tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50648197761968069002024-03-20T23:11:24.972-07:00The DomerberrySarah Cahalanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13572215980287357794noreply@blogger.comBlogger122125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064819776196806900.post-35478102930433351462022-10-21T20:00:00.000-07:002022-10-21T20:00:56.221-07:00Domerberry Album Review: Midnights<p>Dear Reader, </p><p>At times in my blogging career, the expectation that I would review every Taylor Swift album has felt like a burden. It's an entirely self-imposed one that I could ignore at any time, of course — and oh, I have (<a href="https://thedomerberry.blogspot.com/2020/12/domerberry-album-review-chromatica.html">lookin' at you, Evermore</a>) — but still. Taylor is not my #1 favorite artist, as controversial as that may be. And as blogging has faded increasingly into more college-days relic than active, current hobby, it has sometimes felt unappealing to dust off the ol' DB just for a TSwift review. </p><p>With Midnights, that reluctance is gone. Folklore and Evermore were fun experiments, and while this record does have its echoes of the Album That Must Not Be Named (Reputation. It's Reputation.), it mostly gets back to good, old-fashioned pop Taylor — and that is a thing worth blogging about.</p><p>If <a href="https://thedomerberry.blogspot.com/2019/08/domerberry-album-review-lover.html" target="_blank">Lover</a> was happy pop Taylor, Midnights is it-is-what-it-is pop Taylor. The album isn't sad per se; that's what the last two were for. But it is heavy. Throughout my first listen — which I did, in fact, stay up late for, thanks to the head start afforded to me by living in Central time — I was struck by how mature it sounds. Not only has Taylor's physical voice matured over time (something we can track most acutely by listening to Taylor's Version re-records of numbers we're used to hearing a teenager sing), but her themes have matured, too. She alludes to disordered eating on this album and to mistreament by an older lover. She talks about high people in ways that imply she's actually been around some. She centered the whole record around insomnia, for Christ's sake, a move that seemed mature even before the music came out, considering that Taylor's cat-lady persona seems more the type to be in bed by 9 than to be up all night agonizing over her struggles and flaws. </p><p>Let's be clear: This album is still commercially ear-wormy pop, and it's still Taylor giving us what she knows we want, which is to have a whole lot of fun when we listen to her. But it's Taylor as an adult, and a pretty actualized one at that — just like we, her age-mate fans, are becoming. </p><p>Of her recent albums, Lover has traditionally been my favorite, but Midnights is giving it a run for its money. Now, that's not an official declaration. (After all, as one of those aforementioned adults, I had to log into my job this morning at 9, and after staying up til midnight for my first listen, I could only squeeze in one more pre-work pass after getting my mandatory several hours of sleep.) Even from my limited listening, though, I can tell this album is special, and I am delighted to walk with you through its highlights.</p><p><b>Lavender Haze</b>: She starts us off with a catchy one, folks, and one that reveals several new ways in which Taylor the Celebrity Is Just Like Us. First off, there's her interest in the color lavender. <i>Hi, fellow girlies who had pastel purple childhood bedrooms! </i>Secondly, there's her <i>dis-</i>interest in marriage. I assumed she was into the concept after "Paper Rings," but this number tells us that she and Joe are just fine unmarried, thankyouverymuch. As someone who's been with her boyfriend-not-husband almost as long as Taylor's been with hers, I agree: one-nights and wives <i>are </i>the only kinds of girls people see — and what a shame. </p><p><b>Anti-Hero</b>: Quick brag here: I started my second listen at 6:53 a.m. today, and therefore, I got to Anti-Hero at the exact moment that its video was premiering on YouTube. I popped over to the Tube, naturally, and wow, that vid was a delight. Put John Early in more things! </p><p>Oh, and yeah, the song's great too or whatever. If you don't relate to "it's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me," I have bad news: You are, in fact, the biggest problem.</p><p><b>Snow on the Beach</b>: This song having a jingle bell backing track is Taylor giving us the Christmas song we all wanted with "'Tis the Damn Season" but, like, very thoroughly did not get. </p><p><b>Midnight Rain</b>: It's been established on this blog that my cheap behind uses the free version of Spotify. Because of this, I'm used to deeply discordant ads blaring at me in the middle of albums, and I cannot lie to you, that's what I thought this song was when it started. Taylor's gettin' a little sonically weird, people! She's also once again getting anti-bride, and while it is a bit "okay, we get it," I'm on board. Neither Taylor nor I have ever heard of gender roles.</p><p><b>Vigilante Sh*t</b>: GUYS. Guys. </p><p>From the first line — "draw the cat eye sharp enough to kill a man" ?!?!?!?! — I was obsessed with this one. It's perfect. The sultry slow-jam vibes are perfect, the rage is perfect, the sudden and inexplicable pivot to crime reporting is perfect...everything is. I'd describe my fashion lately as more "dressing for a sweatpants convention" than "dressing for revenge," but this makes me want to change my ways. For, like, maybe an hour. With this edgy-lite track, she really fed all of us who worshipped emo bands in high school while also being too scared to enter a Hot Topic.</p><p>The only problem here is that Taylor (rudely) released this too late for it to be included in the "Diana on the warpath" season of <i>The Crown </i>coming next month. After all, if Taylor is positioning herself as the current queen of <a href="https://www.marieclaire.co.uk/fashion/princess-diana-revenge-dress-717584" target="_blank">revenge dressing</a>, it's possible only because the onetime actual princess of it is no longer alive.</p><p>If this is not your favorite song on the album, you are wrong, and I'm not sure that we can be friends. </p><p><b>Bejeweled</b>: This is just a really nice, catchy little number. I'm very into it, particularly the lyric suggesting that "I don't remember" is an acceptable, not-unhinged way to answer the question, "Do you have a man?" It's not a manifesto of badassery like the last track, but it's fun — and it gives a delightful bit of retroactive lore to Taylor's (<a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=taylor+swift+vma+dress+2022&sxsrf=ALiCzsbCSp3Qir-KW8ryei_C6JxZmnLMKw:1666377839108&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwi27KSZ_fH6AhUelYkEHZv6Bp4Q_AUoAXoECAIQAw&biw=1352&bih=743&dpr=1.8#imgrc=9hhQJLGuRpNQAM" target="_blank">already frankly iconic</a>) dress from this year's VMAs.</p><p><b>Karma</b>: Remember when people theorized that Disney made a movie called <i>Frozen </i>so people would stop seeing results about Walt cryogenically freezing himself if they Googled "Disney frozen"? This song is Taylor's version (Taylor's Version<span style="background-color: white; color: #4d5156; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">™️) </span>of that. For those who don't know, there's a rumor that Taylor has an unreleased stray album called Karma, which was written around the same time as Reputation. And now, here she comes with a song called "Karma." HMMMM. </p><p>Her bury-the-rumor cause is aided by the fact that this song is a bop. It's fun to listen to, it has fun lyrics, and I envy the kids who can dance to this at their college parties this weekend. Can't wait to...dance to it at my 10-year college reunion, I guess. *insert the sound of my creaking, ancient bones*</p><p><b>Mastermind</b>:<b> </b>She had me in the first half. I was listening to this and thinking, "<i>What if </i>you told me you're a mastermind?" Girl, we know! We been knew! I truly was baffled at the concept that her Machiavellian scheming could be a secret to anyone, even if I did love that she was addressing it so openly. But then — classic Taylor the Storyteller — she gave us that twist at the end where it turns out the guy she's addressing knew all along. That, my friends, was more like it, and it proved once more that our girl Tay truly is the mastermind she claims to be. </p><p><b>Bonus Tracks</b>: It should surprise no one that I did <i>not </i>stay up late enough for Taylor's "3 AM chaotic surprise," so I've had less time to digest the bonus tracks than the original 13. But we need to address the instant scorched-earth classic "Would've, Could've, Should've." First of all, J*hn M*yer is Public Enemy No. 1 (you're off the hook for now, Gyllenhaal), and we need an oral history of his Taylor-related misdeeds, stat. Second, though, let's say this: Notre Dame kids will think that this song is made for them, because religion. They are wrong. It is made for people who are three years out of Notre Dame and have finally encountered their first romantic partner who is either A) an atheist or B) a jerk, but like a secular one, not a jerk who hides behind "I go to daily Mass" nice-boy energy like their exes. This is for the good girls who've been exposed to someone bad, with all the complicated baggage that entails. It is...frankly an extremely dark piece of writing hiding in the guise of a catchy pop tune. Pair this with Sam Smith's <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uq9gPaIzbe8" target="_blank">Unholy</a> for a double feature exploring all the frontiers of your Catholic guilt.</p><p>In summary, folks, Taylor has done it again. This album is banger-filled, it's emotional, and it's adult — just like her and just like us. I can't wait to keep playing it as I go about the business of my 30-year-old-lady life: the parts where I'm working on intimidatingly prominent newspaper journalism and the parts where I'm sitting in my apartment reading two witch-themed romcoms in the span of one October. As Tay Tay would tell us, it's all about balance.</p><p> </p>Sarah Cahalanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13572215980287357794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064819776196806900.post-17019933673210205882020-12-12T14:59:00.000-08:002020-12-12T14:59:59.591-08:00Domerberry Album Review: Chromatica<p>Oh, I'm sorry — were you expecting something else here today? Did you come here looking for a review of <i>another volume</i> of sad songs by a soft girl in the woods from me, a notoriously woods-averse girl who is soft only in ways pertaining to body fat? </p><p>Honey, no. The new Taylor album is one moderately inventive <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IEPomqor2A8" target="_blank">"Goodbye Earl" reboot</a>, one <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zI4DS5GmQWE" target="_blank">decent bluegrass number</a> plucked from a discarded <i>Sweet Home Alabama: The Musical</i> soundtrack, and 13 other songs that will make a fine replacement for Mumford & Sons<i> </i>someday when I'm looking for a rainy-mood album that, instead of reminding me of my carefree days as a college student abroad in Britain, calls to mind the worst year in modern human history. What a treat! </p><p>What we will be discussing today, my friends, is not <i>Evermore </i>but another album. One that represents a return to form for a beloved pop artist instead of a turn away from it. One with the ability to lift you out of your quarantine depression instead of spiraling you so far into it that you become a sentient cross-stitch of a cursive swear word. </p><p>We will be discussing <i>Chromatica. </i></p><p>For those who do not know, <i>Chromatica </i>is the sixth album of Academy Award-winning recording artist Lady Gag<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: times;">á</span></span>. Released in May after a seven-week delay brought on by the misguided belief that seven weeks would be enough time for the whole coronavirus distraction to blow over, it is a dance-pop album with three separate orchestral intro tracks and appearances by Elton John and the megastar girl group Blackpink. It is lightly alien-themed. What more could you want? </p><p>I am the rare Gaga fan who generally enjoyed her countryish <i>Joanne </i>era, but <i>Chromatica </i>marked a triumphant reprisal of the weird, disco-centric Gaga we all know and love. To use a Swiftian metaphor, it was like the relief of hearing <i>Lover </i>after two years dealing with <i>Reputation</i>. "That was fine," we thought, "but thank God she's back." </p><p>For me, the album also carried personal resonance. Thanks to the thin walls in my old apartment and the gays with interesting piercings who lived in the unit above me, <i>Chromatica </i>was my version of Italian people singing to each other from their balconies. I played this record constantly in the month of June, and so did they. As it slowly dawned on us all how long we might remain in lockdown, thumping Gaga beats provided an unspoken social connection, reminding me that, if I couldn't spend time with people, at least there was Stefani Germanotta to share. </p><p>That same thing happened two months later with "WAP," but here on this God-fearing family blog we will pretend that it did not. </p><p>So without further ado, let us travel to the planet Chromatica, one off-kilter club banger at a time. </p><p><b>Stupid Love: </b>Do you like to dance? Do you want to watch a music video where the premise is essentially <i>Legends of the Hidden Temple </i>in space? If you answered yes to either of those questions, then <i>Chromatica</i>'s lead single is for you. This number took me straight back to the days when my dormmates and I would stay up late learning <i>Born This Way</i> choreography — and that, my friends, is a good place to be. </p><p><b>Rain On Me (with Ariana Grande): </b>We are immeasurably blessed to have gotten albums from both of these women in 2020, and unsurprisingly, this center of the <i>Chromatica/Positions </i>Venn diagram may be the best of the two-album bunch. The first shining, post-COVID day when I get to dance to this song in a club will be the happiest day of my life, and I will not apologize for nor recant that statement if/when I eventually get married. </p><p><b>Free Woman: </b>Much like Lady Gaga, I was not single when this came out and am not single now, but this song makes me feel like I am. It's a female empowerment anthem. It's fun to sing. It is the reason my top song in Spotify Wrapped this year was finally something cool instead of an obscure duet from a Pasek and Paul musical.</p><p><b>Fun Tonight: </b>This is an upbeat dance song about how much fun the narrator is not<i> </i>having, featuring the lyric "this moment's hijacked my plans." Could there be a better theme song for this hell-year? Despite your best efforts, Taylor "Sad Girl" Swift, no there could not. </p><p>[Side note: those four songs are tracks 3-6 on <i>Chromatica</i>, and had Gaga released nothing but those, she still would have had the best pop album of the year. I said what I said.]</p><p><b>Chromatica II: </b>Twitter is full of jokes about how great this song is for leading into any number of other songs or activities, and that's fine. But I contend that you haven't truly appreciated "Chromatica II" until you've heard it on a Spotify Free account that transitions straight from those anticipatory final chords into an overly enthusiastic commercial for Chex Mix. Give it a try sometime.</p><p><b>Sour Candy (with Blackpink): </b>If I ever decide to become a K-pop stan, blame this.</p><p><b>Babylon: </b>When I say Weird Gaga is back, y'all, I mean <i>back. </i>This finale song is a voguing number about a gossip battle, featuring a gospel choir, <i>set in ancient Mesopotamia</i>, and it is still a bop. I would say that your faves could never, but genuinely, I would like to see them try.</p><p>To be clear, <i>Evermore </i>is a fine album, just like <i>Folklore </i>was. It certainly proves that Taylor Swift can do <i>Bon Iver </i>even though Justin Vernon could not do <i>Lover. </i>Taylor deserves credit for that, and she is getting it, all over God's green internet. </p><p>But when I listened to music this year, it was because I wanted to sing loud and dance at my desk like I'm at one of those (what's that word again?) parties. <a href="https://genius.com/albums/Dua-lipa/Future-nostalgia" target="_blank">Lots</a> <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Positions_(album)" target="_blank">of</a> <a href="https://genius.com/albums/Little-mix/Confetti" target="_blank">pop girls</a> helped in that effort, but in my opinion, none did it better than my one true queen: Mother Monster.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Sarah Cahalanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13572215980287357794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064819776196806900.post-90702042158361429522020-07-27T17:03:00.001-07:002020-07-28T18:51:49.881-07:00Domerberry Album Review: FolkloreWell, friends, you asked for it — seriously, people really do ask — and now the time has come. Taylor Swift has an eighth album, and I, her indentured fangirl with a blog that gets dusted off for use once a year, have a new product to review. <div><br /></div><div>I'll start with this: <i>Folklore </i>is great! It's definitely my new favorite Sufjan Stevens album! </div><div><br /></div><div>As a Taylor Swift album, though, my feelings on it are mixed. Don't get me wrong — it is undoubtedly one of her best creative works so far. The lyrics are back to absolute peak Taylor, the songwriting is superb, and the whole thing is an astonishingly good first foray into a genre that she's never touched before. The fact that she whipped the album up during a pandemic and the global shutdown of nearly all industries makes it even more impressive. But it isn't quite to my taste. I prefer the happier, poppier Taylor that <i>Lover </i>epitomized so well last summer — so, while <i>Folklore </i>is great, it's unlikely to unseat her prior albums on my list of personal favorites. </div><div><br /></div><div>Oh, and she's doing the lowercase-only thing again. Whatever. We'll be ignoring that here, to no one's surprise, and looking forward to the day when both Taylor and Ariana Grande realize that capital letters are not the enemy.</div><div><br /></div><div>For now, though, let's get to reviewing some songs in album order so we can all the more quickly make our way to "Betty." </div><div><br /></div><div><b>The 1. </b><i>Ahhh</i>. I already told one person this, but truly, when I hit play on this song on Thursday night, it took me exactly eight seconds to have my eyes closed, my chin on my hands, and a closed-lip grin on my face like a smiley baby at a photoshoot. This is a charming little number, and one of the few on the album that doesn't sink me into a dark depression. Cool! </div><div><br /></div><div><b>The Last Great American Dynasty. </b>On my first couple listens to this song, I was unimpressed. I didn't like the "Taylor Sings About Rich Old Ladies" genre when she tried it out with <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ctz9q8uVdf4" target="_blank">that Kennedy song</a> eight years ago, and I didn't figure I'd like it now. But this one is a bop! And it's about one rebellious, socially-shunned woman giving way to another! I can get behind this. Please inquire if, inspired by this song, you would like to join me in dyeing someone's dog green as a prank.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Exile (feat. Bon Iver). </b>Listen. Did I nearly throw my computer across the room when this song started and the voice issuing forth was some ~dude~ instead of Taylor? Yes. But have I turned out to actually enjoy it? Also yes. "You're not my homeland anymore / So what am I defending now?" is a real gut-punch of a lyric and, coincidentally, also what I plan to adopt as my life's mantra when I someday manage to move from the United States to a country that believes in science. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>Mirrorball. </b>You know <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xHh17dTSoN4" target="_blank">that TikTok</a> where the girl is wholesale sobbing but still busting out a choreographed dance? That's me listening to this song, which is technically about a disco, but in a sad way. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>August. </b>This album should have come out exactly one week later, and this song is why. You give us one song with Instagram caption potential, and it's about a month that hasn't started yet? Taylor. Come on.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Illicit Affairs. </b>Zero Taylor Swift fans in history have been involved in illicit affairs. Taylor Swift has not been involved in an illicit affair. But this song has made chain-smoking, jilted mistresses of us all. I <i>do </i>want to scream, "Don't call me kid, don't call me baby!" I've totally done drugs that only worked the first few hundred times! (Disclaimer for my mother and the FBI agent inevitably monitoring my activity online: given that I can't even handle beer, that is very clearly false.) This number has some of the best storytelling on the album in my opinion, and that bridge is Taylor's Golden Gate. Mainline this song. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>Invisible String. </b>The ultra-rare happy <i>Folklore </i>song emerges once more! This too is a charming little number, and I became a human :') emoji when I noticed that someone doing a Twitter thread of <a href="https://twitter.com/inagetawaycar/status/1287211378160197634" target="_blank">"<i>Folklore </i>songs as Mamma Mia"</a> described this one with a picture of Donna and the Dynamos. I don't know about a golden thread connecting romantic partners, but I sure felt my invisible strings being pulled on Thursday night when texts from friends about this album started pouring in. I'm interpreting this number as a friend love song, and I want more of those. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>Mad Woman. </b>Guys, did you know that Taylor says the F-word on this album? <i>A lot?! </i>This angry piece has the best F-bomb of T. Swift's career, and my jaw truly fell on the floor when I heard it. I will not rest until there is merch based on that line. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>Peace </b>(presented out of order for what will soon be obvious reasons)<b>. </b>Setting aside the fact that this song references Taylor one day having children — an inevitability that extremely-childless me is NOT ready for — I found this song to be one of Tay Tay's best ruminations yet on her current relationship. You have mentioned, Taylor, that dating you is <i>sewww hard, </i>given that you're a paparazzi-ridden hot person. You mentioned it on "Ready For It." You mentioned it on "The Archer." But, in this instance, the straightforward question format drove it home in a really genuine, simple way. </div><div><br /></div><div>A bonus advantage to this song is its rich array of potential rhyming parodies. Stay tuned for the Weird Al spin-off for lactose intolerant people, "Would it be enough if I could never give you cheese?" </div><div><br /></div><div><b>Betty. </b>TOP FIVE TAYLOR SONG OF ALL TIME. Maybe top three. I love that this can at least be interpreted as queer, I love that it throws a bone to <a href="https://kaylorevidence.com/" target="_blank">Kaylor truthers</a>, I love that it's old-school Taylor with a guitar — I just love it. Whatever they paid that harmonica player, it wasn't enough. The American national anthem will probably be cancelled sooner or later, and when it is, I propose "Betty" as a replacement. </div><div><br /></div><div>On a serious note, I want to make clear that this album ("Betty" excluded) makes me sad. The sound of it is bleak and moody, the lyrics even more so, and frankly, extra sadness is not what I need in this no-good, very bad year. I'm going to continue listening to <i>Folklore</i>, but I'll probably take breaks from the darker corners of the record — and, if you're feeling at-capacity for bummerdom, I'd suggest you do so, too. The album will still be there next year when we can leave our houses and see our friends again. And in the meantime, you can always go back to laughing at <i>Reputation. </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>Overall, though, I'm thrilled that our benevolent queen gifted us with new music. What a piece of news to wake up to in the middle of this summer from hell! The last time I was surprised with Taylor news this good was 2015, when I won tickets to a concert of hers via Tinder (yes, really). I was job-hunting then just as I am now, and the surprise joy of that 2015 ticket win was followed a few days later by the extra joy of a job offer. Let us hope history repeats itself this year, and that when it does, the new job is signficantly less depressing than this new album. Fingers crossed!</div><div><br /></div><div>Adios 'til the next album, readers. Don't forget your masks.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Sarah Cahalanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13572215980287357794noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064819776196806900.post-51530611070855781992020-06-01T12:31:00.001-07:002020-06-01T12:31:50.399-07:00Let's TalkLike so many others, I am heartbroken by the slaughter of George Floyd and the mistreatment that black people face every day in this country, particularly when it is meted out by those who claim to "protect and serve." <div><br /></div><div>Moreover, I am disgusted that these inequities remain with us after decades of protests and countless calls for change. In the midst of our current unrest, I stand in unwavering support of those who feel that, to make their voices heard, they have to scream. </div><div><br /></div><div>However, I have struggled with what to say with my own voice in these historic times. As much as I may try to educate myself, I am not an expert on racial justice, nor will I ever know firsthand the trials of living in a black body in these United States. Though we should all speak up, it is crucial that we listen most to those who are experts and who have experienced those trials. Moreover, simply posting on social media doesn't feel right for this moment either — it's a start, but it cannot be all we do.</div><div><br /></div><div>So, with that in mind, I want to share three things. </div><div><br /></div><div>First, <a href="https://www.facebook.com/barackobama/posts/10157802011441749">the words of our 44th President, Barack Obama</a>. Read them. Internalize them. Act on them. </div><div><br /></div><div>Second, <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/CA04VKDAyjb/">this guide to how we can take our activism off of the internet and into real life</a>, where hopefully, one day, we can effect real change. </div><div><br /></div><div>And third, an invitation. We can't change anything if we refuse to talk about it. So if you want to talk, I'm here to listen — whether we agree or not. </div><div><br /></div><div>Stay safe. Take care of each other. Let's get through this social studies textbook of a year together.</div><div><br /></div>Sarah Cahalanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13572215980287357794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064819776196806900.post-85802410231697413222019-12-21T19:11:00.000-08:002019-12-21T19:11:12.396-08:00Domerberry Movie Review: CatsWell, friends, you knew it would happen.<br />
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Ever since that horrifying trailer hit the internet so many months ago, I have known that I would, at some point, be going to see the <i>Cats </i>movie. How could I possibly not? Movie musicals are my entire personality. I love abominations against mankind. Taylor Swift is in it! Yes, I knew I would go to see <i>Cats</i>, and a few days ago, it occurred to me that this would be the perfect opportunity to resurrect the Domerberry Movie Review.<br />
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I am pleased to inform you that I was very, very right.<br />
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Tonight, I took myself on a solo date to Logansport's one movie theater to see <i>Cats. </i>(Shoutout to the Price fam for witnessing this extremely normal night in the life of a mentally stable 27-year-old woman!) It was beyond my wildest dreams.<br />
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I'm going to return to that godforsaken trailer for a moment, because if you haven't watched it, I need you to go and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gNTDoOmc1OQ">do that now</a>.<br />
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Did you do it? Excellent. Now, how many questions do you have?<br />
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The answer is likely "thousands." What size are these cats? Why do they have human hands? What poor animals are skinned to make the fur coats of fancy society cats?<br />
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I need you to know that none of these questions are answered in the film. I came into this movie with so, so many questions, and yet I emerged, somehow, with even more. I'll get to that in a minute, but for starters, I will make two small points of praise for this harrowing cinematic experience.<br />
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First, the dancing in it is great. Basically the entire cast except for the big-name leads are professional dancers, and a lot of that work was cool to watch. It reminded me that I should really go watch more professional dance. Second, Jason DeRulo, who played a cat that essentially was Jason DeRulo (right down to <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ywFbpDjpZno">singing its own name repeatedly</a>), was a delight. I have no notes for you, Jason DeRulo. Be in more musicals.<br />
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Unfortunately, my friends, that is where the delight ends!<br />
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I should begin with a quick overview of the premise of this film. <i>Cats </i>is a show about a group of cats who get together for a large party at which a wizened elderly cat will choose one of them to die. That's it! The chosen cat gets "reborn" into a "new life" in a magical land in the sky called the Heaviside Layer, and only one cat gets to go there each year, so naturally, all of the cats are clamoring for it. This raises some very interesting questions about what happens to every other cat in the <i>Cats </i>universe when they die, but whatever. What you need to know is that they throw a ball to figure out who gets to go to cat heaven, and they compete for that death-prize by singing songs about themselves. That is all that happens. Since the only plot element, therefore, is who gets chosen to go to the Heaviside Layer, I will leave that out and talk freely about everything else, since the "plot" is unspoilable save for that one thing.<br />
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Another thing you should know is that a lot of very famous people are in this movie. I don't know how. I don't know why. But Idris Elba, James Corden, Jennifer Hudson, Rebel Wilson, and <i>Ian McKellen and Judi Dench </i>(!!) all make an appearance in this thing, and it's all just too much to bear.<br />
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With all of that in mind, let's dive in to a few of the most distressing parts of the film.<br />
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Rebel Wilson, for instance. You may have noticed from the trailer that some of the cats in <i>Cats </i>wear human clothes and others waltz around naked. That's weird enough. But Rebel Wilson's character starts out looking like a regular, non-clothes-wearing, furry cat, and midway through her big number, she <i>zips off her skin </i>to reveal a second, rhinestone-studded skin WITH HUMAN CLOTHES WORN ON TOP OF IT! I cannot overstate how much I would not advise seeing this movie if you are prone to nightmares.<br />
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Making matters worse, Rebel's song is backed up with a giant chorus of singing cockroaches, each of whom also has a human face. Did I mention she's the first cat to sing her intro song? Because hoo boy does that set things off on the right foot for the rest of this monstrosity.<br />
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The next thing I suppose I should bring up is that these are ~sexy cats~. The internet has been talking about this ad nauseam. I will leave it to you whether you want to open that particular can of worms, but it bears at least mentioning that these cats are making eyes at each other for the duration of the film and it makes me uncomfortable. "What is this rated?" I thought to myself as the lead cat, dropped at the start from a previously high-society family life, immediately and vehemently attempts to seduce every slightly-sketchy street cat she sees. "Is this supposed to be a family film?" It's weird throughout the movie, but it's especially weird when Idris Elba (the criminal cat) finally sings his song. Idris's cat spends the entire movie slinking around the background looking mysterious in a large fur coat and hat, but when it comes time for his musical debut, he strips those and performs in the cat-nude.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Thanks, I hate it!</span></div>
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It's also worth noting that, even if the cats weren't depraved and even if the cat-human-hybrid animation was well done (it isn't), there's something a bit scary on its face about that many cats wandering around.<br />
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Remember that time when I went on a fox hunt in Ireland and ended up literally surrounded by <a href="https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10205635511589782&set=a.10204627496790042&type=3&theater">a sea of identical hounds</a>? Every group scene in <i>Cats </i>was like that, but worse — because while those dogs' owners were around and they therefore could not hurt me, I'm not at all sure that those cats won't hurt me (psychologically) for years to come.<br />
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Next, I feel I must turn to poor Jennifer Hudson. J.Hud sings "Memory" in this movie — that one <i>Cats </i>song that you've heard of, and possibly sung in voice lessons. She did a lovely job. What a voice! Classic Jen.<br />
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However.<br />
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You know how Anne Hathaway won an Oscar for taking that one song that teenage theater girls like from <i>Les Mis </i>and turning it into three minutes of rip-your-guts-out emotion-fest? J.Hud tried to do that with "Memory" too. But <i>Les Mis </i>is an emotional show. <i>Cats </i>is a 101-minute trip on the sparkly catnip drugs that Taylor Swift doses the other cats with near the end of the show. (YEP.) A random gut-wrenching belted high note in the middle of <i>Cats </i>will not an Oscar make. Someone give Jennifer Hudson another role, please. Any other.<br />
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There are many, many more things I could bring up about this movie, but I'll stick to the three remaining items that have stuck most firmly in my psyche.<br />
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First, a brief thought: The fact that Taylor Swift landed a role in what may be the biggest dance movie ever made is proof that 2019 is the year of the scam.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Caroline Calloway is shaking.</span></div>
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Second: This movie ends with the Judi Dench elderly cat staring straight into the audiences' souls and explaining to them how to speak to cats. Phoebe Waller-Bridge did not <a href="https://variety.com/2019/tv/news/fleabag-top-10-season-2-fourth-wall-breaks-1203219021/">cancel the fourth wall</a> for this!! If there's anything worse than the cats staring at each other suggestively, it's the cats staring at me in any capacity at all. Tom Hooper must be stopped.</div>
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Anyway, dear readers, there is one thing that has left me reeling from this film more than any other. I think humans, in the <i>Cats </i>universe, do not exist. The thing is set in London, yet businesses around the city are renamed with cat references. "The Grand Feral Hotel." "Milk Bar" — and not the Christina Tosi kind. There's evidence that humans existed at some point. Their trash is everywhere. But I get the distinct feeling that something sinister has happened to them. The buildings are all decaying. One entire scene takes place in a mansion that appears to have been abandoned Roanoke-style, table still set for dinner and drawers left half-open. They reference Queen Victoria constantly, yet the setting seems to be the 1920s.</div>
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Something terrible has happened to the human race in the world of this movie. Watch your housecats, people. It's coming for us next.</div>
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<br />Sarah Cahalanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13572215980287357794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064819776196806900.post-89110224261472685142019-08-23T19:18:00.001-07:002019-08-23T19:18:36.402-07:00Domerberry Album Review: LoverWhen I left my apartment for work this morning, I discovered a charming surprise outside my neighbor's door. Sometime in the 12 hours since I'd last walked past, a vase full of pretty pastel flowers had been delivered.<br />
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On a normal day, I might be jealous of such a sweet little gesture — but not today. Because I also had a pastel-colored, lovey-dovey surprise delivered overnight last night, along with everyone else on earth: the seventh studio album of one Ms. Taylor Swift.<br />
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Friends, this album is good. Because of my years-old contract with Satan stating that my blog must come out of hiatus every time Taylor releases new music, I would be writing this post even if <i>Lover </i>were bad. But fortunately for us all, it isn't. <i>Lover </i>is a g*sh d*rn delight.<br />
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Back when <i>1989 </i>came out, I feared that the all-pop Taylor lacked the songwriting oomph of her country days — and <i>Reputation </i>hardly assuaged my concerns. Did I spend the better part of $200 last year on tickets and costumes for the <i>Rep </i>tour's Chicago show? Yes. Did I still feel like the whole era was some Babysitter's Club version of a goth fever dream? Also yes. I could tell from the first single that this TS7 era would have the friendly, vintage-Taylor aesthetic I'd been missing, but the jury was out on the music. Seven years after <i>Red, </i>would this finally be the Taylor album I could sit back and enjoy?<br />
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The answer is yes — and not a minute too soon.<br />
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The recession people have been talking about? That's cancelled. The patriarchy? Done. The old Taylor came to the phone today, and when she answered, she said "GAY RIGHTS." Like Marianne Williamson at the presidential debates, girlfriend, this album has a message, and that message is love.<br />
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In the midst of our long national nightmare, Taylor Swift has decided that happiness is back.<br />
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<b>I Forgot That You Existed. </b>I love this song. I cannot listen to it enough times. Some people are calling it a roast, and, like, sure. Calvin who? I get it. But it's also just relatable. It's a great feeling to finally move on from someone who used to ruin your life! This song made me <i>grin</i>, and, as we know, I am not a grinner. The theme of this number may be indifference, but I am not indifferent to this jam. It is fantastic.<br />
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<b>Lover. </b>Listen, when this was released as a single, I was pretty neutral on it. It grew on me more once the video came out, and now that I hear it in context, it's grown even more. It's a love song! It's a cute little old-Taylor love song, and I for one accept this return to form with open arms.<br />
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That said, the meme of <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fWvTy76oV-U">that girl trying kombucha for the first time</a> is now all of us who must bounce between <i>Thank U, Next</i>-era Ariana Grande (set your boyfriend on fire!) and <i>Lover</i>-era T. Swift (tattoo his name on your face!). It's a confusing time.<br />
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<b>The Man. </b>Has she mentioned she's a Democrat now?<br />
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<b>Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince. </b>As someone who dated exactly zero people as an actual teen, this song (a bop) is a great way to pretend I understand adolescent love. It also, given the title similarity to Half-Blood Prince, has intoxicating potential for <i>Harry Potter </i>crossover fanfic...in case you're wondering why no one in high school wanted to date me.<br />
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<b>Paper Rings. </b>This is another great song. A jam and a half! We love an upbeat pop moment that also includes casual references to waking up in the night to watch someone breathe. In seriousness, this is one of my favorites on the album, though you've been warned — if you invite me to your wedding in the next three to six months, I will make you swear on <i>Gender Trouble </i>that this song didn't peer-pressure you into matrimony.<br />
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<b>London Boy. </b><a href="http://thedomerberry.blogspot.com/2017/11/domerberry-album-review-reputation.html">I said it in 2017</a> and I'm saying it again: WE GET IT, TAYLOR. BRITISH GUYS ARE HOT.<br />
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<b>Soon You'll Get Better (feat. Dixie Chicks). </b>I know people have been loving this one, but I'm not gonna lie...I was hoping the Dixie Chicks collab would be a little Dixie Chicks-er. Call me in a few weeks when y'all have recorded a remix of "Goodbye, Earl."<br />
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<b>False God. </b>This song exists already, it is called "Take Me to Church," and I refuse to listen to any imitations. Moving on!<br />
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<b>You Need to Calm Down. </b>This feels like a good time to mention that, for me, Taylor's newfound activism is pretty satisfactory. It's not perfect — this video in particular felt a bit convenient to release mid-Pride — but I think it's a net positive that one of the biggest pop stars in the world has decided to use her platform for a cause or two. And if you disagree, well, Ms. Taylor has a song title for you!<br />
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<b>ME! (feat. Brendon Urie). </b>You guys. A Panic! at the Disco collab that also includes <i>an interlude about spelling </i>is about as on-brand as you can get for Sarah Cahalan. I know that most people didn't really like this song, but those people are incorrect. Also incorrect is the album's decision to omit the line, "Hey kids! Spelling is fun!"<br />
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<b>Daylight. </b>:')<br />
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My only complaint with this album is the last 45 or so seconds. The voice memo she ends this thing with is painfully cheesy, and, being who I am as a person, I fundamentally disagree with her premise. The things I hate are absolutely what I want to be defined by. In fact, that's kind of my whole schtick.<br />
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But, right now, being defined by love is Taylor's. And I don't hate that at all.<br />
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<br />Sarah Cahalanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13572215980287357794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064819776196806900.post-28321330990495463142018-07-10T18:06:00.000-07:002018-07-10T18:06:18.426-07:009 Reasons Why Justin Bieber Should Marry Me InsteadHello, everyone. As usual, it's been a number of months since you last saw me here on the blog, but the magnitude of the news this week has compelled me to return.<br />
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<i>What news story is she referring to?</i>, you may wonder.<br />
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<i>The Supreme Court pick? </i>No. My only comment on that is that I wish it had been one of the Notre Dame grads on the shortlist so I could have finagled a work trip where I got to breathe the same air as RBG.<br />
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<i>Those Thai kids in a cave? </i>Also no. Elon Musk was involved, and when I hear the words "Elon Musk," I stop listening.<br />
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No, friends, the news I'm referring to is the biggest news of all: Justin Bieber's engagement. Suspending whatever good judgment he had left, the Biebs proposed this weekend to his girlfriend of roughly three minutes, Hailey Baldwin. Hailey is apparently a model, but mostly, she is a Baldwin. I wish them all the best and everything, but let's be honest — if Justin Bieber was going to get engaged, it shouldn't have been to Kendall Jenner's Friend. It shouldn't have been to Selena Gomez, either. It should have been to me. I have a <a href="http://thedomerberry.blogspot.com/2016/12/domerberry-album-review-bieber.html">longstanding relationship</a> with the Biebster, and I firmly believe he should have chosen me over Generic Blonde Person. Here are my reasons why.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6UJwCD19QNJzJ2C-u_a1F3f6WEqPTpZHZAPdI4SMN5N_AWNSMgFLK1_uW2CM4oUYDBnD0H3WlpnqnI8kDtOjMrz2Ku-NvdSMZcrdwyUpcr6YGzht4ybsFtxCqmKvVn6vehyphenhyphen7SxgjOBaE/s1600/581235_3823393426033_402080568_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6UJwCD19QNJzJ2C-u_a1F3f6WEqPTpZHZAPdI4SMN5N_AWNSMgFLK1_uW2CM4oUYDBnD0H3WlpnqnI8kDtOjMrz2Ku-NvdSMZcrdwyUpcr6YGzht4ybsFtxCqmKvVn6vehyphenhyphen7SxgjOBaE/s320/581235_3823393426033_402080568_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My beloved roommate on our first day together: May 5, 2012.</td></tr>
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1. <b>Justin and I have lived together for more than six years. </b>Can Hailey say that? No she cannot. Talk to me when Justin's constant presence in the corner of your apartment has scared all of your family and friends, Alec's Niece.<br />
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2. <b>I live in a relatively small town. </b>Justin apparently <a href="http://www.vulture.com/2017/10/justin-bieber-montclair-new-jersey-summer-2017.html">likes hanging out in those</a>, shopping at Target, eating fro-yo, dodging the paps. We could do all of those things in South Bend. It's fate.<br />
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3. <b>My sole connection to Selena is that time I saw her from across the stadium at a Notre Dame game, when she mostly was an obstacle blocking my sight line to Taylor Swift. </b>Not saying Hailz is necessarily <i>more </i>connected to Selena, but like, statistically, he's a whole lot less likely to run into her or her friends when hanging out with me.<br />
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4. <b>I, too, have heard of Jesus. </b>The only thing Justin is a Belieber in these days is Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. I spent several weeks in elementary school teaching my classmates how to say the Lord's Prayer in Ubbi Dubbi. We are meant to be. Hailey is apparently also a baby Christian of some sort (having recently begun attending Justin's <strike>nightclub</strike> church, Hillsong), but I've heard that same phrase used to describe Donald Trump, so clearly it doesn't mean much.<br />
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5. <b>My hair is distressingly similar to Post Malone's. </b>Posty is Justin's best friend; Justin clearly likes frizzy-haired brunettes; I am one of those. Next.<br />
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6. <b>I really, really want Canadian citizenship, oh please God, Justin Trudeau, let me in away from this dumpster-fire-on-the-deck-of-the-Titanic of a country. </b>I haven't figured out yet how this benefits the Biebs, but it is one of the leading ways in which the Biebs benefits me.<br />
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7. <b>I'm a journalist! </b>This may sound like an anti-reason, but what I mean is that I have a strong enough hold on journalistic ethics that I would never leak/sell our personal matters to tabloids. That said, I make no promises for the ethics of the dozen friends and random acquaintances I tell all of my secrets to.<br />
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8. <b>You need someone older and wiser, telling you what to dooo-oo. </b>This poor mess of a child clearly needs some gender-swapped "Sixteen Going on Seventeen" guidance in his life from a somewhat responsible older woman, and, as a 26-year-old who occasionally recycles, I can provide that. I will tolerate none of his DUI nonsense. And, unlike the supposedly helpful older party in the <i>Sound of Music </i>song, I actually <i>hate </i>the Nazis.<br />
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9. <b>I have no particular desire to get married. </b>Want to come to your senses and bail before the wedding day, Justin? Look no further than lil' old marriage-skeptical me. Truly a match made in Scooter Braun's dreams.<br />
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Watch out, Less Totalitarian Ivanka Lookalike. You just got Despacitowned.<br />
<br />Sarah Cahalanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13572215980287357794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064819776196806900.post-77603855019062176002018-03-13T17:57:00.001-07:002018-03-13T17:57:33.747-07:00Domerberry Year Review: 25A couple of years ago, Queen Adele I of Tottenham released an album called <i>25, </i>ostensibly chronicling her 25th year of life. Adele and I, despite both being delightful plus-sized ladies with golden voices and dazzling senses of humor, have little in common. At 25, she had a baby; I had one four-inch-wide succulent, which I store in a small pot with googly eyes. She had sold 40 million albums; I had sold a ten-pack of thank you cards via my on-again off-again craft business once or twice. <br />
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But I recently finished my 25th year, and just as I <a href="http://thedomerberry.blogspot.com/2015/11/domerberry-album-review-25.html">reviewed Adele's </a><i><a href="http://thedomerberry.blogspot.com/2015/11/domerberry-album-review-25.html">25</a>, </i>I figure I had better review my own.<br />
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<b>March: </b>I celebrated my birthday last year with a whirlwind trip to Dublin, which sounds hard to top because it is. But I also began my first day as a 25-year-old violently ill from a late-night batch of garlic cheese chips, so, like, it wasn't <i>that </i>auspicious a start to the year.<br />
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<b>April: </b>Fresh off the heels of having all of my wisdom teeth removed, I survived an April Fool's Day blizzard - foot of snow and all - all by my lonesome, and I bought my first bodysuit. I may not be wise anymore, but I am fashionable. A fair trade.<br />
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<b>May: </b>My sister graduated from college. She had a better GPA than I had in college, but I had a better seat at her graduation, so it evens out. Later that month, I had a Memorial Day reunion with an old friend, which involved good Indian food and even better Primark shopping. May was good.<br />
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<b>June: </b>June was even better. I received the coolest pair of jeans I've ever owned, hand-painted by my very talented artist cousin, and began wearing them everywhere so as to ceaselessly fish for compliments. I went to New York and got to watch my parents' choir perform at Carnegie Hall, see the best lady-created show in Broadway history (<i>Waitress, </i>duh), take my first SoulCycle class, and eat at Momofuku Nishi. And at the end of June, as you all know, I discovered my secret passion: ATVing.<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Eat my dust, or something</span></div>
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<b>July: </b>In the first 96 hours of July, I watched two friends get married, attended what was easily the best wedding reception in Morris Inn history, went to the Backer, and spent three full days solo-dining and street-art-peeping my way around Quebec City. At the end of July, BFF in tow, I climbed a mountain and paid my first and only visit to the best nightclub on earth, Whiskeys 20. I miss you, Whiskeys 20. I miss you so.<br />
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<b>August: </b>I watched my Irish wife marry the love of her life and took my Irish choir director to the Indiana State Fair. I glamped. I piloted an ATV and a stand-up paddleboard, and no one died either time. Successful month.<br />
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<b>September: </b>Listen guys, in September last year I went on a solo date to the Lady Gaga Joanne tour and then spent a week in Iceland. I could try and describe those two things, but whatever I'd say would not do them justice, so I'll just leave you with this never-before-seen selfie of me in a Gaga muscle tee. I'm sorry and you're welcome.<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Behold, the headshot I will use if I ever need to apply to a lesbian biker gang</span></div>
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<b>October: </b>Moved across the country, by car, by myself. (Everyone who has ever met me should appreciate what a miracle it is that this went semi-successfully.) At the tail end of said move, arrived in South Bend just in time for USC weekend. Backered again. Another excellent month.<br />
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<b>November: </b>WENT TO PUERTO RICO! Yes, that's right, it's another shameless plug! You should <a href="https://www.hispanicfederationunidos.org/">donate</a>! You should vacation there (and take me with you)! While you're at it, you should <a href="https://magazine.nd.edu/news/puerto-rico-rising/">read my story</a>!<br />
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Oh, and also in November, I won $250 on pull-tab lottery cards on Thanksgiving Eve at a Logansport bar, and I will never forget the look of rage and disbelief on my jock ex-classmates' faces as long as I live.<br />
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<b>December: </b>I'm sure other things happened in December, but look, I spent New Years Eve at a ping-pong nightclub, so I'm kind of on a one-track mind when it comes to this month. Here I am in a bathtub full of ping-pong balls. Normal night!<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">2k18, everyone.</span></div>
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<b>January: </b>It never got warmer than roughly three degrees in January, so, like, let's just pretend this month never happened.<br />
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<b>February: </b>A few short weeks ago, I spent a long weekend in Denver and, going against type, didn't hate one second of it. There was wedding dress shopping with a group where no one is engaged. There was fancy Italian food. There was curling. It was heavenly. February also involved several dozen home-baked cookies, three rounds of speech meet judging, two hours of Roxane Gay lecture right here in the town where I live now, and one Galentine's Day party, all of which made it a wonderful lead-in to...<br />
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<b>March. </b>Spent a lot of time with a lot of cool people. Booked my first trip to South America. Smiled a lot. Turned 26.<br />
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Friends, it's been a good year. Here's to another one.<br />
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<i></i>Sarah Cahalanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13572215980287357794noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064819776196806900.post-67639898898684399542017-11-28T17:30:00.000-08:002017-11-28T17:30:12.742-08:00Domerberry Album Review: ReputationWell, 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 href="http://domerberryinternational.blogspot.com/2014/10/domerberry-album-review-1989.html">a thing</a> that happens <a href="http://thedomerberry.blogspot.com/2012/10/domerberry-album-review-red.html">on my blog</a>. 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.<br />
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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?." <br />
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But pop music is fun, and the burning trash heap that is 2017 is terrible, so I don't know, LET ME HAVE THIS!<br />
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On the whole, this album is better than I feared it would be after hearing the first two singles. The trend from <i>1989 </i>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>I know these lyrics are silly, </i>she seems to be saying, <i>because remember? I'm silly too. </i>The old Taylor seems not dead but hiding, and if you dig deep enough behind the autotune, you'll find her.<br />
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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.<br />
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And now, to quote from a much <strike>better</strike> different pop album that's come out recently, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-l5G5BT8-fQ">heeeere we go</a>!<br />
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<b>"End Game" - </b>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?<br />
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<b>"I Did Something Bad" - </b>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.<br />
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<b>"Look What You Made Me Do" - </b>"I'm Too Sexy," <a href="https://media1.tenor.com/images/8b6fff2b4a0c0248700071d3f7f8b0e8/tenor.gif?itemid=4042081">but then make it</a> Halloween. Moving on.<br />
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<b>"King of My Heart" and "Call It What You Want" - </b>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.<br />
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<b>"Dancing With Our Hands Tied" - </b>This song...is catchy? And...lyrically sound? All at <i>once? </i>What I did to deserve this gift I may never know. I will overlook the similarity of this title to Legally Blonde's <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gtABzqLM2Ps">"and we dance without moving our arms."</a><br />
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<b>"Dress" - </b>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.<br />
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<b>"This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things" - </b>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.<br />
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<b>"New Year's Day" - </b>The old Taylor <i>can</i> come to the phone right now. Thank you, old Taylor. Never change.<br />
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So, my little snake-emoji nation, those are my thoughts. And while you're here...<br />
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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. <a href="https://www.hispanicfederationunidos.org/">The Hispanic Federation</a> 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 <a href="http://www.sagrado.edu/en/sagrado-with-you/">here</a>.<br />
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Enjoy your Taylor Swift! Donate to PR! Your <i>reputation</i> will get a big boost with me if you do.<br />
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...Get it?<br />
<br />Sarah Cahalanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13572215980287357794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064819776196806900.post-30742215514234265452017-07-09T16:41:00.000-07:002017-07-09T18:05:12.054-07:00Sarah, Queen of ATVsIf 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.<br />
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For two days at the end of last month, I was headed to the northern tip of New Hampshire to go ATVing.<br />
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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?<br />
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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.<br />
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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."<br />
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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.<br />
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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?"<br />
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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.<br />
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Needless to say, when it came time for our half-day ride, my confidence level was through the roof.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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This actually wasn't terrible.<br />
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There was a pleasant breeze. The views were bananas. And I was exploring the great outdoors without exerting a single ounce of effort!<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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And, to my shock, things were once again...pretty fun!<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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She skipped me.<br />
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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."<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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Friends, we made it.<br />
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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.<br />
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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!<br />
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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 <strike>said</strike> lied that he was "impressed" with my driving. You bring the rosary beads.Sarah Cahalanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13572215980287357794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064819776196806900.post-9066777622030846062017-02-07T18:44:00.001-08:002017-02-07T18:46:56.633-08:00Romantic Things My Boyfriend Would Do For Me For Valentine's Day If He ExistedAh, 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.<br />
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But what if I <i>did </i>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. </div>
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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. </div>
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1. Help me come up with a fake engagement story so I can trick the salespeople at <a href="http://www.bhldn.com/">BHLDN</a> 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 <a href="http://www.tiffany.com/engagement/rings/tiffany-co-schlumberger-rope-ring?trackpdp=bg&origin=engagement&search_params=param+0/0/0/0/0/0/GRP10066">this</a>.<br />
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2. Buy me a print by the girl who played Lavender Brown in Harry Potter who's now a <a href="https://www.jessiedoodles.com/">cartoonist</a>. 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?<br />
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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?<br />
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4. Help me pounce on the <a href="http://www.ticketmaster.com/Lady-Gaga-tickets/artist/1249444">10 AM drop time</a> for Lady Gaga tickets on Monday to make sure that, come hell or high water, I will be at that concert.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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6. Drink my homemade wine smoothies with me without complaint.<br />
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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.<br />
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8. Memorize and perform a medley of my favorite works from female YouTube slam poets, because this would be hilarious.<br />
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9. Alternatively, write a book report on Rebecca Traister's <i>All the Single Ladies: Unmarried Women and the Rise of the Independent Nation. </i>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.<br />
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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.)<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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 <a href="http://gag.fm/uploads/posts/t/l-13798.jpg">Barry and Uncle Joe</a> in the White House for the rest of time.<br />
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14. Promise me that, if he ever does propose, it will go down exactly like <a href="http://www.eonline.com/news/827416/celine-dion-accidentally-photobombed-this-couple-s-engagement-and-her-reaction-is-priceless">this</a>.<br />
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Happy disinterred martyr's day, everyone! <3<br />
<br />Sarah Cahalanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13572215980287357794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064819776196806900.post-81172811799468963982017-01-06T17:17:00.001-08:002017-01-07T19:40:35.915-08:00Resolutions for a New YearWell, 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!<br />
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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?</div>
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That's right; I have goals. They are simple, modest goals. And here they are: my resolutions for 2017.</div>
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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 <i>Say Yes to the Dress</i> to get emotional about. But don't doubt me - I've cried over that Amazon imam-and-priest ad more than once. </div>
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2. Take down my Christmas tree some time before the next Advent begins. </div>
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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. </div>
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4. Vacuum. Like, at least once. </div>
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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.) </div>
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6. Officially memorize all the dialogue from <i>Mean Girls</i>, at last. </div>
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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. </div>
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8. Decide on a new favorite Kardashian now that Khloe is skinny. My current front runner is North.</div>
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9. Get a loaf of bread from grocery store to home without smashing it. </div>
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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. </div>
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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. </div>
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12. Use my stack of cookbooks a few times as something other than a pedestal for my Pop-Tart boxes.</div>
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13. Steadily become even more hilarious and fascinating than I already am. </div>
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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 <i>Revenge</i> <i>Body</i> instead of working out. Happy 2017! </div>
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Sarah Cahalanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13572215980287357794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064819776196806900.post-7100328544733447892016-12-17T17:02:00.003-08:002016-12-17T17:04:49.853-08:00Domerberry Album Review: The Bieber Christmas CDIf you know anything about me, you know that I have a deep and abiding love for one Mr. Justin Bieber. If you know lots<i> </i>of things about me, then you may be aware that one thing and only one thing plays on my car stereo during the Christmas season, and that thing is Justin Bieber's flawless 2011 holiday album, <i>Under the Mistletoe. </i><br />
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From whenever I remember the album exists until somewhere in the week after Christmas, the other four slots of my 5-CD changer are ignored — sorry, A*Teens and discs one and two of <i>Hamilton </i>— and my little black two-door becomes a 24/7 rolling homage to the Christmas tunes of the Biebs.<br />
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You may have been vaguely aware that a Bieber Christmas album existed, but have you ever really given it a listen? With Christmas barely a week away, now is the perfect time to explore this pop music masterpiece — and, being the benevolent servant leader that I am, I thought I'd take this opportunity to prepare you for this special musical journey.<br />
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Without further ado, enjoy this tour of the highlights of holiday music's magnum opus.<br />
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<b>Mistletoe: </b>Though confusingly not quite the title number of this album, this number is <i>Under the Mistletoe</i>'s spiritual center. Have you forgotten how insane Beliebers went for the video for this song? Let me <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LUjn3RpkcKY">remind you</a>. This video has everything. 17-year-old Justin at his middle-aged lesbian-resembling peak. Not one but two pairs of fingerless gloves. Subtle product placement for Justin's "Someday" eau de parfum. A Christmas card to his love interest that he signs with his first and last name. That this video only has 258 million views is a tragedy.<br />
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<b>The Christmas Song (Chestnuts Roasting On An Open Fire): </b>This is a duet with Usher. What else do you even need to know? Forget the street-food vendors; chestnuts can find all the roasting they need in front of a speaker spitting the rifftastic fire of this smooth Christmas jam.<br />
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<b>Santa Claus Is Coming to Town: </b>If I ever get into a snow- or ice-related fender bender, assume it is because I was too busy bopping to this song to pay attention to road conditions. You are soulless if this song doesn't make you tap your elfin-shod toes.<br />
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<b>All I Want for Christmas Is You (SuperFestive!) Duet with Mariah Carey: </b>First of all, yes, friends, that is the full title of this song. SuperFestive indeed.<br />
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Secondly, this song is sacred and it is an affront to all things yuletide that Justin Bieber was allowed to appropriate it for this album. No further commentary.<br />
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<b>Drummer Boy: </b>Have you ever wanted to have a teen bad boy with a DUI conviction and a 90s star with multiple assault collars rap at you about giving to charity? If so, you're in luck! Cut to the three-minute mark to hear to Justin's philanthropy tirade, or listen to the whole song to catch the other two lyric nuances I want to point out in this unfortunately catchy number.<br />
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First, note that, as with our president-elect's hands, there's nothing "little" about this drummer boy. In Bieber's world, the dude who showed up with nothing but a snare solo for the Virgin Mother and newborn Christ was not a "little drummer boy" but just a regular drummer boy. Spring for some myrrh next time, "adult."<br />
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Second, just bask in the glory for a second of the following line, which ends Busta Rhymes' guest verse:<br />
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"People everywhere ****<i>and all our Twitter followers****, </i>Merry Christmas, Kwanzaa, Happy Hannukah!"<br />
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Italics and incredulous asterisks mine. Lack of Kwanzaa adjective Busta's.<br />
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<b>Christmas Eve: </b>This song is the sexy Nativity R&B slow jam sung by an underage Canadian teen you didn't know you needed.<br />
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<b>Home This Christmas: </b>I noticed something about this song this year. Justin was 17 when this song came out and sounds it — or younger, depending how generous you're feeling. The chick from the Band Perry, who sings the girl's part of the duet, was 28 and sounds 40. When the track started playing, I thought, "Oh, this is a mother-son home for the holidays thing. Cute!"<br />
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Then they launched into the chorus, which begins with, "I'll be waiting under the mistletoe."<br />
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Hmm.<br />
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<i>Eh, maybe it's just to keep with the mistletoe motif?</i>, I wondered. They continued.<br />
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"When the only gift that I really need is to have your arms wrapped around me."<br />
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...<i>They could be hugging</i>. The bridge begins.<br />
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"I'm praying that you make it home tonight / So we can lay down by the fireside / You and I, til Christmas morning."<br />
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<i>Oooohhh. </i><br />
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Honestly, the most disconcerting part is not that they have a woman 11 years Justin's senior playing his love interest — get down witcha cougar self, girl — it's that they take two and a half minutes to make it clear she's not his mom! If you're gonna write a love song duet for an alto-singing teen boy, maybe don't kick it off with an emphysemic country singer waiting by the window hoping her young male duet partner drives safely! This song is <a href="https://www.buzzfeed.com/awesomer/the-best-part-of-waking-up?utm_term=.rwDOK3QAM#.iaRAvVX8Z">2009 Folgers commercial</a> levels of creepy guy-girl Christmas relations. Darn it for still being catchy.<br />
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<b>Silent Night: </b>Justin Bieber would like you to know that he knows Christmas is about Jesus. He's also edgy because he makes changes like "vir-gi-i-in" rather than "vi-ir-gi-in." But mostly he's Christian. Thanks, Justin!<br />
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<b>BONUS TRACK ALERT! </b><br />
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Okay, so yes, <i>Under the Mistletoe </i>does have a deluxe edition with some bonus tracks, but I don't know them (meaning they don't matter) and they are not what I am referring to.<br />
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What I am referring to is Celine Dion's cover of Sara Bareilles and Ingrid Michaelson's "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xL0HndB3O7U">Winter Song</a>." If you're looking for more grade-A Canadian seasonal music — or even if you're not — you need this number in your life.<br />
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There's no joke here. Seriously. Just go listen to it, because it's brand new and not enough people know about its life-changing powers. Have a Celine moment. Your pre-holiday stress will melt away.<br />
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In the meantime, I'll be sitting in my apartment dreading the hour I'll have to spend in the morning shoveling dozens of cubic feet of snow off my car before I can get back to my natural December state of listening to <i>Under the Mistletoe </i>in the front seat of my Focus. Merry Christmas, adjective-less Kwanzaa, and Happy Hannukah, all my Twitter followers!<br />
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<br />Sarah Cahalanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13572215980287357794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064819776196806900.post-90118247397086644792016-11-30T19:26:00.001-08:002016-11-30T19:26:05.874-08:00Logansport LessonsLast week, I headed home to Logansport for an extended Thanksgiving break. Ol' L-town is always full of surprises, but I learned quite a few lessons on this latest six-day sojourn. From the bars of Erie Avenue to the drive-up window of La Casita de Pupusas, each corner of the 46947 had wisdom to impart this holiday - and, in my generosity, I am here to pass it on to you.<div><br></div><div>My first Logansport Lesson is that gambling is fun, but, like, so is an advent calendar. </div><div><br></div><div>You'll be shocked, I'm sure, to hear that I have never participated in any gambling or lottery-related activities. I, after all, keep a tight budget I have to stick to by running my pantry down to half a bag of orzo so I can spend $130 on loafers. </div><div><br></div><div>But, while out at the so-called Logan bars on the Thanksgiving-eve holiday known as Blackout Wednesday, a stack of pull-tab lotto tickets ended up at my table. If you don't know, these odd little vice devices are small cards with five tabs you snap back to reveal images - exactly like you do with a cardboard advent calendar. As with a slot machine, if your images match, you win a small amount of money. A classmate of mine bought a few cards from a vending machine, and a few of us set to work pulling off the tabs. </div><div><br></div><div>OH MY GOD THAT'S FUN. </div><div><br></div><div>Pulling apart bits of perforated cardboard is the perfect activity for a nail-biting, trash-folding sentient ball of nervous tics like me. For a brief moment, I understood why people enjoy gambling.</div><div><br></div><div>Somewhere around my hundredth tab, though, I realized I was getting no thrill at all from the increasingly slim chance of winning $5; I just liked the cat toy. My classmate dropped $60 on these things without winning a cent, and I reverted to my usual state of smugness, safe in the knowledge that I could have just at much fun at home with a leftover Pop-Tart box and some masking tape. Suck on that, lottery industrial complex!</div><div><br></div><div>Logansport Lesson number two is that, sometimes, when you leave your small, rural hometown for a while, it attempts to become a miniature foodie paradise in your absence. We'd already added token Thai place Dhing's to our existing restaurant selections (Applebee's and a local joint the kids call El Mexican), and now we've added a brand new bakery, a downtown fudge shop, and a pupusa stand. PUPUSAS, PEOPLE! I am a card-carrying pupusa obsessive, and now I can buy face-sized ones for $2 apiece from a drive-thru every time I visit my parents. God is real.</div><div><br></div><div>Finally, the third Logansport Lesson of this trip came from the recently resurrected Light Up Logansport parade. That lesson is that small-town parades are the best thing ever. We had the Children's Choir (led by my permanently hypothermic mother, who had the bright idea to avoid the cold by driving my dad's sedan as a pace car). We had two grown women in footie pajamas walking a horse they'd covered in glitter. We had the Shriners.</div><div><br></div><div>I don't know if Shriners do this in all small-town parades or just ours, but, in Logansport parades, the Shrine Club is known for traveling the route on motorized rickshaws that they spin around in little formations. While wearing fez hats. Don't ask me to explain.</div><div><br></div><div>This year, though, the Shriner entry in the parade was better than ever. One of the Shriners had somehow gotten his rickshaw stuck in reverse. While his club mates ran through their figure eights, this man rode backwards all the way down the East Broadway bike lane apologetically explaining to people that he couldn't get his vehicle turned around. I thought this was the best thing I'd ever seen. </div><div><br></div><div>Then I saw the llamas.</div><div><br></div><div>Yes, folks, this parade had llamas. I saw the sign for the Cass County 4-H Llama and Alpaca Club coming from a block or so away, and, in a moment pulled straight from a sitcom, I said out loud, "Yesssss, the alpaca club! Wouldn't it be great if they had their--"</div><div><br></div><div>My jaw basically fell off my face when I saw that the alpaca club had indeed brought their alpacas. This group of teens was literally <i>parading</i> <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">two Kuzcos, covered in Christmas lights, through downtown.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Keep your seven wonders, my friends. The best things on earth are happening in Logansport.</span></div>Sarah Cahalanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13572215980287357794noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064819776196806900.post-91857616739394128922016-11-13T19:45:00.000-08:002016-11-13T19:45:33.789-08:00A Simple Guide to Self-CareAre you feeling bummed out? Perhaps your boyfriend dumped you? You didn't get into your third choice law school? Maybe you lost some money in a bet on something like, oh, I don't know, an election!<br />
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No matter the reason, if something's got you down and, like me, you're way too poor/cheap for therapy, you need a plan to drag yourself out of your slump. And you're in luck, readers - I've got one.<br />
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Follow these simple suggestions, dear friends, and you'll be feeling like a million bucks in no time.<br />
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How do I know they work, you ask? Why, I've done all of them! In the past five days! And if there's one person you should model your emotional well-being after, it is definitely me.<br />
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Step 1. Attempt to manually unfollow basically every one of your Facebook friends. Do this so quickly, thoroughly, and mindlessly that Facebook bans you from blocking people when you're halfway through your list. Now, instead of seeing political posts or life updates from people you only mildly care about, you'll see every single update, like, and comment from the totally random people you weren't able to block before Zuckerberg brought the hammer down on you. Hope you're ready to see every meme that your old summer camp acquaintance tags his roommate in! <br />
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Step 2. Buy yourself a ticket to your earliest local screening of <i>Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them</i> this Thursday. You will go alone and eat popcorn and a slushie for dinner. It will be totally normal and not at all creepy, I'm sure.<br />
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Step 3. Finally crack open the copy of <i>Harry Potter and the Cursed Child</i> you've been hoarding since July and read the whole thing in one sitting. This is, again, totally normal adult behavior and a great use of your time.<br />
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Step 4. Browse Netflix for something to watch, and settle on <i>The Chronicles of Narnia</i>, which popped up in "family features," a category you're not quite sure why you have on your dashboard. Watch the whole, 2.5-hour thing, making multiple comments aloud to your empty apartment about what an idiot Edmund is for risking his and his entire family's lives for Turkish delight. Send a lot of texts about how fierce Tilda Swinton is.<br />
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In all of these things, ensure you are as immersed as children's science fiction and fantasy as you can possibly be. This will not at all make you feel weirder about your life than you already felt!<br />
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Step 5. Distract yourself for some time with a Google image search of the love of your life, Stanley Tucci.<br />
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Step 6. Eat nothing but Whole Foods falafel, raw carrots, and veggie juice for one meal.<br />
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Step 7. For your next meal, eat a pint of Ben and Jerry's.<br />
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Step 8. If you're watching something stressful on live television - again, like, I don't know, the results of an election - accompany your watching with enough Pizza Hut wings and cheesy bread that you are physically unable to move. This way, if your television viewing doesn't go your way, you can blame your nausea on the honey barbecue and not on your racking sobs!<br />
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Step 9. Look into Celtic Woman tickets and become enraged when you discover they've REPLACED <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/M%C3%A1ir%C3%A9ad_Nesbitt">THEIR FIDDLE PLAYER</a>, ARE YOU KIDDING ME???!!!!!!?????!!!!!!<br />
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Step 10. Wear your Celtic Woman merch for a day in mourning/protest. Yes, that's right, you lucky dog - you own Celtic Woman merch in this scenario.<br />
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Step 11. Unpack various boxes of things and leave their wrappings strewn all over your apartment. This will make you feel way better when you return home from work later, mood having finally improved somewhat, only to discover that your home looks like a tornado recently blew through.<br />
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Step 12. Lose something in your tornado zone apartment. Recalling steps 2-3, wander around mumbling "accio" until you've lost all will to live.<br />
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Step 13. Open all the blinds on your west-facing wall of windows because it's chilly in your apartment and you've heard rumors of a thing called the sun that could be worth experiencing. Watch three consecutive episodes of SVU from an armchair in the direct path of said sun. Emerge from your Mariska marathon with a sunburn on half your face.<br />
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Step 14. Decide to light a candle on your nightstand and try some breathing and mindfulness exercises before bed. Fall asleep. Wake up at 1 AM fully clothed with your contacts in feeling great about how your sleep cycle is going to go for the next few days!<br />
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Step 15. Decide that same process needs another try the next night. To the surprise of no one, fall asleep again! Wake up at 1 AM with your contacts still in; with a firm, bright red imprint of your left hand on your right arm from whatever convoluted position you nodded off in; and fully confirmed that your sleep cycle is going to be great for the next few days.<br />
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Step 16. Fall into a YouTube black hole so deep (dog weddings? Office supply hauls?), you come dangerously close to a permanent vegetative state. Congratulations! You have forgotten all about your old boyfriend/failed attempt at academia/new demagogue. Now enjoy that Harry Potter screening!<br />
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<i>(Disclaimer: Yes, I actually did all these things this week, but first of all, chill out parents I'm fine; second of all, most of them - lookin' at you, Ben & Jerry's - describe a normal Saturday in my life; and third, no I'm not actually responding to the election with five full days of hopeless depression. I have, in fact, been looking into service opportunities. <a href="https://docs.google.com/document/d/1s71NrvRYUG1T5HavKTJ2eFzILjqA7PbTfaXjWMhq2XM/edit#">So should you</a>.) </i><br />
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<i>(Disclaimer 2: If you are worried about your mental health and are in need of actual care, please <a href="http://www.refinery29.com/2016/11/129276/mental-health-resources-post-election-crisis-hotline">get some</a>!)</i><br />
<br />Sarah Cahalanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13572215980287357794noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064819776196806900.post-86532343956843007292016-11-05T18:10:00.001-07:002016-11-05T18:10:56.190-07:00GO VOTE, Y'ALLHey everyone! You may have noticed that, whoops, I haven't written a blog post in six months. My B! I've been waiting for a topic that I just had to say something about, and I've found it — the election.<br />
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Now, I'm not going to tell you who to vote for.<br />
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It should come as no surprise who I will be voting for. #ImWithHer. #ImWithHerAF. #couldiBEanymoreWithHer? I don't find Hillary Clinton to be "the lesser of two evils," and I'm not voting for her reluctantly or supporting her with my fingers crossed behind my back wishing she were someone else. I'm voting for her because I find her enormously well qualified, because I believe her when she claims to be a true public servant, and because her policies align both with my views and with the future I want to see for our country over the next four years. I <i>like </i>her.<br />
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(I like her so much, in fact, that I'm going to see her at a rally slash James Taylor concert tomorrow night down the street from my house two days before the election. Living in New Hampshire in an election season might be the best thing that's ever happened to me.)<br />
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And yes, I am terrified of the alternative. Setting aside the Stein and Johnson tickets for merely statistical reasons (and also because, like, <a href="https://i.kinja-img.com/gawker-media/image/upload/s--x18IRvL6--/c_scale,fl_progressive,q_80,w_800/idugo9mdinvu2exghr9d.gif">come on</a>), the remaining viable candidate is not what I want for our country. I disagree with his policies, I don't find him qualified or temperamentally suited for the office he is seeking, and, like, <a href="https://i0.wp.com/fusion.net/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/cannotunsee15.gif?resize=230%2C230&quality=80&strip=all">come on</a>.<br />
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But you don't have to agree with me. That's the thing about America: we're allowed to disagree with each other. And we get the opportunity to get out there and voice those disagreements with our votes.<br />
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That's why I'm writing this, folks.<br />
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I don't care who you vote for on Tuesday. I just want you to vote.<br />
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Not everyone gets this opportunity! This is a cool thing we get to do!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-USjvRZ5jF2QfCPCKLZcPirf06BRHfc8gq0e22BFfzLJk_02gTTwhJtWf5dpdyF_vY-DNHFar0hGOoeWLGUSm3XuSG1Ar8lYJKxm7AL_Esd_Jqiz0pv7uXot4SNp0JMOTLO0xeH3lE1Y/s1600/marnie.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-USjvRZ5jF2QfCPCKLZcPirf06BRHfc8gq0e22BFfzLJk_02gTTwhJtWf5dpdyF_vY-DNHFar0hGOoeWLGUSm3XuSG1Ar8lYJKxm7AL_Esd_Jqiz0pv7uXot4SNp0JMOTLO0xeH3lE1Y/s320/marnie.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">So is voting, Marnie. So is voting.</span></div>
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It is pretty awesome that we get to engage in the political process and cast a vote for the way we want our future to go. If you're casting your ballot for Gary Johnson or Jill Stein, you're showing the nation that third parties are worth considering. If you're voting for Donald Trump, sure, I'd encourage you to take a hard look at why — but that vote is still cool, because you've chosen a candidate and you're getting out there and committing to it. </div>
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"But Sarah," you say, "I don't like any of the candidates, so the country's doomed anyway!" </div>
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You know how you can prevent future doom? By participating. The more that we get out there and show that we don't just talk or complain about government but play an active part in its shaping, the more likely it is that future politicians will more closely reflect our wants and needs. It's hard for our leaders to respond to an electorate who only say what they want in a group message or a tweet, or worse, who complain without saying what they want at all. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF28WuxhgGJ49lgEcGs1FX_Oqj2digYW9FNGETObmqBYHXwXMrFdvwfWn2UqaVu_lt4mpWZaK2-lp6-bxrBL9lIBLnjtFNiZdtG8-0Fm3FZ0bqikhKKDAUp0pkXZVDtBqcbGAWa-6DSK0/s1600/obama.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF28WuxhgGJ49lgEcGs1FX_Oqj2digYW9FNGETObmqBYHXwXMrFdvwfWn2UqaVu_lt4mpWZaK2-lp6-bxrBL9lIBLnjtFNiZdtG8-0Fm3FZ0bqikhKKDAUp0pkXZVDtBqcbGAWa-6DSK0/s320/obama.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
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"But Sarah," you say, "I'm just sick of it and want it to be over!" </div>
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Well, it's gonna be over, hopefully sometime in the middle of the night on Tuesday. At least those of us who vote can say we had a say in this year-long reality-TV-style torture session. If you stay home, you subjected yourself to the past 12+ months of news for nothing. </div>
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"But Sarah," you say, "I'm <i>not </i>voting for either of those jokers for president, and that's that." </div>
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My stubborn friend, did you know there are — gasp — other positions being determined in this election? </div>
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Sure, the president may not affect you personally all that often. If you're determined not to have a say in the presidential election, I can at least in theory understand how you can justify that you're unlikely to be affected by either outcome. But the further down the ballot you read, the closer to your life you get. Perhaps you have a congressional race to vote for. Perhaps your state's electing a governor. Maybe you're due for a new mayor, or some school board members, or a freakin' county clerk. Those races will be decided on Tuesday, too, and you owe it to those candidates (and yourself!) not to let frustration with the top ticket get in the way of having a say in the smaller ones. </div>
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So, if you haven't cast your ballot already, get out there and vote on Tuesday. I will be at my polling place when it opens at 6 a.m. Then I will sit at work for the day alternating between occasional actual work, existential dread, and toggling between several dozen browser tabs of election coverage. And then, I will be glued to my TV, sparkling fruit wine and dark chocolate peanut butter cups in hand, from the second I get home from work until the second Wolf, Anderson and the gang officially declare whether I'll be resting easy in the land of my girl Hill or taking a sudden interest in how all of my business associates in Ireland have been lately. </div>
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If you don't know where you vote, you can find out <a href="https://www.iwillvote.com/home/">here</a>. There have also been polling place finder tools on Facebook, and many states also have sample ballots available online so you can scope out who's running for the lower-profile races in your area. If you type your home address into <a href="https://newsroom.uber.com/vote/">Uber</a> on Tuesday, they'll look up your polling place for you and let you book a trip straight there with the touch of a button. The resources available to help you do your civic duty are pretty remarkable. Take advantage of them. </div>
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Oh, and if you're a teenager reading this and just thinking, "-_____-", two things: </div>
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1) There's always next year! (Somebody had to steal that phrase now that the Cubbies aren't using it, amirite? Heyo sports!)</div>
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2) Sixteen-year-old me campaigned door-to-door for Obama on Election Day 2008. (Yes, friends, I've always been like this.) If the rules are the same as they were then, Logansport schools may even give you an excused absence for election volunteering. It's last minute, but see what options are out there! And, at the very least, if the 2016 election cycle made you excited or angry or had you wishing you could vote this year, bottle that passion up and remember it for the next time around. </div>
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It's the home stretch, y'all. Go vote.</div>
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<br />Sarah Cahalanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13572215980287357794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064819776196806900.post-60838560193582786002016-04-26T17:06:00.000-07:002016-04-27T16:02:39.474-07:00All The Girls Have Different NosesHello, everyone.<br />
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You may have assumed that, after three months of radio silence, you had heard the last of the ol' Domerberry.<br />
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I'm afraid, readers and friends, that you are not so lucky. The blog is still very much up and running; I'm just way lazier than we ever thought possible.<br />
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A lot has happened since I wrote my last post. For one, a third of the year has passed and we've moved from winter into spring. But also, I've found a job and moved across the country. I now live on the East Coast, which, if you're worth literally anything to me, you'll know is the inspiration for the title of this blog post. All the girls here do, in fact, have different noses, and, while we had a couple sneaky nice days over the past few weeks, the snow we got today on April 26 proves that Mr. Woods was also correct in his assessment that the East Coast is cold and dark—a climate perfectly suited to my cold, dark soul.<br />
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So far, it hasn't really been that noticeable that I've left middle America. Sure, I'll spot the occasional car with license plate number "GO SAWX," but not many people have accents that I can make fun of, and no one seems to hate me. (It could be argued that my perceptions of the East Coast are not totally fair.)<br />
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I'm keeping my eyes peeled for moose, but until that happens, I have mostly run-of-the-mill updates on life since my last blog post. Rather than a standard update, then, I will instead share with you Four Things I'm Obsessed With And One That I'm Ambivalent About: The Move Edition.<br />
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<b>Thing I'm Obsessed With #1: My apartment. </b>The process of securing the apartment where I now live was pretty much a total nightmare. I searched around the internet for weeks, I made many phone calls, I spent a lot of money coming out to New Hampshire for 24 hours to view a half dozen moderately terrifying properties, and, to make matters worse, I was deathly ill for almost the entire hunt. I also miscalculated the time of my return flight from New Hampshire on the aforementioned 24-hour trip and ended up on the Midway-South Bend bus in the middle of the night, where, along with my entire busload of fellow passengers, I was literally left behind by the transfer driver at a bus depot somewhere west of Michigan City.<br />
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With all of that hassle to find a place to live, I am not sorry when I brag that MY APARTMENT IS AMAZING.<br />
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I finally live alone (I'd say "no offense to my former roommates," but I know you're both glad to be rid of my persistent dish-washing laziness and constant singing), the place has more space than I could ever hope to fill, and it's close enough to my office that I almost never have to use my car—which is ideal both for me and for every other driver in the state of New Hampshire.<br />
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I've taken about sixty photos of the place to show off to family and friends, but I'll stick to just a couple here. This is less to save space on the page than to entice you all into coming to visit. You can sleep on my sweet pullout couch.<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">A fun game is "Who Can Guess My Age and Gender From My Bookshelf?". The Amy Poheler, Lena Dunham, and Mindy Kaling memoirs in a place of honor on the top shelf make it really hard to figure out. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Don't ask me what my throw pillow budget was for this apartment. </span></div>
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<b>Thing I'm Obsessed With #2: HBO and Viceland. </b>When I was setting up the internet for my new place, I got a little overwhelmed and impulse-bought a cable package. I initially regretted this, but these two channels are changing my life. Viceland plays nothing but documentary series about things like fashion in war-torn countries and food that rappers eat. I watch it almost constantly. It makes me feel unspeakably hip. I'm obsessed. I've not yet gotten as into HBO as one might guess—<i>Girls</i>, I'm coming for you soon—but it has enabled me to watch <i>Magic Mike XXL </i>twice already in the comfort of my home, so I'm pretty pleased with it. It also allowed me to witness the premiere of Beyonce's <i>Lemonade</i>, which I'm not even going to get into because I still haven't quite recovered from how much it rocked my brains out and also because I'm too busy perfecting my rendition of "Daddy Lessons" to keep typing. </div>
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<b>Thing I'm Obsessed With #3: My job. </b>I get to write about food and correct people's grammar for a living. I help make a magazine that they put right behind the checkout belt at <i>Whole Foods. </i></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Note the grocery dividers covered in floral wrapping paper. My magazine goes to the bougie stores, y'all.</span></div>
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<b>Thing I'm Obsessed With #4: The fact that I am 24 years old and able to honestly say that I love my job and my apartment. </b>#blessed </div>
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<b>Thing I'm Ambivalent About: Wine and painting. </b>It has long been central to my personality to furiously hate all places designed for a bunch of white women to come in and kick back half a bottle of Chardonnay while painting identical sunset scenes. A couple weeks ago, though, I went to one. My co-workers were going. I felt like I needed to be social. So I went. </div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">That red and yellow thing pictured in miserable triplicate in the upper middle there is what I was supposed to be doing.</span></div>
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I'm gonna be honest: I didn't hate it. This wasn't a regular wine and painting bar, though, it was a cool wine and painting bar. (<a href="http://49.media.tumblr.com/fe286512ff36b6a16c580486b57a5852/tumblr_mq7cowVDHA1rwinolo3_250.gif">Right, Regina?</a>) The artists running the place had rainbow-colored hair and piercings and the place was just grungy and urban enough that I think your average wine mom would probably have been a little scared. They also gave me a bottle of cider to nurse instead of a paper cup of pinot grigio, so this aided in my non-hate. </div>
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Don't get me wrong: the idea of making matching paintings with a big group of friends still makes me want to punch someone. But luckily for all, I found a spot in the corner where no one bothered to pay attention to me, and I completely ignored the instructor and just painted my own thing like I would have at home for significantly less money. Was it a waste of $35 considering I had all the necessary supplies at home for free? Yes. Did I want to kill myself? No. So New Hampshire is full of surprises.</div>
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Stay tuned for what will hopefully be much more frequent blog posts now that I've settled in to the new digs. And keep your eye on flight deals to <a href="https://youtu.be/moNm8gxpfzA?t=3m45s">the damned frontier</a>.</div>
<br />Sarah Cahalanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13572215980287357794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064819776196806900.post-9823664122077654642016-01-20T07:28:00.000-08:002016-01-20T07:28:02.728-08:00Extremely Belated Turn of Year MusingsYou may not have noticed since I failed to offer any comment on it, but, a few weeks ago, a new year did, in fact, begin. I celebrated the occasion with much pomp and circumstance, by making a variety of foods with my new miniature food processor (perfect for the single lady—thanks, Santa!) and falling asleep at 10 PM only to rouse at 11:45 to watch Carson Daly try and fail to corral his team of drunken comedians into an on-time New Year countdown.<br />
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I debated writing a 2015 In Review or 2016 Goals post for quite some time and ultimately forgot in favor of watching twenty episodes of <i>House Hunters International </i>on Netflix.<br />
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But then my <a href="http://www.lennyletter.com/relationships/a217/january-lennyscopes/">Lennyscope</a> assured me that New Year's doesn't exist and I can "start any year, day, minute, or life over again anytime I want"—thanks, hippies!—and I realized that I can write a Turn of Year post on January 20 if I dern well want to. And I dern well do.<br />
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Friends, 2015 was a big year. I saw three of my biggest lady idols live on stage. Taylor Swift in the pop-music-defining 1989 Tour. Idina Menzel in <i>If/Then. </i>Most importantly, Celtic Woman's dancing fiddle nymph in the group's triumphant return to their hometown, Dublin.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">(Actual footage of Fiddle Nymph gracing us all while I sob openly into my wine cooler in the eighth row.)</span></div>
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I celebrated my birthday in Madrid; Easter at the Vatican (again); Halloween in Washington, DC; and the Fourth of July with John Boehner at the official Independence Day party of the American Ambassador to Ireland. </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">We handled it like adults! </span></div>
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I spent two hours at a cat cafe in Shoreditch and two hours at a gay club in Dublin on the night that Ireland became the first country on earth to approve gay marriage by popular vote. I wrote sixteen restaurant reviews that were published by professional publications, earning me a title that I <a href="http://lovindublin.com/dublin/6-dublin-food-and-drink-spots-that-you-probably-havent-tried-yet">literally just discovered</a> as a "girl who knows her shizz." (True.) I lived in two countries, wore <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/5IB-afplwF3nAcoBsQnGsiNkcuTsJ1g3FNuPg0/?taken-by=scahalan">one</a> itsy-bitsy teeny-weeny trendy tribal print fatkini, took at least three hikes, and went on nine—count 'em, nine—first dates. I had an <a href="http://hellogiggles.com/a-thank-you-note-to-ina-garten/">article</a> shared on Facebook by Zooey Deschanel. </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">I'll let you decide if this is the hike or the gay bar. You don't know what clubs look like in Ireland!</span></div>
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You could argue that it will be pretty hard to top a year like this past one, and you'd probably be right. But I don't intend to let that stop me. I don't have the slightest clue what's in store for me between now and January 20, 2017, and I don't believe in resolutions. But I do have a goal: don't wait until you're writing a year-in-review blog post to remember how cool your life is. </div>
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That or <a href="http://milkbarstore.com/">eat at Milk Bar</a>. </div>
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Whichever comes first. </div>
<br />Sarah Cahalanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13572215980287357794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064819776196806900.post-40158601557863650002015-12-20T13:09:00.000-08:002015-12-20T13:09:14.258-08:00My Entirely Reasonable Christmas ListFriends, Christmas is a mere five days away. I'm sure most of you have your presents for me this year already selected, purchased, and, most importantly, impeccably wrapped, and I congratulate you for that. But for those of you who've been busy bees this holiday season and have not yet found me a gift, worry not. I know what to get me.<br />
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In addition to the normal things that everyone wants for Christmas—socks, some candy, an end to the Donald Trump presidential campaign—I have a small list of suggestions. What should you get for the enigmatic Sarah Cahalan this year if, for some reason, you can't get your hands on a gift card to Red Lobster? Get me one of these.<br />
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<b>Suggestion #1: </b>Soundproofing for my apartment walls, so I can sing along to <a href="https://www.youtube.com/user/kerriganlowdermilk">Kerrigan-Lowdermilk videos on YouTube</a> to my heart's content without feeling the slight twinge of guilt that my neighbors may not want to hear power ballads about teen angst while they eat their lunch. Alternatively, if you cannot find an adequate soundproofer by Friday, I would also accept a neighbor who is an executive in the music industry, hears my singing, and would like to make me very famous.<br />
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<b>Suggestion #2: </b>A hand-written invitation from Lin-Manuel Miranda asking me to come play Angelica Schuyler on Broadway for the rest of my days.<br />
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<b>Suggestion #3: </b>The ability to Apparate. Or a date with Daniel Radcliffe. Either one. </div>
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<b>Suggestion #4: </b>A job. Maybe even a job with health insurance! </div>
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<b>Suggestion #5: </b>Some kind of magic pet rabbit that I could have to look at or play with when I want to because it's cute, but which otherwise I don't have to pay attention to or put any effort into feeding or keeping alive.</div>
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<b>Suggestion #5B: </b>A boyfriend with those same qualities. </div>
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<b>Suggestion #6: </b>Just enough money—in perpetuity—that I never have to feel bad when I have plenty of food in my house but am bored with it and choose to instead go to the grocery store and buy myself something microwaveable. </div>
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<b>Suggestion #7: </b>Every kitchen appliance ever used on <i>The Barefoot Contessa. </i></div>
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<b>Suggestion #8: </b>A bottomless, self-refilling snack drawer in my desk at work. Sure, most of the time it would have easy things like chocolate covered cranberries or pretzels, but it would also occasionally serve up pierogies or, I don't know, a ham. </div>
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<b>Suggestion #9: </b>A <i>Freaky Friday</i>-style life swap with <a href="https://www.facebook.com/TheMagnoliaMom/">Joanna Gaines</a> from HGTV's <i>Fixer Upper </i>for one day, but then also a contract where she and her husband would decorate every place that I live in for the rest of my life, but in the style of an Urban Outfitters catalog rather than the rustic chic thing she normally does which is great in Waco, Texas, but would look absurd anywhere that I ever plan to live.</div>
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<b>Suggestion #10: </b>A lifetime supply of leftie-oriented calligraphy tools.</div>
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<b>Suggestion #11: </b>25 or more likes on all of my Instagram pictures forever. </div>
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<b>Suggestion #12: </b>Stanley Tucci.</div>
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So there are a few ideas! Grab your minimalist wrapping paper and get to work. If you need me, I'll be off somewhere listening to the Justin Bieber Christmas CD. Happy holidays! </div>
Sarah Cahalanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13572215980287357794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064819776196806900.post-12369417462711285652015-11-22T09:49:00.000-08:002015-11-22T09:55:19.206-08:00Domerberry Album Review: 25This week, all of you lucky readers are getting two doses of Domerberry. I published a post on Friday about adult coloring books because I'd been holding that anger in for a long time and something needed to be said, but I also bought Adele's new album on Friday.<br />
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Friends, this has been a good year for Domerberry Review-able albums. I've finally discovered <i>Hamilton </i>in the past couple of weeks and could easily write about that. (Sparknotes version of that review: Angelica Schuyler is me.) I listened to The Weeknd's <i>Beauty Behind the Madness </i>like I was getting paid for it for about two months after that came out, which I could rant about for several straight days. A week ago, my boyfriend, Justin Bieber, released a new album, and whenever I get around to listening to that, I could surely write a small book of sonnets in its honor.<br />
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Ultimately, though, there is only one album that matters in this Year of Our Lord 2015, and that is Adele's <i>25. </i><br />
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Our queen finally emerged from her four-year hibernation this weekend to drop <i>25</i>, and with it, to slay all seven billion of her unworthy servants here on earth.<br />
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I have basically no general remarks to make on this album. I certainly don't have the kind of measured criticism I laid out for <a href="http://domerberryinternational.blogspot.ie/2014/10/domerberry-album-review-1989.html">Tay Tay's <i>1989</i></a>, because either A) this album is literally free of flaws, which is what I'm inclined to believe, or B) I am so entirely blinded by my glee over Adele's return that I am incapable of seeing problems in the album, in my fellow man, or, in fact, in anything at all.<br />
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With that entirely reasonable introduction, let us dive in to analysis of some key tracks. First, we have the album's opening track and ubiquitous first single:<br />
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<b>Hello. </b>I still have no idea what order the lyrics come in for the chorus of this song. Is she on the outside? Is she on the other side? I don't know. I don't care. Adele can be where she wants. I will continue to sing along with lyrics like, "Hello from the othoutside."<br />
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<b>Send My Love (To Your New Lover). </b>This is the upbeat Adele pop number slash vocal warmup I never knew I needed. Oddly, this is also the only song on the album that I really identify with. I expected to cry a lot over this album thinking of guys I've dated or, more realistically, had overwrought, futile crushes on, but none of the songs really called to mind any of my former beaux/obsessions. This one, though, I dig. Send my love to whatever chick you're with now and please be nice to her. Let's not be children.<br />
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Yeah, I'm as surprised as you are by this reaction. I have achieved self-actualization, and Adele has provided me with my new, self-actualized anthem.<br />
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<b>When We Were Young. </b>Okay, I like this song, but I have a conspiracy theory to put forth: there's literally no way that Adele is 27. That is what she and the Internet claim. Less than four years older than me. Ha. That's an utter lie; Adele is several millenia old and masquerading as a twenty-something. This song, which sounds from start to finish like something a seventy year old person would say, is a barely-concealed reference to her true age.<br />
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<b>Remedy. </b>Every time that the title word comes up, I think she is going to say "Enemy." This is probably proof that I am incapable of love.<br />
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<b>River Lea. </b>I eagerly await a Logansport-themed parody of this song entitled "<a href="https://www.google.com/maps/place/Logansport,+IN+46947/@40.763864,-86.3557761,14z/data=!4m2!3m1!1s0x881385080a58631d:0xe93d67c3f2e0a1ce">River Eel</a>." "There was something in the water, now that something's in me...it's meth."<br />
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<b>Million Years Ago. </b>Further proof of Adele's agelessness. That title ain't hyperbole, folks.<br />
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<b>All I Ask. </b>This piano-driven power ballad is Adele's official application for acceptance in the Diva Hall of Fame. It is a good old fashioned belt-it-out banger. If <i>Glee </i>and <i>Smash </i>are still on television, they will cover this within the month. If they're not still on television, they'll return just to cover this song. If you listen closely, you can hear the great divas silently weeping in the background of this track over the fact that it wasn't written for them. That key change. That over-dramatic closing line, "What if I never love again?" At the Grammys next year, I want Adele, Celine Dion, Barbra Streisand, and a back-from-the-grave Whitney Houston to sing this together. And I want someone to record it so it can be performed via hologram at my funeral.<br />
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No, you can't stream this album, but $10.99 is a small price to pay for it. Go present your dues to your queen.<br />
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<br />Sarah Cahalanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13572215980287357794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064819776196806900.post-87759299385758656542015-11-20T19:32:00.000-08:002015-11-20T19:36:52.855-08:00My Unabridged Thoughts on Adult Coloring BooksBy this point, we are all well aware that I buy whole-heartedly into trendy stuff. I spent roughly 24 hours in London this summer and dedicated two of them in a cat cafe. I've been to a breakfast rave. My lunch yesterday consisted of leftover rattlesnake chorizo guacamole (seriously), which, yes, I repeatedly referred to as "guac."<br />
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Naturally, then, I decided a couple of weeks ago that I needed an adult coloring book.<br />
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I was sifting through job applications and realized I needed something to entertain me on my breaks other than mindless Netflix viewing and stuffing my face with Chips Ahoy. The image of the adult coloring book was seared into my brain since I'd, you know, been on the Internet in the past year, and it seemed that this was the perfect solution. It's creative (barely, but whatever, it requires art supplies at least), it's ostensibly good for brain and fine motor function, and most importantly, it's enormously, stupidly popular at the moment. Sold.<br />
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I went to Walmart—yes, Walmart; I may be a slave to trends but I also make $8 an hour—and picked up <i>Calming Patterns: Portable Coloring for Creative Adults. </i>This title confused me somewhat given that I can't think of a whole lot of coloring books that aren't portable, but I went with it and made my way to the craft supplies department. Visions of fresh colored pencils dancing in my head, I hit the wall of Crayola to find that all the colored pencils were sold out except the 24-pack of "Preferred by Teachers!" erasables. I wasn't about to make another trip to enable my coloring habit, so I embraced my full child status and bought them.<br />
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Long story short, I've now had the book and the pencils for about two weeks, and I've decided that this entire concept of adult coloring books as fun and stress-relieving is an absolute load of crap.<br />
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I won't pretend I don't enjoy breaking out my worthless, perpetually not-quite-sharp pencils and coloring my way through an episode of <i><strike>Orange Is The New Black</strike> Cupcake Wars. </i>It's a nice change of pace from my normal leisure habits of colored pencil-free <i>Cupcake Wars </i>and sleeping. But STRESS RELIEVING? ON WHAT PLANET IS THIS STRESS RELIEVING?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiynOJfndm9f3ImOdRs8c9cqmjH8w3FPJdam6qCXfozKIBer9CvuOiFpRBoiKFGHN6mnkQ1vNeLXQnFWZbLFxhUdUVBSU3hiWlKG4-sNcGRt8XSnvGq62KzVQGqKBPTmWXYqUZbDAQiOsE/s1600/IMG_5118.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiynOJfndm9f3ImOdRs8c9cqmjH8w3FPJdam6qCXfozKIBer9CvuOiFpRBoiKFGHN6mnkQ1vNeLXQnFWZbLFxhUdUVBSU3hiWlKG4-sNcGRt8XSnvGq62KzVQGqKBPTmWXYqUZbDAQiOsE/s320/IMG_5118.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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I guarantee that no one with enough disposable income to drop $20 on a literal child's toy and elementary school art supplies and enough time to voluntarily color for fun has a life so chaotic that the act of filling in every single one of those millimeter-wide spaces is LESS stressful than their normal routine. </div>
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Since buying this stupid contraption, I have finished exactly two full pages. Each one took me between two and three hours. <i>This is not stress relief. </i></div>
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Sympathizers to this inane hobby will undoubtedly argue that I'm simply not doing it right. "The point of adult coloring books isn't to create a perfect image—it's to unwind while embracing your inner creative spirit" or some nonsense, right? </div>
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Wrong. </div>
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First of all, as someone who's both already fairly creative and is unrelentingly type A, the point of every creative endeavor is to create a perfect image, you cretin. </div>
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But secondly (and here's the important part), if you've adapted this habit to unwind without the pressure to be perfect, I have a newsflash for you: coloring books are literally your worst possible medium.<br />
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Coloring books were created with the express purpose of allowing kids to create picture-perfect images without the ability or brain cells to draw an anatomically correct Elsa from memory. The whole point is to stay inside the lines. Sure, you can always give Ariel purple hair when you know darn well her hair is red, you rebel, but ultimately, filling in the spaces of a coloring book is about the least creative "art" you can do. (With the possible exception of going with your friends to paint six identical sunsets at some wine and canvas place. Don't get me started.)<br />
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If you really want to de-stress by way of art, invest in some watercolors or something. And dear God, don't restrict yourself to the microscopic coloring spaces like the ones in my Walmart book. You know what's most assuredly not stress relieving? Carpal tunnel.<br />
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I'm going to keep using this coloring book, because while it does just increase my stress tenfold rather than reduce it, I'm the most high-strung person I know anyway, so it really fits right in to my aesthetic. But let's be honest with ourselves: if you want stress relief, save your $20 and put it towards a massage.<br />
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<br />Sarah Cahalanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13572215980287357794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064819776196806900.post-86642341484588471942015-10-09T20:15:00.000-07:002015-10-09T20:15:17.836-07:00Random Friday Night Vlog<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Here's a rant about some stuff that I like and don't like, for your viewing pleasure. The samosas were delicious; thank you for asking. </div>
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<br />Sarah Cahalanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13572215980287357794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064819776196806900.post-23719412471458609232015-09-26T20:35:00.000-07:002015-09-26T20:35:06.627-07:00The LonerberryOne of the best pictures of me to emerge from my four years of college is this one.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHXIRgwA35X7pseSsyUY8f1xk_eKvREOO9h3l3bhUCdXLtMqScj9ZlEwGqSXWNkqqYcAhajkLR2KgXj0VGnLDRUxgNlbf1GA3YAbQN6ksLOuV16WhZiWqYQ1ye0wh6ybPEsIFVl_4cHxU/s1600/1524711_10201471435650284_773486640_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHXIRgwA35X7pseSsyUY8f1xk_eKvREOO9h3l3bhUCdXLtMqScj9ZlEwGqSXWNkqqYcAhajkLR2KgXj0VGnLDRUxgNlbf1GA3YAbQN6ksLOuV16WhZiWqYQ1ye0wh6ybPEsIFVl_4cHxU/s320/1524711_10201471435650284_773486640_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I say this partially because the picture is funny but mostly because of the jokes that went with it. Someone - it may or may not have been me, but I'll take the credit for it - christened this photo "The Lonerberry." </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinCPblW8XVUUFvch2QuqDsg-N8sgdVyCQItL7Z41_vSwM4ap7n8jBdMKANpzGe09xLQgVrMHGK2VnI42Ny6igyX-vHfoYv2P-70NeLuEspTA-xUhu5s40tHYNhRt1WG_CxfnEjTy06Hdk/s1600/Screen+shot+2015-09-26+at+7.28.44+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinCPblW8XVUUFvch2QuqDsg-N8sgdVyCQItL7Z41_vSwM4ap7n8jBdMKANpzGe09xLQgVrMHGK2VnI42Ny6igyX-vHfoYv2P-70NeLuEspTA-xUhu5s40tHYNhRt1WG_CxfnEjTy06Hdk/s320/Screen+shot+2015-09-26+at+7.28.44+PM.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">You're welcome, Nash. </span></div>
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It's hardly news that I think I'm great. I've written about it on the blog at least a half a dozen times, and I tell everyone I meet. I have the self-confidence of a supermodel with an IQ of 180. We're all aware. </div>
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This has led, over the years, to quite the interest in solo travel, dining, and sightseeing. You may have thought that would end now that I don't live in Europe any more and I am surely too terrified of automobiles to go on any solo road trips. Well, you thought wrong. </div>
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I am intrinsically very bad at basically everything that Coloradans love, but, since I'm only guaranteed to be in this neck of the woods for a few months, I've been trying to get out there and make attempts at the outdoorsy nonsense that people in this state enjoy. My success in this venture has been mixed. </div>
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Today, I went to Boulder to visit the farmers market and go on a hike so I could trick people into thinking I didn't drive an hour just for food from a tent. This was largely a success. If you'd been watching me take this hike from afar, you would probably have assumed I'd developed some kind of epileptic tic from all the lurching freak outs I kept having, but no worries; it just turns out there are a lot of bugs outdoors. I managed to not get a sunburn, not encounter any snakes or other frightening wildlife, and (I'll explain this later) not lose any of my belongings, so, overall, I did pretty well. </div>
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A cool girl on a run did catch me taking this selfie when I thought no one was looking. Worth it? Probably not. But at least I have proof I went outside. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvr2ZEumraVFXOEk9Xf4tuTlAgMGP3N3XObmkS00mILjMcKCfdFuPfJs5IBYw80Xterytud2RFWZvlz4Y2yEuwqrBBPUWXwkpNXyISBsECOLFkZMIzLUyXWguZD3F0m8DdVpA8RwGaFq8/s1600/IMG_4671.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvr2ZEumraVFXOEk9Xf4tuTlAgMGP3N3XObmkS00mILjMcKCfdFuPfJs5IBYw80Xterytud2RFWZvlz4Y2yEuwqrBBPUWXwkpNXyISBsECOLFkZMIzLUyXWguZD3F0m8DdVpA8RwGaFq8/s320/IMG_4671.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Unsurprisingly, the farmers market was a success, too. I had some pupusas and waited ten minutes in line for some solid B+ gelato amid a group of thirty annoying kids who were all probably whispering to their parents, "Mommy, what is that sweaty lady doing in this line of five-year-olds?" I will say that, for a farmers market USA Today calls the best in the country, it could have been better. But we can't all be Mathallen...or Mercado San Miguel...or any of about fifteen different markets in London that will permanently change your life from a single visit...</div>
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Okay, yeah, America, step up your market game. </div>
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In any case, moving on. My most successful Colorado solo excursion thus far was (surprise) the one where I didn't do any driving or hiking. One Thursday a couple of weeks ago, I went for a lovely solo dinner at a very expensive seafood restaurant (turns out they can actually make decent fish this far from the ocean as long as you're willing to personally pay for your halibut's cross-country plane ticket), sat out on the restaurant patio reading a trendy novel that I bought a few months ago because the cover design was cool-looking, and went to see a national tour performance of <i>Matilda. </i>This was definitely the best date I've ever been on. Ladies, you don't need a man. You just need a $13 margarita with a slice of jalapeno floating on top of it. </div>
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My least successful solo excursion thus far was my first one, which is why I've structured this post with a confusingly backwards chronology. At first, all seemed well. I drove on highways where the speed limit is 75 and no one died. I went on a hike and actually had a very nice time. But then, as I was looping around to finish my outdoorsing for the morning, I realized that, somehow, my driver's license and my $140 public transportation pass for the month of September had fallen out of my ID pocket and were totally gone. I retraced my steps and had no luck. I drove the hour back from Colorado Springs at a pace that I am certain made people assume I was 90 years old, because, with my luck, I had an unshakeable feeling I was going to get pulled over by the cops as soon as my license was misplaced. </div>
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I drowned my sorrows in some chocolate chip pancakes on the way home and moped. I'd thought that surely someone would have found the cards and returned them to the park's lost and found, but, when I called a few hours later that afternoon for my second check-in on their whereabouts, there was no luck. </div>
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I had just resigned myself to a life of buying individual transport passes like a peasant and explaining to bouncers where to find my birthday in a 30-page passport when the lost and found center called me back. Someone had found my stuff! </div>
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In a happy coincidence, I'd made this trip on the Sunday of Labor Day weekend, so I was able to go back down to retrieve the cards the next day. So this is ultimately a rather anti-climactic story because it ends perfectly normally with me just having a driver's license and a public rail pass. </div>
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In any case, though, the Lonerberry lifestyle is alive and well here in Colorado. If I'm going to be peer pressured into going outdoors, going alone is the perfect way to do it, because unless you are a literal snail, I cannot keep pace with you and I will not try. </div>
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That said, if you want to do indoor stuff with me, you're welcome to at least try to see if I'll let you. After all, even Tina occasionally needs her Amy. Applications open now.</div>
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Sarah Cahalanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13572215980287357794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064819776196806900.post-23442204921466127462014-08-18T09:52:00.001-07:002014-08-18T11:04:09.202-07:00Full-Tilt Jungle Madness<span style="font-family: inherit;">When I woke up this morning, I assumed that today would be a fairly normal day. I ate breakfast, I spent twenty minutes reading over the finer points of the Notre Dame Honor Code, I lamented my <i>total </i>lack of <i>anything </i>to wear, and headed to church. Normal. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It is when my family and I pulled into the parking lot at church that I first realized that today could be quite interesting indeed. Parked - or, more accurately, still trying with only marginal success to park - outside the parish hall door was a minibus full of residents of Woodbridge, a local nursing home. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Now, if you don't hear "bus full of elderly people" and think "adventure," then you have clearly never seen the handicapped section at All Saints Catholic Church. Admittedly, it has about doubled in size in the last year thanks to recent renovations, but this thing is small. Two perpendicular pews - each of which seats only four people when there aren't any wheelchairs involved - form the basic outline. The square of open wheelchair space between these pews and the aisles is MAYBE 8'x8'. A bus filled with mostly wheelchair-bound elderly people, then, is gonna make for an interesting morning in the handicapped section. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Luckily for me and for all of you now reading, my sister and I were seated in the handicapped section this morning, to accompany our grandmother. Since she had come from home, she beat the bus there by a fair margin and was blissfully unaware of the coming madness when we walked in to join her. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">All is well</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Shortly after we sat down, another woman (who has claimed the same spot in the wheelchair section since before it even was a section) entered the ring. Fine. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf8UTqvcbIonX2SdzH2ombafVRP3zNv0svVE8gqf5I2IXZeiLZaNSL37QBgc5jlcSdC2E1QYl5cckozXaybQs-MUAOHQNljbCgtspcRR27yhAICe5eK8B-uzIqu1GbQVTDtDrhaqa9c78/s1600/Screen+shot+2014-08-18+at+1.47.23+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf8UTqvcbIonX2SdzH2ombafVRP3zNv0svVE8gqf5I2IXZeiLZaNSL37QBgc5jlcSdC2E1QYl5cckozXaybQs-MUAOHQNljbCgtspcRR27yhAICe5eK8B-uzIqu1GbQVTDtDrhaqa9c78/s1600/Screen+shot+2014-08-18+at+1.47.23+PM.png" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Still rockin' and rollin' was that in poor taste maybe</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Then came the first of the bus folk. She settles into the space next to the not-my-grandma woman. Since I am sitting in the corner formed by the two perpendicular pews, this means that I am now trapped. But for the most part, we're still all relatively comfortable in the wheelchair section. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAO5cQ8mP54V4co6itOWbocA75fjTsMcwxzI80p-vf9DrlkLxzcIfn0FWfxsNBCHIrf7dEt0NOT2K2xSachmYLmq9EaslMtSGxrUY_ZyJdBIAFylXEOCV7dWQ7jq0n4FIBnBg3BRQONcA/s1600/Screen+shot+2014-08-18+at+1.48.36+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAO5cQ8mP54V4co6itOWbocA75fjTsMcwxzI80p-vf9DrlkLxzcIfn0FWfxsNBCHIrf7dEt0NOT2K2xSachmYLmq9EaslMtSGxrUY_ZyJdBIAFylXEOCV7dWQ7jq0n4FIBnBg3BRQONcA/s1600/Screen+shot+2014-08-18+at+1.48.36+PM.png" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Hm ok gettin' snug but aight</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Then comes bus folk #2. He has his daughter with him, which is equal parts helpful and nightmarish, since she A) can maneuver him semi-easily if need be but B) sits directly behind his wheelchair at the end of the same pew as my sister and I, ensuring that I will never get out of this pew as long as I live. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">...Heh</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Then, finally, comes bus folk #3, which is, for those of you keeping track, wheelchair #5. By this time, the people wheeling in the bus folk have pretty much given up. It is possible that, with omnidirectional wheelchair wheels and no restrictions, one could fit three wheelchairs side by side along this pew. But with my sister and I sitting on either side of my grandmother's wheelchair and the space between grandma's wheelchair and BF2's wheelchair being only about 18 inches, there is no way BF3 is fitting in along the pew. The usher who wheeled her in leaves the poor woman in a single-wheelchair island in the middle of the section. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzIim_-SmNzUTdZ3kBaYs3Pk742-wWpFGnDZ1O-EHDVS_x2hQHiYesp6-zpFv3BAp1wbZw1DKCEuOOMmhVmPqNLw8CCuryajm8mYgoQUTvMD26oyxFb9yNQCJhcIQ63sSnAbMMsMj5a60/s1600/Screen+shot+2014-08-18+at+1.50.54+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzIim_-SmNzUTdZ3kBaYs3Pk742-wWpFGnDZ1O-EHDVS_x2hQHiYesp6-zpFv3BAp1wbZw1DKCEuOOMmhVmPqNLw8CCuryajm8mYgoQUTvMD26oyxFb9yNQCJhcIQ63sSnAbMMsMj5a60/s1600/Screen+shot+2014-08-18+at+1.50.54+PM.png" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Now, I realize that this is not a fun way to sit. What this woman does not realize, however, is that it is the <i>only place </i>where she will fit. Unable to see what's behind her, BF3 tries not once but twice to back up. Each time, she smashes into a wheelchair. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The opening song begins. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">...And bus folk #4 walks in. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">BF4 has only a walker rather than a wheelchair, meaning she can sit in the regular front row. The regular front row, however, is obviously 2/3 full, because of course it is. Its occupants (who I later learn are relatives of BF2) reluctantly scoot over, opening a roughly 9-inch space for this woman. A Good Samaritan from a few rows back, who is himself 10 years younger than the bus folk at absolute most, runs up to help fold up the woman's walker and set it in front of the pew. In the middle of this, the bus parade ends with the entrance of BF5. Good Samaritan moves him into the pew & folds up his walker, which means there are now five people in wheelchairs and two walkers piled up roughly 15 feet from the priest. I look up at this point and notice that our distinguished young priest is definitely, 100% laughing. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Things in the front of the church thus established as completely out of control, mass continues. At about 10 minutes in, a baby screams so loudly and inhumanly that I literally laugh out loud. At 30, BF1 begins to sob. No one knows why, and no one acknowledges it, but she does have a purse full of Kleenex, so the collective decides to ignore it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">At communion, my sister and BF2's companion manage to escape & join the line. From my corner, I absolutely, positively cannot. I stay in my seat, then, the only one standing in a sea of wheelchairs because of course at our church we stand for communion. Have you ever had an entire congregation turn and stare at you in unison? I have. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Updated graphic</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The end of communion comes and, just when I think we're safe, the little girl in the front row turns to enter her pew and breaks her flip-flop. Making matters worse or, depending who you're talking to, much, much better, the girl was also trying to enter the pew from the wrong side. So, upon realizing her error, she gimps her way clear back across the front of the church, past the walker graveyard, past her family, and into the pew, dragging her flip-flop all the way. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">In summation, if you went to a mass at All Saints this weekend that was not this morning's 10 AM, you missed a lot of things.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Of course, the story doesn't end there, because when we reach home after church, our neighbor's three chickens are free ranging around our backyard. My dad and another neighbor force the chickens into the fence corner between our homes, thinking there must be a hole there they've been using to break into our yard. WRONG! As it turns out, our neighbor apparently owns the only three chickens on earth capable of sustained flight, because when cornered, they simply fly over the fence, into yet another yard where they do not live.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Today starts my last full week in America for quite some time, and from the looks of today, it's gonna be a good week.</span></div>
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Sarah Cahalanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13572215980287357794noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5064819776196806900.post-48796549456426477192014-06-23T20:22:00.002-07:002014-06-24T18:12:26.681-07:00Twitter Rules RevisitedTwo weeks ago, I live-tweeted the Tony Awards. I published seven tweets in three hours responding to an awards show that, for reference, gave six awards last year to a musical written by Cyndi Lauper about drag queen cobblers. A few days later, I accidentally became the seventeenth follower of someone I was under-the-radar Twitter stalking, and, upon discovering my error a full 36 hours later, unfollowed them, because yeah, like, that definitely makes it less weird.<br />
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So maybe I'm not the <i>best </i>at Twitter.<br />
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But in light of recent events, it has come to my attention that many of my peers are far, far worse. I've noticed a variety of trends on the social network recently - on #LogansportTwitter, primarily - that really are almost too straight-up crazytown to be believed. White kids referring to each other by the n-word? Selfies taken while being booked by the police? None of these things are off-limits on the Twitterverse these days, and I could literally not have made this reality up had I tried. I've written about <a href="http://thedomerberry.blogspot.com/2012/04/idiots-guide-to-twitter.html">how to not suck on Twitter</a> before, but it seems that I need to revise my tips to make them a bit more basic. What follows is a list of Actual Totally Insane Things I've Seen on Twitter Lately That Oh My God I Need to Stop Seeing, Like, Preferably Yesterday.<br />
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1. <b>Racial slurs, gay slurs, and any derivatives thereof.</b> Dearest caucasian teenagers of northern Indiana, I cannot find the words to fully express my confusion at the fact that you don't know not to use racial slurs. I'm going to chalk one up for society or your friends and family or whatever is teaching you things, because my assumption is that race relations in your lives are so good these days that the advice, "Hey, maybe don't use the n-word" has been rendered so obvious as to be obsolete. I guess. Luckily, here I am to tell you what you've apparently never been told before: Hey, maybe don't use the n-word. Or any racial slurs. Or, while we're at it, gay slurs. Because those have been all over Teen Twitter lately, too, and dear baby Jesus this is a very confusing and horrible trend.<br />
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American Studies Sarah also has a lot of feelings on the "white girls" trend. Liking <i>The Notebook </i>or even liking Ryan Gosling's smokin'-hot bod does not make you necessarily female, <i>and if you think it does, reevaluate yourself. </i>Liking mocha chip frappuccinos doesn't make you necessarily white. But I digress. Don't use racial slurs and gay slurs, y'all. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xIlSgsXYqdw">Civil rights. This is the 90s</a>.<br />
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2. <b>References to illegal activities in which the tweeter is partaking, will be partaking, or have partaken. </b>Remember the entirety of<i> Law & Order</i> from roughly 1999 to 2003, where basically every last criminal was caught because they talked openly on the Internet about the illegal stuff they were doing? Remember how they were in no remote way light-handed about this? They and everyone else were apparently not heavy-handed enough. I am watching <i>Law & Order </i>right now, and the officer just said, "Nothing disappears from the Internet, ever." And this is not obvious enough.<br />
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Anyway, long story short, there's been a lot of talking about illegal activities on Teen Twitter lately, so let's just go over a few things on this front to avoid in your tweets:<br />
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- The smoking of the reefer, explicitly or in code. No one sees your tweets about your "fave medical supplies *sunglasses emoji*" and thinks, "Ah, yes - I, too, enjoy Advil."<br />
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- Drinking, being drunk, being hungover, your favorite drink, et cetera, et cetera, ad infinitum. Most of the ill-advised tweets I've seen on this topic are from tweeters with public profiles, which I think is the literal definition of unemployable. This rule, mind-numbingly-obviously, goes quadruple for those tweeters aged fewer than twenty-one years. If you are under the legal drinking age, I wouldn't even put the word "party" on your Twitter unless it is proceeded by "Grand Old," "<a href="https://screen.yahoo.com/1920s-party-000000761.html">SNL skit 1920s</a>," or, for instance, I don't know, "Donner."<br />
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- Ritual murder and human sacrifice.<br />
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3. <b>Anger and ill-will towards law or law enforcement. </b>There are instances - measured criticisms of police stop-and-frisk policies, perhaps, if you're a consistent social advocate - in which polite references to one's disappointment with law or law enforcement could lead to fruitful discussion on Twitter.<br />
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There are other instances - say, profane declarations of the shortcomings of cops who break up house parties - in which Twitter is pretty much the worst place to vent your feelings about law or law enforcement. Can we all take some guesses as to what the following meme would translate to in modern prose or, say, NWA lyrics? Yes? Can we agree that this category of language is probably one we should not use in our tweets? Yes? Well, TEEN TWITTER HAS NOT REALIZED THIS. I repeat: I cannot make these things up. This is real life. Talk to your friends about your disappointment in authority figures. Don't put it in writing on the internet.<br />
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4. <b>Excessive - and I do mean EXCESSIVE - swearing. </b>I heard a censored version of Jason DeRulo's "Talk Dirty to Me" on the radio the other day, and, by the time the station had cut out everything inappropriate, only about half of the rap verse was left. It was absurd. Some of the Twitter accounts I've seen recently would easily be the visual equivalent of such censoring were someone to take out all the expletives flying around, and, while I'm not going to sit here and pretend I have any right to tell you to stop swearing altogether, I'm gonna say it's a decent idea to maybe not swear publicly and in writing on the internet where literally anyone can see it more than, like, once a week? I don't know. I have ideas sometimes; you could argue I'm a radical. </div>
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Friends. Tweeters. Countrymen. We are living in an age where high school principals have Twitter accounts and where CNN puts tweets in their news coverage on live cable television. I'm not going to tell you (this time) how to be less annoying on Twitter - my entire persona revolves around being annoyed, so even if you were to try not to annoy me, you would probably fail. But avoiding racial slurs and police-bashing probably isn't so difficult. Let's take some baby steps together towards a better Twitter world. It's within your reach. Si se puede. Yes we can. </div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ElqncU2eGRM/U6ohyDyYx_I/AAAAAAAAAdY/uPbGlKDkA2Q/s1600/tumblr_mg6aeahLWR1qju77ho1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ElqncU2eGRM/U6ohyDyYx_I/AAAAAAAAAdY/uPbGlKDkA2Q/s1600/tumblr_mg6aeahLWR1qju77ho1_500.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">And if this post has made you angry, go watch Gotta Kick It Up with young America Ferrera. You'll feel better.</span></div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0