Wake Up, Scandinavia!

Every year my family and I look forward to the arrival of the new IKEA catalog. I keep the children home from the salt mines, sizzle up a mess of Swede Meatballs ("Swede" is short for "Swedish"), fill the room with the sweet smoky smell of lingonberries and dill, and crank up the Cardigans and Robyn full-blast. I don't play ABBA. That would be clichéd. Then I rush out to the mailbox, retrieve the golden scroll itself, careful not to dog-ear its edges prematurely, and bring it into the household. My daughter blows a foghorn, my son chants the mantra "Odin Saves! Odin Saves!", and we all gather around the living room sofa to discover how we can achieve socialistic purity through wordless instruction manuals and allen wrenches. It is there, in those pages, that the IKEA Way is revealed to us furnishing neophytes, as we gaze upon the descriptive text in that retro, minimally ordained, yet curiously futuristic Futura font.

But not this year:

STOCKHOLM -- IKEA, the Swedish furniture chain, said Sunday it never expected such a backlash after switching typefaces in its latest catalog.

The company's decision to make its first such font change in 50 years -- from the iconic Futura typeface to the Verdana one -- has caused a worldwide reaction on the Internet. The catalog, which the company advertises as the world's most printed book, was distributed last month.

You insolent Nordic tarts.

You have stolen much more than a font from us. You are stealing our dreams. And for what? What, I ask you? Utilitarianism? Post-modernism? What are you going heap upon us next – serifs? Will your revisionist typesetting toss us hither and thither upon that slippery slope?

There are now two eras in world history: the IKEA Futura font era, and Hell On Earth.

Somebody my children will ask me, "Daddy, can you tell me about the days when IKEA used the Futura font? Is it true what they say? That the grass was green, the smoked salmon tasted good, and nobody could get enough hair conditioner? Were people taller like they say? Did they really have opposable thumbs?"

I will choke back a sob, put my hand on their shoulders, and reply, "Children, play not upon the fragmented lute of my soul's reflections of joyous moments past. I am afraid the strings will cut your heart sooner than they shall cut your digits. Go now, away from me, leave an old man to his sagging chair and his aching eternal. Go play with that hammer-and-sickle blanket the government issued us last week."

Verdana? That font is the slayer of my countenance? That's what shall etch the scars upon my gut? A font that was allegedly invented by the company I work for in Seattle, under the pretense of technological advancement?

Something smells fishy to me about this Verdana font. It is far too universal to reflect Western World values. It cannot possibly be American. And I think you know where this is going:

I want to see absolute proof that Verdana was born in America.

That's what I want. I want proof that Verdana was invented on these shores. I don't want to see a "patent." Or a "certificate of live fonting." I want to see the coffee-stained pages on which this font was originally drafted. I want the paper analyzed to make sure it came from American trees and not some Russkie parchment.

Until then, I remain your skeptic, psychologically barren, emotionally dredged, and ready to end it all with an army stencil or one of those punch-label guns from the '70s.

I must sleep now, as slumber is the only realm in which my dreams are safe.