Amy Pond

I love Amy.  I really do.

But she isn't as great as the other companions.  I really think that the biggest thing that keeps the Doctor with her is immense guilt.

She has the attitude of Rose, in loving the adventure and danger, and looking after the Doctor.  She loves Rory, big time.  But you get the feeling that her helping others, other than Rory and the Doctor is because she thinks she should.  It's not like Rose in series 2, episode 1, where the Doctor insists that Rose would care.  If Amy didn't react, I don't really think it'd be the same kind of indicator.  Rose, Martha, and Donna all really cared what happened to others.  Amy gives the impression that she only cares because she cares what the Doctor thinks.

Which is why she needs Rory and Rory needs her.  Alone, neither of them are as compelling as a companion, but he has the caring for everyone thing.  He's brave for things that are the right thing to do, rather than headlong rushing into any danger he sees.  He's perceptive with people who he doesn't necessarily have a strong connection with.  Amy is more perceptive I think, for people who she really loves.  Which isn't very many people.  And she's right clever.  And she will help others, but she appears to go out of her way to do it when the Doctor needs her to.  Particularly in The Beast Below, in taking a chance to save the starwhale.  When she didn't know the consequences with regards to her relationship with the Doctor, she chooses to forget and try to steer the Doctor away.  But in The Rebel Flesh/The Almost People, she doesn't want to help Jennifer if it puts the rest of them in danger, and doesn't want Rory to go after her.  I think Rose, Martha, and Donna would have, or at least put up a fuss about leaving her alone.

The best sum-up of her is the Doctor calling her "mad, impossible Amy Pond."

"Just a theory"

After seeing more references than I care to remember about evolution merely being a "theory," I got annoyed and wrote up a post on my G+ account.  Decided to share it here.  Full text follows:



Particularly whenever somebody mentions evolution, or speaks against creationism, one of the evolution deniers will inevitably throw out the phrase “just a theory.”

I won't go so far as to say that it enrages me, but it does piss me off.  As Inigo Montoya says in The Princess Bride, “You keep using that word.  I do not think it means what you think it means.”
Words used in different contexts can mean completely different things.  To most of the English-speaking world, in common parlance, “theory” refers to how something is thought to work.  It's how something works on paper, but hasn't necessarily been conclusively proven in practise.  It may or may not be commonly believed, but in the end, it is unproven.

In science, it has quite a different use.  It is not some airy-fairy thought that scientists have faith in.  It is not merely something that they haven't managed to disprove yet.  It is not a hypothesis.  Steven D. Schafersman* describes it better and more forcibly than I'd be able to without borrowing from him:


"The final step of the scientific method is to construct, support, or cast doubt on a scientific theory. A theory in science is not a guess, speculation, or suggestion, which is the popular definition of the word "theory." A scientific theory is a unifying and self-consistent explanation of fundamental natural processes or phenomena that is totally constructed of corroborated hypotheses. A theory, therefore, is built of reliable knowledge--built of scientific facts--and its purpose is to explain major natural processes or phenomena. Scientific theories explain nature by unifying many once-unrelated facts or corroborated hypotheses; they are the strongest and most truthful explanations of how the universe, nature, and life came to be, how they work, what they are made of, and what will become of them. Since humans are living organisms and are part of the universe, science explains all of these things about ourselves.

"These scientific theories--such as the theories of relativity, quantum mechanics, thermodynamics, evolution, genetics, plate tectonics, and big bang cosmology--are the most reliable, most rigorous, and most comprehensive form of knowledge that humans possess. Thus, it is important for every educated person to understand where scientific knowledge comes from, and how to emulate this method of gaining knowledge. Scientific knowledge comes from the practice of scientific thinking--using the scientific method--and this mode of discovering and validating knowledge can be duplicated and achieved by anyone who practices critical thinking."


Just a theory?  Scientific theories contain some of the best of humanity and what we're capable of.

Just a theory?  To those using that phrase about evolution for example - excuse the rudeness - but please shut up and go away.  You don't understand the words you are using, and it is pointless to engage with you, as you don't know the language, and don't want to know the language.


* http://www.geo.sunysb.edu/esp/files/scientific-method.html
Bolding in the excerpt is added by me.

Doctor Who: The Waters of Mars

It seemed appropriate to re-watch this, given the successful Curiosity Rover Mars landing 2 days ago.

The character of Adelaide Brooke (played by Lindsay Duncan) is magnificent.  In every part of this, but most spectacularly, the moments right at the end of the episode.

It's no secret that I love David Tennant.  Not only is he my standard of "hot," but he's wonderful as the tenth Doctor.  He's not quite as angry as Nine was, but still more driven by his passions than Eleven is.  Eleven still has the anger, but it seems to be directed more inwards, making it difficult at times to hide his self-loathing.  And Ten is in a particularly sensitive time for The Waters of Mars.  Still too soon after losing Donna - not only his best mate, but she'd just experienced a link to him, to the Time Lords.  Still too soon after finally being reunited with Rose, somebody who he loved so completely, only to leave her not only cut off from him again, but with a sort of clone of himself.  Him, but a him who could really have a relationship with her.  Ten leaves Rose, with his final visual memory of her being Rose kissing him, but not him.  Two such powerful relationships, with two extraordinary women, lost almost at once.

So the Doctor checks out Mars, I suppose after having letting the TARDIS choose a "random" date for him. Only to land at a fixed point.  He brings up Pompeii.  Another fixed point that Donna begged him to lessen, at least a little.  And in running away from it, he's the one who makes it happen.  Only this time, he doesn't have Donna to stop him when needed, to remember what's right, and he's terrified about what he could do.  He tries to run.  But he's the Doctor.  He desperately wants to let himself be drawn into it, he wants to help, he wants to find out what's going on, he knows he shouldn't.

He's pulled in by Adelaide, "the woman with starlight in her soul."  He falls a little in love with her, as he does with all his companions, and gets and stays more involved than he know he should.  Indeed, he brings about the fixed point even when he does all he can to stop it, as the "Time Lord Victorious."  He tells her about Action 5, he tells her about what her death inspires.  Had he not, would she have shot herself at the end?  Would she have set the base to explode before they left?  And she, like all his companions, falls a little in love with the Doctor as well.  Had she not, would she have been so horrified by the idea of the Time Lord Victorious?  Would she have tried to stop him, as Donna would have?

And her conversation with Adelaide at the end was gut-wrenching, but perfect.

The Doctor:  For a long time now, I thought I was just a survivor, but I'm not. I'm the winner. That's who I am. A Time Lord victorious.
Adelaide:  And there's no one to stop you?
The Doctor:  No.
Adelaide:  This is wrong, Doctor! I don't care who you are! The Time Lord victorious is wrong!
The Doctor:  That's for me to decide. Now, you'd better get home. Oh, it's all locked up. You've been away. Still, that's easy...  All yours.
Adelaide:    Is there nothing you can't do?
The Doctor:    Not anymore.

This was a turning point.  The Doctor was starting to believe himself a kind of god, not subject to any rules.  He was the victor, there were spoils from the Last Great Time War!  What a monster he could have become, given enough time with that mind-set.

And then Adelaide, after standing up to him and unsuccessfully stopping him, quietly went inside and brought him back to himself.  He doesn't get to decide who is important, and who is not so important.  He doesn't get to operate outside of any rules.  He needs someone, but will always end up lonely and alone in the end.

Coming back to himself, he knows more of what he's capable of.  He articulates it somewhat in Series 6, A Good Man Goes to War.

Doctor:  Good men don't need rules.  Today is not the day to find out why I have so many.

I love Adelaide, if only for reminding the Doctor of why he's the lonely god, trying to be more of a man, rather than striving towards more powerful god-hood.  And I love the Doctor, for making people love him and want to be the best that they can be.  And expose himself more clearly to himself.

A final thought.  I think that in the fabric of time, a component of some of these fixed points specifically is supposed to include him bringing about said fixed points.  As his TARDIS tells him in The Doctor's Wife, "I always took you where you needed to go."

Doctor Who: The Doctor, the Widow, and the Wardrobe

Starting at the most recent!

For me the most powerful exchange of the episode is the following:
Doctor:  I imagine you'd prefer to be alone?
Madge:  I don't believe anyone would prefer that.

Closely followed by:
Madge:  I don't know why I keep shouting at them.
Doctor:  Because every time you see them happy, you remember how sad they're going to be.  And it breaks your heart.  Because what's the point in them being happy now if they're going to be sad later?  The answer is, of course, because they are going to be sad later.

The Doctor often acts goofy and carefree, but he so understands the heart of sadness and loneliness.  Doctor Who, especially in the rebooted series, is the story of an alone and lonely man who keeps trying to find ways to fill the void and try to believe the front he puts up for everyone.  So he tries to live through others, saving them in ways that he cannot be saved.  Afraid to actually reflect, because pain and guilt will drown him.  So moving on, always moving on.

The new series touches on that theme relatively often.  How he flies away in his blue box as soon as he's done with the action, that he doesn't face consequences or clean things up, that he doesn't dare look back.  And in "Let's Kill Hitler," he's confronted too directly with guilt, having to confess how much he's screwed up, because he can't run away from the voice interface at the time.

So, back to this one.  The Doctor comes to return a favour when somebody who helped him when he needed it loses somebody so important to her.  He tries to brush away her pain and that of her children under wonderful things.  The method he uses to distract himself from his own pain.

But the thing is, is protecting himself from such pain, he doesn't connect with others the same way that many others do.  Like Madge.  She's immersed in her pain, and isn't having any of this.  She doesn't want to be alone, but at the same time, she doesn't want any of this fake or temporary joy.  Conflicted, but unwilling to deal with that through emotional separation.  She wants to help the world and take home all the strays, but not because there's something missing.  She may lash out under extreme sorrow, but she is such a good person, without any real darkness.  The type of person the Doctor is inevitably attracted to.

It's interesting that those who he has the strongest connections with (in the new series, for sure) are those who have lost a core person in their life.  In distracting them and keeping them awe-struck and happy and impressed, he distracts himself.  Martha was helluva impressed with him and adored him, but the closest she came to loss was divorced parents.  She didn't need him the same way the others did.

The Doctor needs to be needed.  But in a way, don't we all?

I was relieved for the Doctor that River had told Amy and Rory about him being alive.  That they just accepted him, and welcomed him in.  He has enough guilt without going through that explanation.

Diablo III Annoyances

I've been playing Diablo III a lot since it was released in mid-May.  Loving the game-play; just what I need when I want to just slay a bunch of stuff.  But...

First thing I hate has to do with the followers.  You get a choice.  Either the templar, scoundrel, or enchantress.  The templar is so self-righteous, you wish that he existed so you could smack him.  The scoundrel is actually pretty funny.  But the enchantress!  Ug, I didn't think I could hate a video game character like this.  She's like... You know when you're a teen or young adult, and one of your best friends has a younger sibling who hero-worships you, and probably has a little crush on you too.  At first you might think it's kind of cute.  And then one day you spend an extended period of time around the kid, and you start to really hate them.  Add to this acting dumb because they think it's cute, and you have the enchantress.  I mean, somebody has to like this, otherwise there wouldn't be so many girls and women who manage to attract the opposite sex by acting dumb and feigning worship.  (Note: the enchantress does act this way towards both male and female characters.)

An example is the hero you play says something like, "I think we're close to the crown."  Enchantress: "You have the right of it.  As always."  The voice actor makes it clear that she's fawning over you.  She goes on at other times about how you're now her entire life, or acts all innocent about things that are said fairly clearly.

She even bothers me more than the attire they've put on the female heroes.  A couple of them start off wearing thigh-high stockings, and at least one continues to for the entire game.  The demon hunter, who is a kick-ass fighter and has attitude, wears spiky high heels.  Even though her adventures running after monsters have her travelling across marshes, desert sands, and snow.  These are fighters, not pretty side-kicks that sort of hang around to cheer someone on.  Does a warrior of any type want to make sure her stay-ups aren't slipping, or sink into the soft ground in a crucial moment?  And!  There's one female angel shown.  Like the other angels, she's faceless, and wears a big white robe (although hers shows a little leg).  She flies at all times you see her.  But she's also wearing high heels.

We're not all hormonal young men.  I don't look to video games to find an attractive person in my life, and even if I did, they don't have to pull out the stereotypical shortcuts to showing that a woman is sexy.

And the thing is, it's not just what the gaming company thinks people want.  Yes, the official forums aren't the majority of players, but it really makes me sick to see posts (with a fair amount of support) complaining that the female wizard's cleavage isn't big enough, or that the female barbarian should be taken down a few dress sizes.  (I've stopped reading the official general forums, because I want to throw up whenever I read most of the stuff posted there.)

I guess the point is that it disgusts me that there still exist boys and men of all age groups who think this kind of stuff is okay.  And probably women, too.

Warning of upcoming content

I've been watching a lot of Doctor Who lately; both new series and old (mostly new though). And however ridiculous it sounds, I have thoughts on it that I've trying to organise and work through, so for a while, this blog may be heavily slanted towards that. May include some episode reviews towards that end, too.

Re-reading old favourites

I re-read Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights.  Teen memories made me recall it as a tale of passion and eternal love, and the depths to which one might fall once losing that.  I wasn't so naive to think it a love story, but I did think that the book as a story of revenge was coupled with and as a result of a story of unconsummated love.

I was a little sickened upon reading it anew.  I couldn't recognise a single healthy relationship in there, whether it be romantic or not.  The closest to one was the new couple at the end, between Catherine Linton and Hareton Earnshaw, even if it did begin with him enduring such abuse from her merely because of her beauty.  (I was glad though, to see Hareton come to some good eventually.  To be inspired to be more than he had been, to push himself to learn to read, to recognise he might be worthwhile.  I like to think that maybe he ended up allowing a relationship between them because without meaning to and despite herself, she made him want more for himself, rather than because he was bewitched by her beauty and kisses.)

Rather, now I recognise it as a tale of obsessive, undeserving passion, and how it can destroy a person.  The reminder of how obsession is not the same as love, and how revenge can engulf a person such that they cannot define themselves outside of it.

I'm not saying that I don't still enjoy the book, that I don't think it's worth reading.  But I don't remember myself or any of my peers recognising how icky all the relationships are.  Edgar proposing to Cathy after she physically abuses him and he realises that she's always lied to him about her personality tendencies?  His doting on her through all her unpleasantness, and her manipulation of her husband and sister (and everyone else) through either being pleasant infrequently as a reward or having fits otherwise?  Actually, the way that just about everyone has fits when they don't get their way, lies, and how they treat servants, even those who've been with them their entire lives?  I suppose the treatment of the servant class is not considered, really, but how it does reflect the people their "betters" actually are.  Not that I particularly like the person of Nelly Dean.  And given the time of the writing, maybe a lot of other stuff is considered fine.  But the confusion between love and covetousness is still yucky.

Other yucky moments include Cathy and Heathcliff crying out passion for each other and making out and whatever else while she's just about to give birth to her child with Edgar, young Catherine fancying herself in love with Linton, Nelly so easily tricked and manipulated, despite receiving some sort of education and growing up exposed to such behaviour, Heathcliff impregnating Isabella even with his dislike of her coupled with his belief that he truly loves Cathy.  So many others too.

The worst part, really, is that I remembered how in love Cathy and Heathcliff were.  The romance of them together after death, on the moors.  Rather than remembering how abhorrent every person in that book is.  (I think that Hindley's wife might have been okay, if she weren't so compliant with how her husband treated Heathcliff.)  The interesting story now is a man who wishes to be completely consumed with hatred and revenge.  Who is at a loss when he fears that he isn't as committed to hatred as he thinks he should be.  A petty boy, becoming a petty man, who confuses passion for other feelings.  And how others can confuse this for either love or hatred, failing to see at the heart is a petty, greedy, unpleasant person, unable to accept responsibility for consequences.  And the people around him whose own passions and regard for Heathcliff's consequently see him as being more than he is.  People, including the readers, end up seeing Heathcliff as being greater than what he was.  (Greater not necessarily meant as a positive adjective.)

It really isn't pleasant to look at oneself and see what you used to think of as romantic, and what you used to be able to explain away.  How one can convince themselves that certain continuing behaviour is somehow not that bad because there were extenuating circumstances.

And yet I love Bronte for choosing to write about such unpleasant people and circumstances.  For the reminder of the consequences of excesses, and how overwhelming, self-devouring passion, while compelling, is dangerous and unappealing with enough reflection.  And what skill to be able to write of such horrible people and circumstances, of so many unhappy endings, and yet still to be able to keep so many reading all the way through, again and again, and to remember.


Note: It can be confusing, differentiating the older and younger Catherine/Cathy.  As Heathcliff refers to the older one as Cathy, I think I kept consistent with that.