Drinking the Whovian Kool-Aid

This summer I decided it was time to bite the bullet and check out the series that I had been avoiding, Doctor Who. As someone who loves pop culture, I knew enough about the show to get by, but given its nearly 50 year history, I found it a bit intimidating to just jump into the show. I was encouraged to start with the ninth Doctor, Christopher Eccleston, and go from there. Thank you to everyone who said that.

I wanted to write this post a few weeks ago, but I found myself having a really hard time doing so because there's so much to talk about. Each time I sat down to write, I would end up writing a master's thesis on the various aspects of the show. Instead of doing that, I'm going to talk about the very strange journey I went on.

It normally takes me a while to warm up to fandoms. I enjoy shows, books, movies, etc. but I usually don't become a hardcore fan until several months or even years later. This was not the case with Doctor Who. It snuck up on me and then planted itself, refusing to leave.

While watching series 1 with Eccleston, I remember thinking, " Oh, this is interesting and odd. I like the angry quirkiness Eccleston brings, and Rose is pretty cool, even if she does treat Mickey like dirt. Let's see what happens." Then there's the regeneration, and I was bummed, and thought about giving up, but everyone told me I HAD to watch David Tennant's Doctor. So I kept going. 

I found the transition from 9 to 10 a little rough, and I wished there was more Eccleston, but I liked Tennant. He's a bit insane. I hated what happened to Rose, resisted Martha, and later, Donna Noble, but as the series progressed, I found I wanted to watch more episodes in a row. I became more emotional. I became invested. I fell for the Doctor and his companions, not to mention Jack Harkness. I am still convinced John Barrowman is not human or Barrowman is the alias, and he's really Harkness and unable to die. Seriously, he doesn't age! What's up with that?