the pomegranate tiger

I had to add this video of K. D. Lang from her performance on the 2005 Juno Awards. It's my favourite version of Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah and makes me cry every time I see it.

In 1 day, 6 hours, 35 minutes, 40, 39, 38, 37, 36, . . . seconds, I will be flying off to Hawaii (see this earlier post --> from February ). I meant to put up a Sunday Scribblings post about the continuing saga of Debra , but, alas, between procrastination and the inevitable bill-paying, mail-canceling, arranging for someone to take the hanging baskets lest they die a horrible parched and thirst-quenched death because they need daily watering (why does our friend always gives us hanging baskets right before we go away in the summer?), and packing, well, -- I didn't. I will be gone for about a month. I don't anticipate being back here to post unless I get very inspired (maybe Debra is on a Hawaiian beach) and can drag myself off the beach and into a cyber cafe.

I am the queen of procrastinators. I can procrastinate with the best of them. I could be a professional procrastinator. From outward appearance, I don't look like a procrastinator. Most people think I am very organized, detail and goal-oriented – accomplishing what I plan - and a glutton for hard work. The thing is, I fool people. Whereas it's true that I am organized, detail-oriented, et cetera, like the true procrastinator that I am, I leave everything to the last minute. My endless list-making - which makes me appear as though I'm doing something - is, in fact, one of the keys to my procrastination. Here is my sad and sorry saga: Open an Excel spreadsheet Make a list of things to do (master list) Make sub-lists that detail how I will accomplish the master list Go online and research the things I need to do Bookmark sites I think are useful Take a few detours online via Wikipedia and embedded links from said sites Make a list of the sites I have found online Cut a...

They seem to me amazingly carefree. They have saved up for this trip and they are damn well going to enjoy it, despite the arthritis of one, the swollen legs of the other. They're rambunctious, they're full of beans; they're tough as thirteen, they're innocent and dirty, they don't give a hoot. Responsibilities have fallen away from them, obligations, old hates and grievances; now for a short while they can play again like children, but this time without the pain. - From Margaret Atwood's Cat's Eye (1988) I came across this passage while looking for another quote in Cat's Eye . It embodies much of how I feel about getting older. I'm not sure exactly when the transition occurred; whether it was a definitive moment or a gradual loosening of binds, but the freedom to enjoy for the sake of enjoyment, to be who I am without worrying about how I look to others only came with my added years. It certainly wasn't evident in my youth.

I love watching So You Think You Can Dance . There. I've admitted it. I not only love watching it, I think I'm more than a tad addicted. These past few weeks, I've planned my Wednesday and Thursday evenings around the airing of both the performance and results show. Not only do I watch the original broadcast, but I watch the numerous re-runs throughout the week. If that weren't enough, I go onto YouTube and search for videos of my favourite performances. Once I find them, I replay them over and over. It's all rather pathetic, I know. I've been watching So You Think You Can Dance (SYTYCD to the diehards) since the first season (it is now season four). In past seasons, during the early rounds, I enjoyed watching the dancers adapting to different styles and choreographers; seeing who improved; who didn't. It would usually take me awhile to decide on any real favourites . However, this year, I picked out Katee Shean and Joshua Allen as my favourites...

(Continuation of a previous SS story ). Not your usual pick up, that's for sure. But who said Prince Charming had to come on a white horse? Besides, she'd always wanted a ride in a hot-air balloon. As soon as the gate snapped closed, Debra had a brief moment of self-doubt as visions of a news broadcast flashed through her mind, Witnesses said it looked like a giant fireball as the balloon climbed into the sky and then plunged into the RV Park near the U.S. border. "Oh, stop it! It's only a dream! Enjoy yourself!" She had a habit of thinking the worst. It was a way to shield herself from the inevitable disappointments in life. Her life philosophy went like this: If she could think of the worst case scenario in any given situation and it didn't happen, then she was ahead of the game; wasn't she. Debra could still hear the strains of "Someday My Prince Will Come", but it was morphing into something else. She couldn't quite put her fing...