Feb. 2nd, 2012

karenarthur: (the platypus of doom)
I had a dream last night that I was explaining to someone how secretly devastated I was that I do not love Dr. Who. That when I saw phenomenal amount of love and devotion aimed at it by its fans, how they talk to each other, the bond they have, it was like a special club that I'll never be a part of. I swore that I'd tried, I really had. I just don't get it because I don't care that much about 'save the world from aliens' action plots.* I asked if there was something wrong with me for not loving it, and postulated that maybe it was like having a taste for cilantro, all dependent on a genetic factor that I just don't have.

Then I wandered around a shopping mall breaking plates in all the plate stores, of which there were a surprising lot of.**


* True for the most part. I've seen a few episodes and was 'meh' on most of them. If there is greatness lurking beyond my experience I've yet to encounter it.
** I have no clue about the symbolism there.

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Karen Arthur

February 2012

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