple from Reading named Don and Cate. Cate looks and even sounds like Minnie Driver, and Don looks like someone about to marry Minnie Driver in two months.

Most of the old folks had toddled upstairs to snore when the bar closed on the last diehards around midnight, and we all reluctantly said goodnight and went off to our rooms.

Midnight. Only midnight? Without changing out of my party dress, I went down to fetch my yoga mat from the car. On my way back through the lobby, I ran into Don and Cate.

"We just called a cab to take us into town," Cate said. "Come on, Sammy-Sam!"

Don't wait up, yoga mat.

The cab driver dropped us off outside Zeno's Pub ("Located directly above the center of the earth"), where a band was slamming its way through the Proclaimers' "500 Miles." Who can resist that timeless chorus, "Da-dle ah da! Da-dle ah da! Da-da-da dun diddle-un diddle-un diddle ah da dah!" And then I got carded. God bless those bouncers.

The band was everything a college bar band should be: loud and fast. Did you know that if you speed up "Sweet Home Alabama" it becomes "Werewolves of London"? Also, college students will still sing along to "Blister in the Sun," even though it predates them, and "Ring of Fire," even though it predates me.

"We're overdressed," Cate observed.

"Yeah, but ironically," I said.

A girl walked by in a sparkly silver Star Trek dress, trailed by a boy who seemed to be a lumberjack. There was no way to look weird in this bar. The drinks were cheap and there was gum under the table. I felt so blissfully collegiate I had to lean over the beers and say, "You guys, I shouldn't even be here, I have SO much work. Seriously, like a semester's worth of reading. One more drink."

I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to find a boy holding out his hand. "Wanna dance?"

You bet your 50-cent draft, Otter.

When I got back to the table, Cate shared this classic overheard bit of college ladies' room dialogue:

"We totally haven't been to Zeno's in like three months together. But it totally doesn't even seem like it's been that long."

"You got your bangs cut."

"Yeah. They were totally in my face."

Remember when you could have a conversation that vacuous? When your biggest worry was bangs totally in your face?

In the morning, I had a bowl of Peachy Paterno ice cream for breakfast (a serving of fruit!) and prepared to journey back to grown-up reality.

It's trite, it's repeated often, but I'll say it again, from the bottom of my lightened heart:

Kids, stay in school.