I Ain't Afraid of No Daleks

Word is that the next series--Series 4, of the New Doctor Who, is to have it's budget pushed back, to what amounts to a 1974 budget.

But, producers are unsullied by this drastic change, and plans are already in the works for changes in the new series.

Here's some exclusive spoilers as to what the Doctor has in store for him:

The Christmas Special will be the first episode without any CGI effects. Instead, it is rumoured that the show will revert to models. Here we see an exclusive photo from the special, titled: "Hairball!" In this episode, the lone Dalek that escaped from Manhattan, returns to England, and attempts to take over a nuclear power station, enlisting the aid of a giant cat, named "Buster."

Another episode will evolve around the Doctor, in a fast-paced action packed episode, where he has only 42 minutes to save Martha from Mary Whitehouse, by trying desperately to peel an orange with the sonic screwdiver, while at the same time cleaning the snot out of the Face of Boe's nose.

Russell T. Davies said he's more proud than ever of the Doctor Who team, which now numbers 3 crew members, one wardrobe/makeup artist and a char woman from Swansea. When interviewed about the new series, David Tennant said, "Meh. It's a job."

If you had one wish--just for today, what would it be?

Initially, it was that there was someone to help me with the dirty laundry.

But, now I've another notice in the mail, regarding pending lawsuit--and my wish for today, is that someone else would open it, read the bad news, and take care of it for me. (I've yet to open it--I'm a little scared and anxious and depressed at the mo'.)

America is the greatest nation on earth--if that means great at being stupid, that is.

A few years back, this guy buys an expensive 40,000 dollar (20,000 pounds) SUV. So, that very weekend, Mr. Proud New Owner decides to celebrate his good fortune in obtaining expensive new auto, by taking his best friend and his hunting dog, duck shooting.

Now, it's early spring, and where they were living, there still was thick ice on the lake. So, Mr. Proud Owner takes his expensive new SUV, his friend and his dog, out on the ice to shoot ducks. One problem though. In order for them to shoot ducks, the ducks have to have a place to land. That means a hole in the ice. But there isn't any--and it would have to be a very large hole indeed--too large for a mere ice saw.

Problem solved. Mr. Proud New Owner goes into the back of the truck, and pulls out a stick of dynamite. But, he can't very well just light it and set it down, oh no. So, what does he do? Why light it and toss it as far away as possible. Oh yes, very smart--except for one thing: The dog is a Labador Retriever.

So, old Rex sees "dad" throw the red stick--ol' Rex just naturally--to his owner's horror, thinks it's a game of "fetch."

The dog grabs the dynamite and, tail wagging, trots back towards the expensive new SUV. The owner is yelling and waving his arms, he friend is yelling and waving his arms, and the dog is thinking this is a really fun game, and they want him to bring him the smoking stick, so he trots towards his owner a bit faster.

Then Mr. Proud New Owner gets an idea: shoot the dog. So, he does. One problem--it's bird shot, and all it does is stop the dog for a second. Confused and hurt, the dog decides to bravely carry on. Then, the friend shoots the dog. Really hurt and scared now, the dog does the first thing that comes natural to him: Run back to his owner as fast as he can, for protection--and hide under the brand new 40,000 dollar SUV.

Mr. Proud New Owner and his friend do the one thing left to them--run like hell.

So, The dog blew up, the SUV blew up, and both--what was left of them--promptly sank to the bottom of the lake.

Later, Mr. Proud New Owner, tried to collect from the insurance company, but was turned down. The reason: policy doesn't cover cars being destroyed by the illegal use of dynamite. And he still had to make a 450 dollar (225 pounds) a month car payment--which he hadn't even started doing yet.

I had a bad turn last night. Very bad.

It's true, yes, that the specter of homelessness positively terrifies me. And that the thought of growing old, and finding myself completely useless to society, also disturbs me somewhat. What also scares me, is being utterly alone. It came to a head when I fell in the kitchen back in early April.

It really was driven home, last night.

I almost passed out, last night, twice.

The first time really would have been embarrassing: I was, erm..on the loo, in the middle of..erm..well, you know. But, I ran a cold face cloth over my hot face and neck, and the extreme woozyness left me. Or, so I thought.

I went and sat down for a bit, felt a little better. Then slowly got up and went to the kitchen for a cold sweet tea.

Got to the middle of the kitchen floor--suddenly felt weak, then dizzy, and began to feel my face grow hot again, then, my vision literally started failing, and everything started going black--no, it's not something writer's make up, this really is what happens when you start to pass out, I guess.

So, I was going to go into the living room to ring up 911 for an ambulance--but never made it. The vertigo was so bad, I barely made it to my bed.

I laid on the bed, my feet elevated, trying to force myself to calm down, and to desperately remember what to do if you start to faint (from my high school first-aid class, roughly 30 years ago).

So, I elevated my legs, lay flat, breathed slowly, and tried to think of other things besides fainting--anything. Think I came up with the parts of a western saddle, the interior details of the New Dr Who's Tardis, what my room growing up looked like, the proper sequence of the Dewy Decibel System (library thing), and the names of all the different types of stage lighting--didn't work, all I could remember was "frenel,"--so I tried remember the names of stage directions and their proper positions..and then, I was calm again.

I picked up a book, read a bit--to calm myself some more, and eventually felt well enough to risk going to sleep.

I'm badly anemic, that I know, despite taking iron. If I take too much iron, it has a very negative effect on my already stressed out stomach, so I take the minimum dose. I have a woman's problem, and I have been putting it off for months, because, honestly, I just don't want to. What I have can only be 3 things, roughly, two relatively benign, that will eventually sort themselves out, as I grow a bit older (I'm at THAT age, you see, ladies). One isn't benign. And I don't want to know. If it's that--well, it's probably too far along by now, to do anything about. And, besides, it would mean the end of everything--not much different result than being homeless, just a bit more...permanent. I've no one to miss me here, but the cats, have I? My job is meaningless and I am not very good at it, and my bosses could replace me too easily I'm afraid.

But...yeah, the thought of me passed out or dead here---no one would know. No one would even think to check for days...I mean that. No one would know. Not a soul. It's like my dad's brother, Uncle Pauly, who died before I was born. He fell in his bathroom, and lay there for a few days, before anyone found him. Same with mum's dad, my grandfather William. He killed himself and no one knew for a whole day. And, back in the late 40's, my mum was out on a date, when her mum went.

There's a few things that really scare me. I'm not afraid of death, don't think I ever will be again. But, dying alone...I don't mind admitting, that just scares me a little, yeah.

Runs in the family

"There's something I want to ask you...have you ever played, 'find the sausage?'"

So, I see that David Tennant dances in this latest series. Rather nicely, if the photo is anything to go by. Certainly better than I. I was born with two left feet, you see..very hard to find shoes, in the stores, have to sneak in and take out a lefty from a pair of shoe boxes. Hopefully there's someone out there with two right feet...

Anyway, never really was much of a dancer. Just a rather shoddy box step (that mum taught me at age 17, in our kitchen), the Virginia Reel (learned in gym class) and disco (learned watching John Travolta).

When I went to emergency with my bad foot, last time, after the second round of X-Rays, I asked the nurse, "Will I ever dance again?" She said, in a cautionary voice, "Too soon to tell, but probably not." "Good," I said, "'cause I never could dance anyway."

America's toes are safe at last.

This isn't Russell T. Davies Dr Who--or, is it? Geez--he really does fart in the Tardis.

Doctor Who as we (hopefully) will never see it again:

Tommorow: back to work. 12 days of calling genuine rednecks, snarky yuppie wives, mean southern women, uptight golf guys (why do males think golfing makes them superior to everyone else on the planet? Did Hitler and Stalin play golf? If not, they missed their calling.) , screaming, hysterical people who can't simply say, "sorry wrong number," or, "Please don't call here."

But talking to the rednecks--the cliche that the guys are dumb and the women mean--ain't all that much off from the gosh-honest truth. Oh yeah. Very accurate, really. I HATE calling Texas women! Man, they must be fed on rattlesnake venom and sour lemon juice when they are children. Mean-natured doesn't begin to cover it. Oh, some other southern women are mean, too--but Texas women--yuck. Wish the Mexicans would take back Texas, the USA would be a lot better place, I swear.

REDNECKS ON PARADE:

Since doing the night shift, my poor old stomach's time-table is all confused. I've had today off, for the holiday, but my stomach's not buying it. So, as per when I am working nights, had lunch at 3pm, and am only now just making dinner, at nearly 10 at night.

I was going to do a pot roast, as I got a cheap thick and fatty chuck steak the other day, but am putting it off till tomorrow. I use mum's recipe to braise the meat: water, apple cider vinegar, sugar, cloves, bay leaf, sliced onions and carrots, and a dash Worcestershire sauce.

Instead, I'm keeping it simple tonight: a box of Zatarain's Jambalaya rice mix, some tinned corn and some sliced smoked sausage. Mix it all together, put it on the boil, and voila! Dinner. Not fancy, but rather tasty and no fussing about in the kitchen.

I was feeling a bit...bleh, today, not sure why. Had a headache (not helped by having marching bands, pipe bands and rock music blaring on the street this morning) since I woke up. Still have it. Not prone to headaches, so I guess I'm not complaining--there's folks I know who get migraines all the time, so I guess I can live with a headache for one day, ey?

I'm not looking forward to tomorrow. I have to finish my resume, deal with the lawsuit, write that letter to Social Security, Write a letter to my congresswoman, attempt to ring up Social Security, AND do the dreaded laundry!

I am all too well aware of the fact that there's folks worse off than me out there. But still, I don't know. My life seems so utterly useless. I wish someone would magically come along and say, "I need you," and mean it. But wishes are for children and the rich. Not for me. I am too, too aware of the fact, that no one is ever going to need me again.

I remember mum reading me this story--used to be one of my favourites, as a child. It was a book called, "Five O'Clock Charlie." It was about this old work horse. His owner decided he's useless as he's very old, so he puts Charlie out in this pasture full of weeds, and Charlie is bored out of his mind. I feel like that. Just like that. I'm in my mid-forties and that's how I feel: old and useless. And what's worse, I just am so out of steam, I can't seem to budge myself from this feeling. I'm so very tired, these days. I'm too young to feel this way, but..I just do.