Amy Ponds of the 99% (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
allchildren) wrote2010-04-10 05:05 pm
allchildren) wrote2010-04-10 05:05 pm
Entry tags:
I should just rename this journal "fiction therapy."
I sing a song of Doctor Who and a fuckload of feelings:
The summer of 2005 was a lot of things but most relevantly it was the time sci-fi entered my adult life (after a childhood of TNG, and X-Files, and reading The Restaurant at the End of the Universe approximately one floppity jillion times and all the other Hitchhiker's books once). In quick succession: Firefly (and Serenity -- I saw the movie at the June preview just a few days after finishing the show), BSG, and Doctor Who.
(The other thing that summer is most memorable for is the beginning of the ~*~relationship that would define us both~*~ with my pdl'hy'la Rawles who, if you are wondering, feels pretty much the same way! See also: her post about today's episode WITH WHICH I KINDASORTAEXTREMELY AGREE)
The Nine & Rose show was, like, my dream show. It could have been crafted with me specifically in mind and wouldn't have done much better (fewer Daleks, I suppose. Oy, the obligatory Daleks always). And it was so perfect a story experience that I have never in these nearly five years gone back to watch it all. I've started to, a few times, but I've never gotten further than the Harriet Jones (o beloved Harriet Jones) two parter. Watching the ending play out was exactly as it should have been. I've never had the need to relive it.
And I've become protective of that memory, too, because I was sold on Ten when first he appeared and at the end of the Christmas Invasion dude lost me forever. I watched half of his season with Rose and couldn't even take it anymore. I hated the overt flirtiness of Ten/Rose almost as much as I loved the deep unspoken romance between Nine and Rose, I hated what it did to everybody around them, and obvs the whole fandom was terrifying. I thought about picking the show up again for Martha, but when it became clear she was going to be punished for not being Rose I stuck with loving her from afar, and I thought about picking the show up again for Donna but there was still this thing! This Ten-shaped thing that had torn down Harriet Jones and seemed fated to tear down every other woman he came across*. And this. And reports of Donna's eventual fate, which hurt me altogether more than the fate of a character I've never seen in action has any right to. And I Did Not Want.
(*Anyanka Syndrome: a pathological obsession with the scorned women of fiction. Done wrong, ignored, rejected, destroyed, left out and leftover. There are a lot of them. My diagnosis is acute and incurable, although treated periodically with liberal application of Princess Tutu, and is frequently a dealbreaker, ladies.)
And there is this other thing of mine, perhaps best called a Wendy Complex. You may notice that my DW username is quoted from the first two words of Peter Pan; you may notice the tattoo on my left arm of the perpetual child himself, scowling in anger that he must let Wendy go. There was a time I wanted text on it too, text from the last holdouts from my old broken indie scene of man-children now too old for this shit and trying to make it serious: in time, I know I must move on. My difficult relationship with the books of my youth; my misguided love of Order of the Phoenix; the reason I needed His Dark Materials. My love/hate of nostalgia. My adoration of Arcade Fire, and of Joanna Newsom. This quote (note that the song in question was also the current music on the previously linked post! ha!).
And then a man falls out of the sky and promises the world to a little girl; a promise he twice breaks.
She says she grew up, he says he'll fix that, and away they fly, she still in her nightgown.
Most probably, he will break his promise a third time. Because Amelia Pond was a bit fairy tale, and all children (except one) do grow up. Or maybe he won't and just this once everybody (every heart) lives. I doubt it. And really, I don't want it.
But what I sat down to record, before my endless collection of feelings hijacked my post yet again (really, see Rawles's post for my other feelings wrt Amy and Eleven and MAKING THE FUCK OUT; also, see this in comparison to this!) can be summed up as this: Doctor Who has come back for me. Harder than ever. I'm so glad -- so so so glad -- and oh my stars, I'm so ready.
The summer of 2005 was a lot of things but most relevantly it was the time sci-fi entered my adult life (after a childhood of TNG, and X-Files, and reading The Restaurant at the End of the Universe approximately one floppity jillion times and all the other Hitchhiker's books once). In quick succession: Firefly (and Serenity -- I saw the movie at the June preview just a few days after finishing the show), BSG, and Doctor Who.
(The other thing that summer is most memorable for is the beginning of the ~*~relationship that would define us both~*~ with my pdl'hy'la Rawles who, if you are wondering, feels pretty much the same way! See also: her post about today's episode WITH WHICH I KINDASORTAEXTREMELY AGREE)
The Nine & Rose show was, like, my dream show. It could have been crafted with me specifically in mind and wouldn't have done much better (fewer Daleks, I suppose. Oy, the obligatory Daleks always). And it was so perfect a story experience that I have never in these nearly five years gone back to watch it all. I've started to, a few times, but I've never gotten further than the Harriet Jones (o beloved Harriet Jones) two parter. Watching the ending play out was exactly as it should have been. I've never had the need to relive it.
And I've become protective of that memory, too, because I was sold on Ten when first he appeared and at the end of the Christmas Invasion dude lost me forever. I watched half of his season with Rose and couldn't even take it anymore. I hated the overt flirtiness of Ten/Rose almost as much as I loved the deep unspoken romance between Nine and Rose, I hated what it did to everybody around them, and obvs the whole fandom was terrifying. I thought about picking the show up again for Martha, but when it became clear she was going to be punished for not being Rose I stuck with loving her from afar, and I thought about picking the show up again for Donna but there was still this thing! This Ten-shaped thing that had torn down Harriet Jones and seemed fated to tear down every other woman he came across*. And this. And reports of Donna's eventual fate, which hurt me altogether more than the fate of a character I've never seen in action has any right to. And I Did Not Want.
(*Anyanka Syndrome: a pathological obsession with the scorned women of fiction. Done wrong, ignored, rejected, destroyed, left out and leftover. There are a lot of them. My diagnosis is acute and incurable, although treated periodically with liberal application of Princess Tutu, and is frequently a dealbreaker, ladies.)
And there is this other thing of mine, perhaps best called a Wendy Complex. You may notice that my DW username is quoted from the first two words of Peter Pan; you may notice the tattoo on my left arm of the perpetual child himself, scowling in anger that he must let Wendy go. There was a time I wanted text on it too, text from the last holdouts from my old broken indie scene of man-children now too old for this shit and trying to make it serious: in time, I know I must move on. My difficult relationship with the books of my youth; my misguided love of Order of the Phoenix; the reason I needed His Dark Materials. My love/hate of nostalgia. My adoration of Arcade Fire, and of Joanna Newsom. This quote (note that the song in question was also the current music on the previously linked post! ha!).
And then a man falls out of the sky and promises the world to a little girl; a promise he twice breaks.
She says she grew up, he says he'll fix that, and away they fly, she still in her nightgown.
Most probably, he will break his promise a third time. Because Amelia Pond was a bit fairy tale, and all children (except one) do grow up. Or maybe he won't and just this once everybody (every heart) lives. I doubt it. And really, I don't want it.
But what I sat down to record, before my endless collection of feelings hijacked my post yet again (really, see Rawles's post for my other feelings wrt Amy and Eleven and MAKING THE FUCK OUT; also, see this in comparison to this!) can be summed up as this: Doctor Who has come back for me. Harder than ever. I'm so glad -- so so so glad -- and oh my stars, I'm so ready.
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Also I am going to be Amy for a nerd costume party and cannnnn't waaaaaaaaitttttt.
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But now I can love Doctor Who again! It feels so good to just revel in squee with this show again: there aren't any other shows or canons that make me feel as much a child as Doctor Who does, and I love that. I love that the show invites you in to wonder, and I love that we're watching Amy's fairy tale.
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