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Saturday, January 7, 2006
I've been watching a lot of Doctor Who lately (the Tom Baker years.) Which has inspired me to write the following featurette: (Which is in no way meant as a slam against the series, and which is sheer hyperbole with no attempt to be wholly accurate. Or even halfly accurate.) Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you:

THE TWO MINUTE DOCTOR WHO (The Tom Baker Years)

Setting: Someplace in England OR a mysterious alien planet billions of miles away from earth which happens to look just like someplace in England.

Beginning of brief, expository sequence which introduces a few native characters, all of whom will be playing an important part in the upcoming plot.

Native characters: Hmmm. We've just noticed that some mysterious evil seems to be afoot here in our land. Wish we were smart enough to figure out what it was.

(The TARDIS lands. The Doctor and his companion(s) step out.)

The Doctor: Oh my. I set the TARDIS controls so we would land in some bright and sunny English vacation spot and we wound up here in this strange, dangerous world which is presumably crawling with monsters instead.

The Doctor's Companion(s): Doctor, do you think that perhaps, maybe if you set the TARDIS' controls to land in some strange place which is dangerous and crawling with monsters, that we might end up someplace where it's bright, safe and sunny instead?

The Doctor: Quiet you. I sense there is evil afoot. Let's see what the locals have to say.

Native characters: AAHH!! WE'RE BEING ATTACKED BY SOMETHING EVIL!!!!

The Doctor: Hmm, it would seem my hunch was right. I shall investigate the nature of this evil, and by "investigate" I mean, putter around for awhile, acting eccentric and freaking out the locals until the body count starts to mount up.

The Doctor's Companion(s): Is there anything I(we) can do to help you?

The Doctor: No, but you CAN help pad out this episode's running time by trying to do something plucky and proactive, only to have it backfire on you when you get captured, hypnotized or attacked by monsters, at which point I shall come along to save your sorry human asses.

The Doctor's Companion(s): 'kay.

(The Doctor's Companion(s) try to do something plucky and proactive, only to have it backfire on them when they get captured, hypnotized or attacked by monsters, at which point the Doctor comes along to save their sorry human asses.)

The Doctor: You know, given the fact that at least 45 percent of my time in any given day is spent rescuing my companions, one might wonder why I bother to drag them along with me in the first place.

The Doctor's Companion(s): Yes. One might wonder. Maybe you have some kind of rescuing fetish...

The Doctor: Maybe. By the way, I've discovered that, by an incredible coincidence, we happened to stumble upon this planet just as it's about to be destroyed by some unholy alien conspiracy--a conspiracy which will probably involve the planet Earth itself at some point, even though it might be billions of light years away from here.

The Doctor's Companion(s): Yeah. Our coming here was a coincidence. Riiiight....We may be human, doctor, but we're not stupid.

Doctor: Okay. I've finally figured out what sort of evil we're dealing with here and I've begun to build an elaborate machine which will eliminate it.

The Doctor's Companion(s): Anything I(we) can do to help?

Doctor: Besides NOT foolishly allowing yourself to get kidnapped, hypnotized or attacked by monsters every two minutes? Well, you could go around and ask the natives of this planet if they happen to have the incredibly rare and arcane ingredient, component and/or power source that I'll need to finish this week's "Save the World" machine...

Native characters: Oh, you mean THIS incredibly rare and arcane ingredient, component and/or power source? Sure, you can use i--RRAARGGHHHHIMBEINGTORNAPARTBYMONSTERS!!!!!

The Doctor's Companion(s): Uh oh. Just about everyone in the cast who isn't us is dead. You'd better hurry and flip that switch on your machine, doc, or there won't be anyone left to save.

The Doctor: What? Activate the "Save the World" machine before I've had the chance to confront the evil aliens who are at the root of this week's problems and engage them in a flippant, moralising conversation?

Evil aliens: GRRR! Die, you big-nosed busybody!!!

The Doctor's Companion(s): You know, doctor, if 45 percent of your time is spent rescuing us companions, then, by our reckoning, at least 50 percent of it has got to be spent needlessly antagonizing your evil alien adversaries...

The Doctor: Well, that still leaves me 5 percent of my time to flip the switch on my "Save the World" machine and destroy the aliens. **Flips switch**

A BUNCH OF LOW-BUDGET 70's ERA SPECIAL EFFECTS OCCUR

Evil aliens: GACK!! *DIE*

The Doctor: And the world is safe once more.

The Doctor's Companion(s): Yeah. Too bad about all those blokes who bought it though, eh? Say... now that we know the true nature of the evil aliens, why don't we get in the TARDIS, go back in time a little ways and blast them with some photon torpedoes before they rear their ugly heads here and start killing people?

The Doctor: Because that would violate some sort of universal, Prime Directive-y Time Lord law against interfering with the Time Stream... or something. Sorry, but we're just not allowed to go back and change history, or mess with established facts and events...

The Doctor's Companion(s): ...unless the writers of the show screw up the continuity at some point in the future...again...

The Doctor:... I liked you better when you were just a robotic dog that shot lasers out of its nose.

END.

Wednesday, January 4, 2006
HOW TO FIX A SWIVEL CHAIR (WHILE BREAKING AT LEAST A HALF-DOZEN NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS.)

First, fiddle around with the chair for a few hours. Take it apart and put it back together several times. Try and sit down on it. Pick yourself up off the ground after chair goes all Tilt-a-Whirl on your ass and dumps you. Fiddle with it some more. Yell "stay" several times in a commanding voice while holding your hands out in front of you. Try and sit on the chair again. Curse a blue streak when the chair, doing a pretty convincing impression of a mechanical bull on the "Yeehaw" setting, sends you hurtling groundwards again.

Squeeze some glue onto the joint between the seat and stem of the chair. Clamp it in place until it dries. Sit on chair again. Wake up 15 minutes later with a splitting headache, staring at the ceiling. Realize that Elmer's glue probably isn't going to be strong enough to hold the busted joint together. Go out and buy some epoxy.

Read the instructions. Open the package. Set up a mixing palette and start squeezing out equal parts of the resin and hardener. By now, your nostrils should be getting hit with a stench which smells like a cross between Satan's ass and a three day old slab of liver. That's the epoxy. You didn't know it smelled that bad, did you? Your fingers are full of resin now so you'll just have to bury your nose into your shoulder until this is all over. Spread the mixed epoxy onto the joint between the seat and the chair stem. Wash resin off of hands. Curse softly when you discover that the stinky resin won't come off your hands. Rub hands vigourously until they're the consistency of tenderized ground chuck then shake hands dry. Gingerly place the chair seat onto the chair stem and then gingerly place some heavy books onto onto the seat to weigh it down. Curse loudly when the chair dumps the books onto the floor like a roid-raging high school bully. Attempt to reset the books only to watch them get dumped once more. Stamp foot down hard in a slight fit of pique. Blink twice, then wrinkle your face in disgust as you realize you put your foot right into the palette which held the remainder of the epoxy mixture. Curse a red, white and blue streak as you remove your sock, then toss it and the palette full of stinky resin into the garbage.

Roll up your sleeves, then seize chair seat and attempt to place it squarely down over the chair stem. Grit your teeth as the seat shifts from side to side, trying to buck it off. Wrestle with chair for a good few minutes, spitting, crying and swearing as chair rocks violently. Gasp when, in the course of your life or death struggle, your chair slams against your nearby shelf full of alphabetically arranged DVDs toppling it over. Watch helplessly as chair tips over your cactus plant, which then falls squarely onto your de-socked foot. Scream and curse in a blinding fit of white hot rage, dredging the depths of your soul for the foulest, crudest, most profane oaths ever to cross your now desperate and angry lips.

Stop when you realize that you're no longer living at home with your sailor-mouthed family, but instead, in a nice, slightly upscale apartment building with tagboard-thin walls. Clasp your hands and pray that none of your nosy, snotty neighbors have been moved to call the cops on you.

Place chair calmly against the far wall corner and set the seat onto the chair stem. Gently place the stack of weighing-down books onto the seat one at a time.

Step away from the chair gingerly, daring not to breathe or make a sound. Walk softly over to the nearest window and open it to let out the epoxy stench. Clasp hands and utter another prayer, this time praying that the neighbors won't catch wind of this smell and think that, besides being a loud and violent psychopath, that you're also operating a meth lab.

Now... you play the waiting game....

SEVEN HOURS LATER...

Okay, the chair seems to be fixed. The epoxy appears to have done its job. (I sincerely hope so, as the next step in the repair process will involve a sledgehammer...)