Black Doggerel

Yesterday I got sneered at on a Who fanpage on Facebook for expressing my love of Victorian lesbian lizard crimefighters; it made me roll my eyes briefly. I can't be arsed to try and tell a bunch of oldschool fanboys why I think Madame Vastra and Jenny deserve their own show, but I want to link you guys this awesome fic that was today's rec from calufrax. It made me happy.


Also, I have coffee today after two days of tea instead owing to grocery stretch fail; it's an AWESOME FEELING. I actually still feel kind of crappy but I was still dancing at my dogs after the first mug. YAYYYY COFFEE, IT MAKES EVERYTHING BETTER.

why has no one made a Doctor/Master vid to go with this song? F-list, can you get right on that please?

An Unearthly Child to the Big Bang:
When you see this post, draw a TARDIS from memory and post it on your journal. Crayons, No. 2 pencils, MS Paint, it doesn't matter. In celebration of the ~flexibility~ of canon in the Doctor Who universe, no points are given for accuracy. :D





meme started by papilio_luna - pass it on!

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY, SHOW. HERE'S TO THE NEXT 47 YEARS. I LOVE YOU.

second bloodtest required for dr to calculate dosage, which i had yesterday. he just called and says results confirm hypothyroid. there is thyroxine script waiting for me at surgery.

of course, it's 5pm on a friday and chances are I can't get my hands on the script before monday. even if Mum got in the car this minute she likely couldn't get there before they closed. she's calling for me to see if they can deliver it to the pharmacy.
halle-fuckin-lujah.

my mum just IM'd: pharmacy is going to deliver my drugs tomorrow. HALLELUJAH OMGFUCKINGYAY. WE CAN HAZ NORMAL SERVICE RESUMED SOON WE HOPE AND TRUST.

ETA: Have a couple of funny fanvids to amuse you while I take the time to come back to life and catch the fuck up:

Bigger On The Inside: Tenth Doctor

Nine To Five: Supernatural

I should probably do myself a favour and stop watching the Sarah Jane Adventures before I blow a bloodvessel or break my monitor out of sheer irritation. So they should stop having fucking awesome guest stars that force me to fucking watch it. Grr, arrgh, grump, piss, moan.

I actually couldn't watch more than fifteen minutes of last season's The Gift. I could just about live with the Slitheen on Doctor Who, because there was Nine and Blon which was fucking awesome. There was serious characterisation and a genuine feeling of threat alongside the fart jokes and the not-very-subliminal "fat people are greedy liars with no table manners that make absurdly ineffectual villains you can kill with salad dressing" message. (The Gift may well have had more than that going on, but I will never know because the heavyhanded coded message was too much for even me to swallow. I still haven't gone back and watched it.)

Part of my problem is me rather than the show. I just don't like Sarah Jane. I never have. I don't find her attractive, her voice grates me like grit in the gonads, her smug middleclass sanctimony and her facial expressions make me want to punch her in the kidneys. And I watch her any-fucking-way because this is my best and oldest fandom and I don't want to miss out on any of it. I can't win and I feel like the only dissenting fan in the village, which is irksome in its own way. The only regular character I've ever liked even a little is Clyde, who in my personal headcanon is going to be a shit-hot Torchwood agent one day.

( Spoilers for part one of Death of the Doctor. I may need to get drunk before I try for part two. )

also, red berets? fucking cool.

OMG YOU GAIS YOU HAVE TO SEE THIS OMGROFLBBQ!!!1!!

( EMBEDDED VID UNDER CUT )

found in starwhales

OH LOOK, A POST NOT ABOUT SPIKE*.

The other night I suddenly realised that this song here BADLY needs to be made into a Doctor/Master fanvid.

JUST SAYING.

Also, rewatch_therapy is awesome.


*He's doing okay, stitches healing up nicely, going apeshit because I won't let him have offleash romps - but Mouth Thing has reached the point where even the soft raggy throw toy makes it bleed horribly and I'm just not risking it.

...so. Some people get to have beautiful space and time ships that can hold a banquet hall, three spare console rooms, a garden, a room-sized model railway set and a small lake.

Me, I have a dimensionally transcendent coffee mug. Like the TARDIS, some of its functions are less than reliable; if I'm actually drinking the fucking coffee I'll find it holds no more than half a pint. It's only when I knock the sodding thing over and a bloody great coffee tsunami washes half my living room away it reveals its true nature.

Still, it forced me to finally dejunk and clean off my desktop, and since I had to do that anyway I'd run out of excuses not to replace my old monitor with the new (to me) flatscreen one that my mother Slaighted acquired for an extremely low price from her friend Nigel. So I has shiny clean desk and shiny new monitor.

And yet another reason to think fondly of my dear old friend that sent me my washable coffee-proof bendy keyboard. I LOVE YOU.

In 1979, when I was thirteen, I fell in love for the first time. He was a dashing, slightly shambolic, eccentric geek with blazing eyes, a beautiful voice and the most glorious grin you ever saw. I never actually met him in the flesh, but all the fantasies of my fevered early teenage years - some intensely sexual, many simply heroic adventures in time and space - centered around him. Looking back over my real, human lovers, I can see his influence clearly imprinted on the type of man I'm always drawn to. Every single one has had qualities that remind me of him.

Then, in 1981, he changed. He was sweet, uncertain, slightly sad. I still loved him - how could I not? - but the relationship inevitably changed too. The intensity and sexuality died out of it. But we had a lot of good platonic fun, and I remember him with fondness.

And then he changed again. By this time, I had changed too. I was older. I had a flesh and blood lover, I had new obsessions and interests. His dress sense irritated me, his hair and mannerisms made him seem like a bargain basement remake of my original love, and he felt like one of the childish things that it was time to put away. I grew disenchanted and disinterested, and we lost touch. I missed out on his next incarnation entirely, and when I heard the news of his death (some say murder) at the hands of the BBC, I was only a little shocked, sad and nostalgic.

The great thing about fictional deaths is that they never have to be forever. Two years ago, we met again. We were both older, we and the world had changed a great deal. But the magic, the excitement? Still there.

The point of all this? In the absence of new episodes, I've been taking the time to go back over the archives. The fourth Doctor still makes my heart (and points south) beat faster and my brain seethe with novel uses for eight-foot-long scarves. The fifth Doctor still makes me smile. I haven't got round to catching up with the sixth on television yet, but he's very impressive in audio drama format.

The big surprise, though? Sylvester McCoy as the seventh. It's probably a good thing I missed these episodes as a late teenager the first time round. Then, I'd have been far too put off by the kitsch, the typical BBC production values and Bonnie Langford - people my age remember her far too vividly as Violet Elizabeth Bott to be able to take her seriously in any other role. But now - all the things that would have put me off him then endear me to him now. After nearly thirty years, I'm in love again. And it's glorious.