Doctor Who: Reminiscing…

I am many things. A writer, a singer, a person who will use any excuse to dress up, much more. Of those things, a characteristic I am most proud of, is that I am a brilliant finagler.

My ability to procure what I seek is almost legendary. I am The Seeker. (The black female version…Seeker 3.0)

Despite this, even I was astonished when I procured, this bad boy.


On November 23rd, “Day of the Doctor” the tell all be all for Whovians everywhere, I, Sydney Adams, managed to find tickets to a 3D showing.

For seventeen sweet sweet dollars.

I went through several sold-out movie theaters, because when you don’t have BBC One, or an American equivalent, or patience, you have to finagle.

I imagine Whovians everywhere are mourning the loss of Matt Smith/celebrating the Newbie/emotionally damaged after what occurred. I was listening to the radio and I nearly had a heart attack turning the volume down, because I heard someone talking about what, “The Doctor has been running from…”DUM DUM DUMM!

Don’t spoil it for me, I haven’t seen it yet.

Anyway, to celebrate Doctor Who in my own way, I decided to post my first feelings on Doctor Who from almost a year ago from this day.  I wasn’t always the fan I used to be.  I used to be indifferent. Now, all I can think about it how I have nothing to wear.

I wore this for the Deathly Hallows Part Two 12:00am premiere.

Also the Times Square Exhibition. Yes, I have problems. Harry Potter ain’t one a dem.

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*sniff sniff* We’re just so happy. (Also, say hi to Summer, the muse of the following section.)


Doctor Who? Oh…don’t get me started.

It is the eve of the Doctor Who 50th Anniversary, “The Day of the Doctor.”

For those of you who are not Doctor Who fans, I understand your, “Uh huh. That’s nice,” inner dialogue.

who refuse

I was once like you, free from the worries and cares of a the last of the Time Lords (I use the word last quite loosely), from the destroyed planet Gallifrey, with no known name but “The Doctor,” an understandably grey moral compass, and the need to save humanity at every waking moment.

It reminds me of the beginning of “The Incredibles,” where Mr. Incredible is talking about he wishes the world would just “stay saved” for ten minutes.

Well, now that I’ve gone off into my nerdy aside, let us get back.

Doctor Who is important to many people in the universe, including me. Currently, that importance is making me scramble in desperation. Why? Well, because I:

1. Do not have a BBC channel on the television

2. Do not have money to go to the Broadcast/Showing in Times Square

3. Am going to be at work, making the money I don’t have, during the hour of it’s showing

Doctor Who, is a British National Treasure.


While I am not a British citizen, I imagine that the average person, let alone average fictional person rarely becomes a national treasure.  Then again, there is nothing average about, “The Doctor.”

I am dying to know his real name. (The hell it’s John Hurt. Real Gallifreyan. If that’s his name, my name is Meebo.)

It frightens me when I think of the lengths I might go just to obtain that information.

Doctor Who makes me want to become  a better writer. The storyline is brilliant.

The show is basically an ancient (the 1960’s yo), super-powered formula.

It is a recipe that has been marinated in the perfectly assorted gourmet seasonings with smart British wit, a well rounded global appreciation, and a vast imaginative landscape. Watching Doctor Who is like watching a movie that you know the basic gist of, but it hurts and thrills you each step of the way.

If you like someone during the Christmas special, there is a high possibility they will die. Unless they don’t( like in “The Next Doctor” episode 15 in Season Four).  Each adventure is new, fresh, and intricate. As a result, even with the formula, you don’t truly know what will happen.

The writers are OUT OF THEIR MINDS.

Yeah. I’m talking to you, Russell T. Davies. You’re a sick man.

There is not an Extra on the entire set of Doctor Who. Every actor, even those whose roles consist of running away from ensuing calamity, are talented in their own right.

Two of the Doctor’s main companions, Martha Jones, and Amy Pond, were originally Extras. (In fact, they both died, and I didn’t catch they were the same people until my nostalgic re-watch.*sniff sniff* David Tennant.)

The only way to understand is unfortunately to watch it. About a year ago I thought about writing a blog solely dedicated to tracking my progress through discovery Doctor Who for the first time. I was bored, curious, but sure I was above it all. Let me tell you this, fine readers:

In two weeks of watching Doctor Who, I, a writer who can produce 135 pages in a week, wrote 6.

I’ll publish that at another time. Maybe tomorrow, since I’m sure the fan base will be reminiscing. Until then, I’ll be working my magic to find a way to watch it. Who knows, maybe I can watch it during my break?

Until then, The Doctor and I have some Sontarans to defeat! Yeah, you didn’t know I was a companion did you?

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No, I am not cosplaying. Yes, that is a Sonic Screwdriver. Happy 50th everybody.


Secrets of the Little Black Book.

Secrets of the Little Black Book.

I have a little black book.

It holds the poetry, observations, rants, and drawings I’ve accumulated over the last 3+ years. It is not quite done because I am picky with it’s content.

I have a standard to which I hold “little black book” worthy work.

As a result, I forget a lot of what I’ve written, making the work’s rediscovery hilarious and invigorating. It’s like visiting your younger self. It’s my own little Doctor Who adventure.

(Yes, I am one of those.)

I may not have a TARDIS, but I do own several blue sweaters. I may not travel in time and discover/save new planets, but I do travel inside of myself and discover/save my sanity.

I think that’s pretty close, don’t you?

“Why is it that when I am assembly required,
When I lack make-up and feel like crap, that
More guys look at me?”