Category Archives: Places

Coachella Part 2


I am a little bit bitter about the fact that my dreams of going to Coachella this year have been smashed.  First, tickets for both weekends sold out in 3 hours.  Then, after shelling out tons of cash on stubhub to buy wristbands from some horrible scalper, the festival promoters informed me I my camping pass would be invalid anyway, so I decided to cut my losses and stay the f home.  Now photos of celebs are rolling in from the festival and all I can do is HATE.  Less a question than a request to hate with me, please discuss celebs and Coachella fashion.



Grrrrl, Coachella would have been made better by your presence, but you would not have been made better by Coachella.  I may have lost my sister to tassels…

Honey, its not "down to earth" if it includes an over-sized denim Louis Vuitton bag.

or other such nonsense.  Meanwhile, the only concerts I would want to see can never exist again or ever, i.e. “Joy Division” circa 1979…

…or a live (yet still somehow animated) version of the “Chipmunk Punk” album…

I would throw my underwear onto that stage.

 …or Ol’ Dirty Bastard reading the phonebook.  

Alright, let's do this.

To beat the HATE-drums, I suggest putting on a bandana and creating a better concert than Coachella.  Might I recommend the space called “living room sing-a-long?”  My girl, Danika, and I used to rock out to this jam on repeat…


Best “concert” ever.


Taco Bell


Please explain Taco Bell.



There is no way I can be unbiased whilst discussing Taco Bell.  Much like The Greatest Television Program of All Time, Taco Bell is such a beloved component of my childhood that I am immune to any negative criticism it may attract.  I had Nachos Supreme (with no beans), one hard shelled taco and a small pepsi for lunch every day for two full years of my life.  

Delicious.  I would have the same for lunch every day now if there were ANY classic Taco Bells in ALL of New York City, which there are not.  They have systematically shut down all Taco Bells in and around the downtown Manhattan area over the past 10 years.  Many tears have been shed (by me) over this. There is still a KenTacoHut near Union Square, but that place is so disgusting, even I won’t eat there unless I’m REALLY craving a trip south of the border.  I don’t understand why there was a need to merge Kentucky Fried Chicken, Pizza Hut and Taco Bell into one Frankenstein of a fast-food hell.  IMHO, each one can stand on its own as a legitimately acceptable fast-food joint.  There is a management problem here.  Even Charlize Theron loves Taco Bell. See the first 1:30 of the following:

Meanwhile, I love Charlize Theron.  

Recently a law suit over Taco Bell using “a meat mixture that contains binders and extenders, and does not meet the minimum requirements set by the U.S. Department of Agriculture to be labeled as ‘beef'” has caused quite a kerfuffle in the news.  My response to that is: no sh*t, sherlock.  Do you really think fast food joints are serving fresh locally sourced meats and produce?  That sh*t is still delicious.  On a side note, the use of so-called pink slime in schools is kind of scary.  Let’s focus our attention there instead, and leave my beloved Nachos Supreme alone.  

In the meantime, I will continue to cling to my memories of the Taco Bell of yore and pray that they somehow manage to stay in business long enough for my children to enjoy.  



Dear IKEA,

Please explain yourself.

My sister and I spent some quality / exorbitant time at your Brooklyn location, and I insist on an explanation as to how you let the following events happen.

On a side, Dorigen and I were at the same place at the same time this past weekend, which begs the question – “If you where both there, then who was running hell and/or the DorEm Answers blog?”  The answer is we both deferred to our backup solutions – me, my 20 lb black cat (Virgil) and she, her diamond-padded faux Chanel purse – they do not like to share responsibilities, so no work was done.

Meanwhile, back in Brooklyn, I took this lovely shot of the Statue of Liberty, as seen from IKEA’s front door…


Now on to the chaos…

First off, we (me, Dorigen, and her husband, Jeff) immediately knew we had made a mistake in fashion accessories, having not brought some excitable toddler or infant on our day of discount furniture and home supply shopping.  They are all the rage at IKEA.

Still, despite the crowds of parents disinterested in their children’s location (unless it was in close proximity to a preferred star shaped ice cube tray), the IKEA shopping experience was pleasant.  I wore a tape measure around my neck, was in charge of writing down where to find tightly packed furniture in the warehouse, and we got everything we needed on the list (and on budget).

And then we tried to leave.

The many parents and their children had developed a 45 minute line at “Småland,” where we needed to exchange the locker key for Jeff’s driver’s license.  The U-Haul kiosk wasn’t working and our phones did not get reception in IKEA land, so Dorigen was focused to convince a staff member to use his mega-fancy phone three times.  The information that she finally received from U-Haul was that the truck she ordered weeks ago, was not actually at IKEA, but rather a mile away.

While Jeff took a taxi to a U-Haul truck that’s battery had died, Dorigen and I waited in the parking lot, with other disheveled women whose manners were lost somewhere in the lighting section of IKEA.  Things got especially heated when someone’s car blocked the one ramp from the exit elevators and created a bottleneck of overstuffed carts and women who don’t stand for no mess.

A couple hours into our cold wait in the parking lot, I braved IKEA again for some meatballs.


Inside I crossed paths with a pimply hipster girl who was just wandering IKEA (oddly empty handed), frantically asking no one in particular, “Is this a store?!  Is THIS a store?!”  Her nonsense question made perfect sense to me, and I felt compelled to tell her, “no, this is not a store, honey” as I passed by.  We shared a moment.

Eventually Jeff found another U-Haul store in Brooklyn, rescuing us from a 5 hour, “quick trip” to IKEA, and I spent the ride looking directly at this sign…

I am a rebel

We spent the rest of the night and the following morning building furniture essentially from scratch and breaking down the largest cardboard boxes ever designed.

So, IKEA, I ask you to explain yourself.  Why do you choose to create a world that insights confusion and rage in its patrons?  And can you fix your damn U-Haul kiosk?!



Dear IKEA,

I am still too angry to speak to you.  




Does the fact that I’m middle-aged and going to a music festival with my husband mean that I’ve become what I’ve once dreaded: The Aging Hipster?



You are not an aging hipster.  You are not a Janeane Garofalo.  An aging hipster is a matter of 1) time/place and 2) whatnot.  Allow me to explain:


Long ago, as a senior college student at a small town Midwestern liberal arts college, I attended the first party of the year and found in attendance a guy who had graduated just a few months prior.  He was cool when he attended school and was the same person as before, but he was universally mocked for not immediately moving on with the times.  “What’s HE doing here?  Didn’t he graduate?”

Sometimes the social need to move on has a very tight window.  However, this is not the case in New York City.  You live in a wonderland of adult freedom, where you can do whatever the hell you want for as long as you damn well please, and everyone does so with style.  In New York “aging hipster” is a misnomer for “fashionable sophisticate.”      

image from: The Sartorialist


Janeane Garofalo is an example of: the “whatnot” that she wears = aging hipster.  There’s even a website defining her as such.

image from: Wake Up Black America

She is stuck in 90’s attire – thick black leather snap bracelets, white wife beater tanks, ill fitting sag jeans, and combat boots.  IF you wear anything truly 90’s (not to be confused with the off-center 90’s redo of Urban Outfitters) to Coachella, then you WILL be an aging hipster.  To clarify, this also includes a white baby T with a full length, floral print, spaghetti strap dress and a frail, synthetic fabric cardigan tied around your waist. 

Just keep it cute, and you’re fine.