I Ain't Afraid of No Daleks

Life is reflected in everything we as individuals say and do. If the world is not a happy place, it is because, in some small minute part we make it so. Our silence can condem us as much as our screams.

If we don't like the way someone behaves, if we feel outraged or sad or offended, we may decide to take a positive stance, and voice our displeasure and/or register our dissapproval to the world. This is always a risk however, leaving those brave enough to be a naysayer, open to ridicule, mass disapproval or abuse.

Or, we can remain mute, or equally possible, we might decide the offending behaviour is perfectly acceptable, and go along with low-brow and/or unsavoury actions--thus, rendering ourselves a co-conspirator rather than a victim, and lending credibilty to the negative sides of life.

Unless we are in a coma, even the most obtuse and mentally lazy person has to make choices every single day of their adult lives, if they converse with others, read, watch telly, etc. they must make some sort of choice in the course of a day--everything from the basic: turning on the television or radio or computer, whether to have cold cereal or eggs for breakfast, etc., to deciding how you should vote, or what cause to support, or how you are going to approach a new challenge or project on your job.

With every tick of the clock, the world changes, based solely on the thoughts and actions of billions of individual people. People are born and die, new ideas come to life, people lose or gain a job, or help or hurt, rent a flat, buy a home or become homeless...and every one of those things, in some tiny way, will indeed change the future, microsmically or on a grand scale...and we ususally never even notice, because unseen though it is, we are all tied to the universe...every atom in existence, every thought, every action...it's all microcosmic dust, swilling around in a vast cyclone of change. We can't stop it. We can change it sometimes, ever-so-slightly by degrees, by making more deliberate choices, by making the time to learn and to think about the world around us. By a chain forged of thought and word and deed.

Yes, I am very much hopelessly Whovian...I mean, I'm still watching it, going on my 26th year now as a fan of the programme.

Truth to tell though, the romance with the new series pretty much is over, for me. And, I do find that somewhat sad. For a while there, I was very literally watching Dr Who DVD's every single day--long before I bought my first soundtrack DVD, I'd recorded the beginning and ending themes, to play on my tape recorder while I was working at the travelodge, and also while I was driving about Lake George and other parts of the Adirondacks, in my car. I've read and re-read, and re-read some more, the books that I have. I wrote stores, I visited the webstites every day.

Why? Well, that's rather a long story. And why have I backed away from my fandom? Also a bit of a long story. Mostly, it all hinges on some massive losses in my life--and then, like a miracle, finding something I cherished again, totally out of the blue.

Some of you reading this well know about those terrible losses, one after another, after another. My whole life, everything I knew, everything I loved, everything I held dear--my security, my very home...ripped away from me, over and over again.

And then, in the early spring of 2006, I found...Dr Who. Doctor who was back! I adored that programme. In the 80's, I was an officer in the local fan club, did the conventions from New York to Boston to my own birthplace, pursued the comic books and paperbacks, bought the goodies I could find--I even remember driving miles out of my way, to find this little mum and dad shop that actually (and illegally, believe it or not) sold real jelly babies.

By 1990, the show was gone from the local airwaves, the club disbanded, the conventions disappeared and finding Who merchandise became a real problem. But...I never forgot. I never did. I even used to dream about Dr Who in my sleep, sometimes. So, in the mid-90's, when I found out they were doing a film over here..oh God, I was so terribly chuffed. Well, the movie was bad--but the acting of McGann and McCoy could certainly never be faulted. Still, I was so pleased to have it back in my life, even if only for one night.

And then, it came back again, in 2006. I didn't have tele at home--I could afford it even less then, than I do now--still, there were televisions at my job that I had then--the race track/casino in Saratoga, and I got to watch around 3 and a half episodes of the 1st series on the sly, during my breaks...and then, both series 1 and 2 in their entirety, thanks to the great kindness and generosity of a fellow Whovian.

And, I watched and watched those flippin' episodes, until I could actually close my eyes and follow along without looking.

I'd lost so much...but through the Doctor, I found one small part of myself again. In a time of my life, where I was floundering emotionally, trying to hold on to myself, before the intense emotional pain, the complete isolation and the emptiness destoyed me utterly.

I was floundering in heavy seas, on the verge in actual reality, of going under for good, and Dr Who absolutely saved me. Well, Dr Who and some friends I found through the internet. But, it was, truly, Dr Who that gave me something to hold on to---a televison programme from a country 3000+ miles away, threw me a life preserver.

So, when Series 4 episode 12 happened, and the ending threw me for such a loop--I mean, I spent much of the weekend, feeling like I'd been kicked in the stomach, feeling like I'd lost yet another part of my life that meant the world to me....I lost my trust in Russell T. Davies' Doctor Who. I lost my faith in something I felt I could utterly depend on. I...lost.

I know Russell T. Davies has said something to the effect that the fans being upset at the Doctor regenerating is silly, that it's not, I think he said, like a nuclear war, or some such palaver.

True, very true. But, then, I'm not an ordinary fan, am I? For me, the ending of episode 12, was for me, indeed, a bit like dying. Something I had faith in, something I loved and cared about, ended. RTD pulled the rug under from me yet again--and I'm afraid I didn't take it very well. It hurt me. I have to tell you, I'm rather tired, after 40 some odd years, of getting hurt.

In fact, it took me about six or seven months to get over it. That's a long time for me, as I really am not into holding grudges...not that I've never done, and not that I don't-- but it's something I really don't like about myself, so therefore is something I'm rather keen to avoid whenever I can.

Episode 12 may not have been a big deal to Davie's, Tennant, Gardiner and the rest of Whovian fandom, but it left me realizing that I was in too deep, and needed to get the hell out. So, I mostly did.

Now, instead of every single day of the year, I only watch Who a two or three nights a week, my Who-surfing is minimal as well, and I stopped writing Dr Who stories for five months...and even now, am not as keen on it as I was. I still read and re-read the stores, though, and play the soundtracks regularly. Yes, don't mistake me though, I still LOVE Doctor Who...just have toned it down my fan-dom to a less fanatical, more normal level.

Erm--did no one at the toy factory place this on a table and really look at it?

Can anyone say: "call an ambulance, I think I just broke my leg?"