Orken, Bjorken, Buyin' a Ninety-Nine Cent Fork-en

Stephen Malkmus doesn't care for IKEA. That ain't especially news; show an indie rocker puppies frolicking under a rainbow and he'll somehow spin it into a wry riff on the soul-shattering ennui of the post-modern age. And it'll get stuck in your head for DAYS, too. "Scamper, clueless puppy, 'round that cold, cold 'bow / the Geneva convention has gotta go go go / Unilateral action, universal defeat / run away, little hound, to your Booda-Bone treat". Somebody give me a record deal!

As I just made abundantly clear, I'm NOT a rock star. I'm a boring-ass suburbanite (Have attended CSNY concert! Have ten cans of very slightly different shades of off-white paint in my garage! Have eaten Dippin' Dots, ice cream of the fucking FUTURE!). I'm allowed to like IKEA, and I do. I mean, they have a ball pit! You can get a hot dog and a soda there for a little over a buck (which leads me to believe their hot dogs are made with even lesser quality ingredients than the usual hooves and snouts... disobedient employees, maybe). You can get a cutting board for two bucks, a comforter for twenty, and a mattress for under a hundred (I'd caution against that one, though; it's kind of like sleeping on a soft, puffy chip 'n putt course). Best of all, however, are the product names. They're enamel-meltingly cute and have more umlauts than the entire lineup of Ozzfest. And while technically region-neutral, they seem EXTREMELY Scandinavian. So much so that, while reading "A Doll's House" for English Comp II, I found myself thinking, "Torvald... Torvald... isn't that my colander's name?"

And thus was born quite possibly the silliest thing I have ever done (and I've worn underwear on my head AND fenced with a baguette): the IKEA/Ibsen Quiz. Feel free to share your scores, but be warned... I BUILT the damned thing and I still only got fifteen right.