Domerberry Album Review: Reputation

Well, folks, the time that at least three of you have probably been waiting for has arrived: I'm finally writing my review of Taylor Swift's new album. This is a thing that happens on my blog. Mine is not to question why. Tradition says I must review TayTay. My iTunes account says I'm still that sucker who'll fork over $13 every time she releases a new album. So here we are.

To start with the elephant in the room, yes, I know. This album is not that good. And yes, I also know that Taylor is problematic these days and needs to be better at renouncing white supremacists and not to say yadda yadda to a serious issue but yadda yadda. I get it. We should hold our public figures accountable for using their platforms for good, and we should hold Taylor Swift accountable for better songs than "...Ready for It?."

But pop music is fun, and the burning trash heap that is 2017 is terrible, so I don't know, LET ME HAVE THIS!

On the whole, this album is better than I feared it would be after hearing the first two singles. The trend from 1989 has continued in that, the more she embraces her pop-only label, the more we seem to lose the lovable earnestness that made Taylor the star that she is. Lyrically, she's again not at her best here—"I can't say anything to your face, cuz look at your face"? Really?—but there are moments when the complete absurdity of the lyrics feel like a wink to the audience. I know these lyrics are silly, she seems to be saying, because remember? I'm silly too. The old Taylor seems not dead but hiding, and if you dig deep enough behind the autotune, you'll find her.

Before we begin the important-tracks breakdown, I will say one more thing: Homegirl, I am not referring to your album as a lowercase noun. Stop trying to make angsty stylistic quirks happen. They're not going to happen.

And now, to quote from a much better different pop album that's come out recently, heeeere we go!

"End Game" - I'm not gonna lie to you. After an initial, molecular-level hate of this song brought on by the phrase "biiiiig reputation, biiiig reputation, ohhhh you and me would be a biig conversation, ahhhhh," I ended up kind of liking this song. Is it brainwashing? Is it actually good? Who's to say?

"I Did Something Bad" - Taylor swears now, guys. She has done something bad indeed. And she's done something great by creating this song. The double-punch instrumental sounds before each "good" in this chorus have given me a newfound interest in kickboxing. Have I frightened nearby passengers by quietly dancing to this song on planes recently? Maybe. Call that my something bad.

"Look What You Made Me Do" - "I'm Too Sexy," but then make it Halloween. Moving on.

"King of My Heart" and "Call It What You Want" - There is a lot of British slang on this album, and my first response to it was to think, "We get it, Taylor, you've dated some British guys. You sound weird saying 'fit.'" But then I remembered that I went on two dates with a British guy once and basically decided I was married to Harry Potter and was moving to a wee cottage down the country where my mates could come round for a spot of tea whenever they fancied, and you know what Taylor, yeah, I get it.

"Dancing With Our Hands Tied" - This song...is catchy? And...lyrically sound? All at once? What I did to deserve this gift I may never know. I will overlook the similarity of this title to Legally Blonde's "and we dance without moving our arms."

"Dress" - I have no opinion on this song, but I read a theory online that it's about Ed Sheeran, and I want that concept—of Ed Sheeran and Taylor Swift, secret, steamy lovers—to ruin your life like it has ruined mine. I am sorry.

"This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things" - I will never be able to say or hear this phrase again without thinking of this song. I have decided that is not a bad thing.

"New Year's Day" - The old Taylor can come to the phone right now. Thank you, old Taylor. Never change.

So, my little snake-emoji nation, those are my thoughts. And while you're here...

You should donate to Puerto Rico hurricane relief! I was lucky enough to spend the week before Thanksgiving with the wonderful students and staff of the Universidad del Sagrado Corazon—article coming soon, stay tuned y'all—and was shocked to see conditions like these in the United States and wowed by the volunteers who have stepped up to help where the federal government has been slow to. The Hispanic Federation is one good place to direct your donations and read up on policy, and if you'd like to learn about and donate directly to the awesome people I worked with, you can do so here.

Enjoy your Taylor Swift! Donate to PR! Your reputation will get a big boost with me if you do.

...Get it?

Sarah, Queen of ATVs

If you spoke to me at all during the month of June, you know that I did not anticipate making it to July. No, I wasn't suicidal or dying of smallpox; I just had an activity on the schedule at the end of the month that I was confident would spell my death.

For two days at the end of last month, I was headed to the northern tip of New Hampshire to go ATVing.

I hate most things in this world, but if I had to pick the two things I hate the very most, they would probably be the outdoors and driving. And what is an ATV, really, but a vehicle designed for the express purpose of driving recklessly through the outdoors?

I was invited on this excursion as research for a story about the local ATV industry, a story for which I freely volunteered, so I ultimately had no one to blame but myself—but voluntary death, I thought, was still death.

After texting my goodbyes to my family and friends and reminding my coworkers they may never see me again, my photographer and I set off for the far northern town of Pittsburg, New Hampshire. At nearly 300 square miles, Pittsburg (despite its population of around 900 people) is by far the largest town in New England, because Pittsburg encompasses all the territory in New Hampshire past a certain northern point where the state founding fathers apparently said, "Eh screw it, everything from here up is one giant town."

There is no cell service in Pittsburg. There is not much of anything in Pittsburg, aside from a lot of trees, several lakes, one steakhouse, and a small army of ATVs—and, for two days in late June, ten or so journalists and bloggers with a death wish.

We opened our trip with a group dinner at the aforementioned one steakhouse, where the ATV professionals in charge of the excursion dropped a lot of, "Well, you can drive a car, can't you?," and I dropped a lot of, "Can I?"

The line, "if you can drive a car, you can drive an ATV," is central to the effort to convince first-time ATVers that the sport is easy and won't kill them. But it fails to account for people who, like me, find driving terrifying and horrible. When confronted with someone who is not put at ease by the assurance that ATVs are just like cars, ATV people basically just laugh nervously and change the subject.

Needless to say, when it came time for our half-day ride, my confidence level was through the roof.

I put on my safety gear, I signed the waiver, I dutifully watched the safety video, and then I hopped in with the guy who works for the ATV manufacturer with a plan to get behind the wheel for a maximum of five minutes.

We set off, and, strapped safely in the passenger seat with one of the few drivers on our trip who actually knew how ATVs work, I was met with a surprise.

This actually wasn't terrible.

There was a pleasant breeze. The views were bananas. And I was exploring the great outdoors without exerting a single ounce of effort!

One of the other writers in the group switched places with our driver, and I decided that ATVs are actually legit. The rental company owner had mentioned at dinner the night before that they're great for grandparents and other people who'd like to climb mountains but can't or won't, and I suddenly understood what she meant. I also understood why people look down on ATVing—"get off your dune buggy and take an actual hike, lazy!"—but, to those people, I would suggest trying laziness sometime, because laziness is fantastic.

High on my no-exercise-required adventure in the outdoors, I agreed to give driving a try. I insisted on the manufacturer rep riding shotgun to shout advice at me or grab the reins in the event that I blacked out out of terror, but still, I thought, I'd try.

And, to my shock, things were once again...pretty fun!

I drove for a half-hour or so, marveling at the fact that 35 mph could feel like 335 and finding it a little odd that we hadn't stopped to switch drivers yet, but I pressed on. Everyone was alive. All was well.

Eventually, we came to a clearing, and the lead driver stopped, got out, and came to the drivers of the next three cars in line to give them some sort of instruction.

She skipped me.

The manufacturer rep shrugged this off, positing that, since he was with me, the lead driver must have figured I wouldn't need her advice. She must have been giving them tips for the next leg of the drive, he suggested. "There's just a bit of an incline coming up."

Like when my tour guide in Hawaii told me the 760-foot volcano we'd be climbing that day was an "easy little walk," I should have known not to believe the person who'd done this before.

The "bit of an incline" the rep warned me of turned out to be a mountain. Was it Mount Everest? No. But was it a friendly little hill? OH OF COURSE NOT.

We cross a highway, line up at the start of a trail, and when I look out in front of me, what I see is a path made up entirely of miniature boulders leading pretty much straight up the side of a small mountain. I laugh one of those "nothing here is funny" laughs and tell the rep and our other passenger that I hope they are both ready to meet Jesus today. We are all wearing full-head helmets and goggles, which is good, because were we able to see the terror on one another's faces, I think we all would have jumped off the ATV and run the 40 miles back to the rental office. I shift the thing into low gear, the rep flips on the four-wheel drive switch, and we head up.

Friends, we made it.

I can't really tell you any details about my voyage up this mountain and back down it, because frankly I think I've blocked it from my mind. I can tell you that our reward for getting down the mountain was a mile and a half or so of mud pits that I only got us stuck in once. I can tell you I didn't murder the driver in front of us, despite the fact that she kept stopping to take videos while I was left dangling off the side of a mountain and therefore clearly deserved to be murdered. I can tell you I don't think that ATV rep has ever been so happy to get off an ATV in his life as he was when we eventually reached the end of our trail.

But I drove an ATV up a mountain, down a mountain, and through a whole bunch of quicksand-y mud pits, and no one died!

I am never going to be a person who hikes without being forced. I'm certainly never going to be some kind of mountain biker. But if you ever need someone to accompany you on a half-formed-Jeep ride through a forest somewhere, I'm your girl. I'll bring the goggles and riding jersey they sent me home with and a framed copy of the email where the rep said lied that he was "impressed" with my driving. You bring the rosary beads.

Romantic Things My Boyfriend Would Do For Me For Valentine's Day If He Existed

Ah, Valentine's Day. That day of the year when, as a meme my mother mailed me puts it, we celebrate the feast day of a saint who was beaten, beheaded and disinterred by his followers by buying each other sweets. My plans for Valentine's Day this year are to spend it as I do every year: with plenty of chocolate (why abandon my normal Tuesday schedule?) and plenty of not having a boyfriend.

But what if I did have a boyfriend? Candlelit dinner dates are nice and all, but I have a few better ideas for what my significant other would do for me for V-Day if, you know, he were real. 

So take notes, dream boyfriend Michael Cera and any other guys harboring secret desires to date me. These are the gestures you have seven days to plan. 

1. Help me come up with a fake engagement story so I can trick the salespeople at BHLDN into thinking I have a legitimate reason for a bridal gown appointment. Not because I want to get married. Just because I want to put their pretty dresses on my body and it seems like I could convince them more successfully to let me do this if I could tell them how my beau and I got engaged and show them lots of nice selfies of the two of us. I would get around the engagement ring hurdle by pretending I don't believe in them, which I don't, unless they're this.

2. Buy me a print by the girl who played Lavender Brown in Harry Potter who's now a cartoonist. Because I'm obsessed with her. He would know I'm obsessed with her without me telling him because my hypothetical boyfriend is a psychic. But also, if you can't predict that I would be obsessed with a Harry Potter actress turned hipster cartoonist, do you know me at all?

3. Buy me lots of chocolate things, but not because it's Valentine's Day, just because I like chocolate. Have I mentioned chocolate enough in this post? It's possible I'm on an extremely dangerous sugar high from the box of candy that accompanied that meme from my mother. Could someone go ahead and call a doctor just in case?

4. Help me pounce on the 10 AM drop time for Lady Gaga tickets on Monday to make sure that, come hell or high water, I will be at that concert.

4B. Sign a contract binding him to drive me to the aforementioned Lady Gaga concert even if we have broken up by that point, because it is in Boston, I am not driving in Boston, and if you have loved me at any point in your life, you are obligated in perpetuity to help me avoid driving.

5. Not just agree to but, in fact, freely suggest a V-Day movie marathon of charming British rom-coms starring young Hugh Grant and/or of Baz Luhrmann's entire oeuvre.

6. Drink my homemade wine smoothies with me without complaint.

7. Reorganize my sweater drawer for me. Note: If anyone who is not hypothetical would like to come and do this for me, please, be my guest.

8. Memorize and perform a medley of my favorite works from female YouTube slam poets, because this would be hilarious.

9. Alternatively, write a book report on Rebecca Traister's All the Single Ladies: Unmarried Women and the Rise of the Independent Nation. Though I may just make this the essay portion of the "So You Want to Date Sarah Cahalan — Good Luck With That" application packet. TBD.

10. Get me a book deal for the side-splitting collection of essays that our relationship will inevitably inspire. (In addition to being a psychic, my hypothetical boyfriend is incredibly well-connected in the literary world.)

11. Present me with a series of exquisitely wrapped gift boxes. They don't have to have any gifts in them. I just want him to prove himself by way of gift wrap.

12. Take me to the Chinese restaurant down by the Home Depot to finally prove or disprove the rumor I've heard that Yee Dynasty has the hottest karaoke nights in the Granite State.

13. Acquire a time-turner so the two of us can travel back through history and engage in some kind of wacky shenanigan that cements Barry and Uncle Joe in the White House for the rest of time.

14. Promise me that, if he ever does propose, it will go down exactly like this.

Happy disinterred martyr's day, everyone! <3

Resolutions for a New Year

Well, my friends, the awfulness that was 2016 has come to an end. The far worse fate that awaits us under our new Toddler in Chief is only beginning, of course, but that's beside the point. It's a new year! People are going to gyms and not drinking and stuff!

Personally, I've never seen the appeal of New Year's celebrations - something I mean literally, since I am not capable of staying up until midnight basically ever, holidays be damned - but who am I to resist as good a blog prompt as New Year's resolutions?

That's right; I have goals. They are simple, modest goals. And here they are: my resolutions for 2017.

1. Cry over reality TV 5-10% less often. You'd think this would be easy since I no longer get TLC in my cable package and therefore don't have Say Yes to the Dress to get emotional about. But don't doubt me - I've cried over that Amazon imam-and-priest ad more than once. 

2. Take down my Christmas tree some time before the next Advent begins. 

3. Be enough of a grown-up to finally trust myself to own dry shampoo without using it as an excuse to never shower again. 

4. Vacuum. Like, at least once. 

5. Make it through an entire year without breaking a pair of sunglasses. (Note: since all of my sunglasses cost $3.50 off of a spinning rack at Forever 21, this is exceedingly unlikely to happen.) 

6. Officially memorize all the dialogue from Mean Girls, at last. 

7. Correctly predict a JK Rowling Harry Potter revelation before she makes it. Early guess: McGonagall and Trelawney briefly shared a tiny London flat as broke college grads and sooooo many wacky hijinks ensued. 

8. Decide on a new favorite Kardashian now that Khloe is skinny. My current front runner is North.

9. Get a loaf of bread from grocery store to home without smashing it. 

10. Carry hair ties on me more often so I can stop CONSTANTLY DISAPPOINTING MYSELF by thinking I have one and digging around only to discover I DON'T, LIKE AN IDIOT. Not that that happens a lot. 

11. Match the liner on my left eye to the liner on my right someday. Not because I care, necessarily - more just because I'm curious what it's like to have fine motor skills. 

12. Use my stack of cookbooks a few times as something other than a pedestal for my Pop-Tart boxes.

13. Steadily become even more hilarious and fascinating than I already am. 

So there it is, folks. Check back in twelve months to see me at my dry-shampooed, even-eyelinered best. If you need me in the meantime, I'll be in my apartment, watching Khloe Kardashian's Revenge Body instead of working out. Happy 2017!