Peter

The husband and I will be watching the premiere of Doctor Who tomorrow. We've valiantly avoided to watch the episode on BBC America and I haven't looked at my Twitterfeed in the past 24 hours. David Tennant will always be "my doctor", but Matt Smith had a great run too.

Maureen Ryan had nice things to say about the episode and I'm excited about the reboot as, with the exception of the 50th anniversary special, the last batch of episodes have felt a little stale. Stephen Moffat will come through, I think. I hope.

My birthday is in a few weeks. A big one. Though I'm inclined to say that I'm okay with it and be sincere, sometimes I forget myself. I wonder if I could be at a different place. If I could be happier. If I could be less or more than I am. I'm going to watch Doctor Who tomorrow and try not to worry about it.

Swimming

It is almost always the small things that seem to change my whole day. My RSS feed picked up this link to a video created from an excerpt of a David Foster Wallace commencement address (#iheartswiss miss). After being frightened off by the gajillion page Infinite Jest, I feel like I might just try again. Today, in the 108 degree weather, the power momentarily stalling the Trax train I was on to go home (and with that the air conditioning) and the pathetic lunch of packaged Udon noodles and bruised banana, I had a lot of material with which I could feel particularly sorry for myself. But I got home after a very long day, happy for the start of the weekend, greeted by a very cool apartment and yesterday's leftovers from Pat's BBQ. 

And I think, this is water. There was a comment on Tina's website that wondered if the video's message changed because the speaker committed suicide. I don't think it does at all. The message says life is hard and more than that, life is boring and tedious and frustrating. Choosing to find meaning, to find reasons why or why not, gives power. It gives freedom. Ofcourse, Doctor Who says it best:



And then they go to the museum and Amy can't understand why, after all of that, Vincent still kills himself: it's not naive to see the good things. Not hopeless either. Sometimes, it's the only thing you can do.

Pond Swan Song

Thoughts and spoilers on last Saturday's Doctor Who and Pond farewell after the jump...

Suspension

My internal lever has been a bit sticky lately so when I've tried to dispatch said lever, I haven't been getting a clear reading. This lever of course dispenses my suspension of disbelief. Dang its faultiness when I get the last episodes this year of Breaking Bad and the premiere of Doctor Who. Thoughts (and spoilers) after the jump.

Doctor

Doctor Who will be premiering its new season this weekend. It couldn't come at a better time since I have plowed through season 5 and 6 of Gilmore Girls and will not emotionally invest in season 7. True, I have Breaking Bad but the mid season finale is next week and then I'll have to wait until next year for its untimely demise. Waiting is hard. Waiting on television fairies is excruciating. Okay, it's not so bad when there are distractions. Distractions in the form of a real life, hobbies I've been neglecting, learning French, and my NY trip. Plus, if I don't want to be replicate the anxiety of last year, I should start knitting stuffs now for Christmas. Lots to do, and yet the couch looks so comfortable and all but the last season of Eureka is still on Netflix Watch Instantly.

Also, NPR's First Listen's are so great! Stars, Cat Power, Animal Collective, Divine Fits, Deerhoof. I've listened to only half of the selections so far, but I feel less neglectful.

Source: replicant.tumblr.com via Laura on Pinterest

Skins

I finished watching the first season of Skins and I can't quite decide where I stand. It kind of started out like watching the Christopher Eccleston era of Doctor Who. It took me up until The Doctor Dances to really get a feel for the show and I find myself watching the finale and listening to "Wild World" and wondering if that moment is just around the corner.

Beautiful Idiots

There's a line that a character in the Doctor Who episode "The Doctor's Wife" says as she tries to think of a word. A word so sad and complicated and big. "Alive"

"Alive isn't sad," the Doctor says. And she replies, "It's sad when it's over."

Grieving is hard partly because the expectation is that it is something one eventually gets over. But the part I like best are the moments when the sorrow makes room for the joy. When reminisces still laced with pain carries happiness alongside.

My mom and I were talking at lunch and the thought struck me how the people that are gone are still very much alive. How we carry them in pockets of our memories and bring them out when we need them. I'm not speaking of the here after or the next phase. I mean the right now. Keeping them. Holding on to loved ones so that we find their presence soothing.

I know that this coming NZ trip will be difficult in many ways, but I hope that I come through it okay.

Spoilers

I've a lot of things on my mind lately and been feeling a little overwhelmed. My first inclination is to bury my head in whatever sand I can find and wait it out. The husband has been re-watching Doctor Who. The wonderful, raggedy Doctor who saves the world just because he loves humans so darn much. The Doctor sees the problems, the conflicts, the insurmountable odds and he overcomes them. I wish I could gather everything into a wide net and place them on a shelf to sift through one by one when I find a spare breath. But there is no Doctor today. No one to save me from the monsters. I suppose I just need to gather up my courage and save myself. So much harder this way :)