We took a trip to IKEA yesterday to buy a new lamp and a new tea kettle. Somehow, we found what we wanted easily. The trip was a success.

Because it is IKEA, the lamp requires a bit of putting-together. Here are the only instructions for the lamp.

I now understand why the Egyptians gave up hieroglyphics.

The teapot, on the other hand, requires no construction. But it came with a piece of paper instructing you to clean it with boiling water and vinegar before use. The paper does not tell you what kind of vinegar to use, or how much vinegar to use, or how long to let it boil. But it does give you instructions in 24 (exactly 24) languages, including Latvian, Lithuanian, Bulgarian and Greek. No Russia, Ukrainian, Hebrew or Arabic. No African or Asian languages. I assume there is a second version of this sheet for purchases made in those countries. Maybe even a third.

Putting that aside, I do love IKEA. Brilliant store. And I hope you all know what IKEA stands for: Ingvar Kamprad Elmtaryd Agunnaryd. Seems obvious, once you know.

Speaking of questions (were we?), I took a brief test this morning in the weekend Wall Street Journal. Its purpose was to show that young and old Americans view the country differently. They divide their readership into four age segments. The youngest is 18-35, and the oldest is 65 and beyond. I learned that my views put me squarely in the 18-35 group. I am not sure what to do with that information.

We also went by Jim Coleman Toyota to pick up our license plates for the new car. Undistinguished: JW 2884. Or something close to that. Maybe I should break down and get vanity plates. What would I put on them? ARTIS80? That does have a nice ring to it.

One last random thought. On the way to Ingvar Kamprad etc, we needed lunch and stopped at a little free standing restaurant called El Catrachito in Beltsville. Some trepidation after we parked because Yelp gave the restaurant only 3.3. But it is worthy of a 4, because of the quality of the food, the variety,  and the friendly service. The food is Honduran, and it turns out that El Catracho is slang for a Honduran, and El Catrachito, therefore, for “little Honduran”. It’s also a name for a Honduran dish that Nicaraguans would not be caught dead eating. So Nicaraguans began using this as a derogatory term for Hondurans, but it turned out that the Hondurans liked the term and adopted it. Who knew? Or, as the Catrochos would say, “Quien supo?”. (And, no, that is not a form of chowder.)