Who Will Be The Next Doctor?, Part 1

EVERYONE JUST LOST THEIR MINDS

[source: Facebook]

On Friday, June 1st, 2013, Matt Smith, announced that he would be stepping down from the titular role in BBC's popular sci-fi  show Doctor Who. This was a great disappointment to the fandom as Smith's portrayal of the eleventh incarnation of the Doctor had endeared him in the hearts of many since he took over the role after Tenth Doctor David Tennant left the series in 2010. Despite rumors that Smith had intentions of leaving the show, his announcement came as a surprise to many—probably because an August 2012 interview with the Sun, in which Smith stated that he would remain in the role until "at least 2014" was taken by some to mean the "through" the 2014 season. Smith has only two episodes left: the November 23rd 50th Anniversary Special and the 2013 Christmas Special, in which the BBC confirm that the Eleventh Doctor will regeneration into the twelfth incarnation.

That being said, almost immediately after the announcement of Smith departure, the Interweb exploded  with speculations and suggestions as to who is worthy to take up the role of Twelfth Doctor. Online bookies like SkyBet and William Hill are already offering odds on who will be the next Doctor with Law & Order: UK's Ben Daniels as top favorite. Fans the world over have their fantasy list of potential Doctors that include Harry Potter stars; potential first female Doctor, first black Doctor, and first previous Doctor to return; and Benedict Cumberbatch. Even news outlets are picking favorites. Most of these lists border on absurd, however, and I must agree with Dustin Rowles, who in his uproxx.com article on realistic candidates to replace Matt Smith, points out that, for various reasons like casting precedence and ability to dedicate themselves to the show, the next Doctor will need to be a relative unknown. So, no Daniel Radcliffe, no Cumberbatch, no Johnny Depp.

But where is the fun in speculations if they weren't unsupportable and bat-shit off the wall? So, in honor of the folk who really, really, REALLY would crap themselves if Harry Potter or Sherlock Holmes got the role, I present to you my theories on who will be the next Doctor. In today's post, I will present you with my Limited American Knowledge of British Actors list of who I think should and/or will be Twelfth Doctor. Later this week, I'll post Part Two in which, I find reasons why everyone else is wrong.

Thirty-Two

It is midnight as I write this and I am now thirty-two years old. Just a few years ago, I was twenty-three: lost and bitter, meandering through life, making mistakes that I should have been old enough not to be making any more. I still make some of those mistakes today from time to time. I like to think I have the maturity now to appreciate them, to see them as guides towards being a better person…or at the very least, a somewhat entertaining one.

Some of my favorite moments in life were some of my most epic fails...and usually involved a girl. Like the time during my junior year of high school when I enlisted in the U.S. Army through their "split-option program" to impress Tabitha Thrash, a petite redhead who had been one of my closest friends. She was in the class above me and had just enlisted herself in hopes of becoming a military police officer. I remember the freckles on her face and how they surrounded her green, determined eyes. I remember not knowing what to do with my life after graduation and whether I could even get into college and how I'd pay for it if I did. So I enlisted. I remember making out with her in the recruiting office parking lot and talking about whether we would see each other after we got back. I saw Tabitha maybe once or twice after that day, then we shipped out to our respective training facilities. I heard some years later that she met someone while at Basic and married him during a weekend pass. Such is life.

The take away: believe only about 50% of what your Army recruiter tells you. Do your own research. To this day I wish I made a better career of the military. Maybe asked for deployment to Europe or picked a military specialty that had a $30k signing bonus attached.

I am thirty-two today and I am as scared of the days to come as I was at sixteen. At least, I am finally a college student. At twenty-nine, I found the courage (read: motivation) to go back to school because of a girl, a brunette this time—although when I met her a few years earlier she had red hair. After years of gentle prodding and out right nagging, I decided to take the plunge—quite randomly actually. I was bored during a slow day at work and since I've been promising for years at this point to do so, I decided to apply for school. It was a whim. I expected that I had missed out on the semester deadlines and thought I'd just get the formalities out of the way in time for the next. I was surprised when I got the invitation to enroll in classes in time for them to begin two weeks hence.

Today, I am thirty-two. A week and a half from today, summer semester begins. It will be my second to last semester at Georgia Perimeter College. If all goes well between now and December, I'll have an Associate's degree and will be deciding on where to transfer to finish my Bachelor's. I feel like I'm sixteen again, scared shitless of what's next, whether I can hack it in my next school and in the real world, and whether I will continue to make my wife proud. Although, I downplay my reaction every time she tells me how proud she is or whenever she brags about my grades to people, I get butterflies every time I see her beaming with pride. I think of the doors that will finally open because of a degree, how my family will benefit from it. I think about how grown up I feel when I think beyond just myself and when I think about my family. Sixteen year old me would probably never understand. The warm and fuzzy feelings spread from my chest and blankets me. And things aren't as scary.

I am thirty-two now and I have a penchant for introspection on my birthdays. Let me tell you a secret. A few hours before my twenty-first birthday, I had a panic attack. I thought I would die before I turned twenty-one, most likely in my sleep. I got it in my mind that I would die just before May 22. And every year after that I would get all squirrelly. I didn't have panic attacks anymore, I was just convinced that some divine being was trying to kill me. I was sure of it. I had proof: an illness that wrecked my body and caused enough pain that I contemplated ending it, a deer jumping through the driver side window of my car and head-butting me as I drove 55 mile an hour on a busy road days before my birthday, several other near misses on the interstate, having to clear a drainage ditch of debris during a lightning storm or risk water damage to my house on several occasions on or near my birthday, a May hail storm or two. They were just some of the evidence that supported my irrational belief that I would not see my next birthday. So now I stay up past midnight every May 21, just to make sure I make it. I don't even get those feelings anymore. They stopped around my thirtieth birthday—probably because I started forgetting that my birthday was just around the corner. I actually kept forgetting that it was coming up this year. A co-worker reminded me again yesterday afternoon. In hindsight, that probably explains why I was clearing a drainage ditch of debris in the middle of a lightning storm this past Saturday.

But as traditions stand, I'm once again awake past midnight and one year older. I am thirty-two years old, I'm babbling in a blog post at an ungodly hour past my bedtime. You'd think I'm drunk right now, but all I've had was root beer. I'll sign off for now. Goodnight, friends and followers. As  a gift to you, I present to you photo proof of my adulthood.

Me, about age 3

My costume for Dragon*con 2012

Recipes: Filipino Cantaloupe Juice

I can't remember if this recipe was handed down to me by my mother or her mother. Regardless, this juice is a decidedly Filipino recipe. It is one of my favorites and always takes me back to my childhood. Whenever cantaloupes go on sale at the food store, I make sure to pick a couple up to make myself a pitcher or five. What can I say? I'm addicted to cantaloupe juice.

INGREDIENTS:

• 1 - Cantaloupe
• 2L - Water
• 1/2 to 1 Cup Sugar (to Taste)
• Lots of patience

1 Cantaloupe makes about 2 Liters.

Make sure your pitcher has enough room for juice and displacement caused by melon flesh. You are basically infusing water with fresh fruit. 

• A Note on Melon-Scrapers
• Variations

STEP-BY-STEP INSTRUCTIONS

Thank You Actual Advice Mallard, Episode 1

Memes are great. Aside from being hilarious, memes can offer insight into ourselves in some of the most disturbingly ironic ways. And sometimes, they can be very helpful.

One of my current favorites is "Actual Advice Mallard" (learn more about him and his origins at KnowYourMeme.com by clicking here). As you may guess, this aquatic avian that quacks dispenses little tidbits of life hacks. For example: using the Shift+Ctrl+T key-stroke to reopen an accidently-closed tab in your browser. I tried it and it worked. Then, I shamed myself for not already knowing this trick. As my friend Joey likes to point out—quite exasperatedly, actually: "T.J., you're Asian! Computer stuff should be genetically hardwired into your DNA."

Another great example of the Mallard's sagely advice is featured in the photo below.

Source: KnowYourMeme.com

Now, Brooke told me she knew of this trick already but she couldn't remember where she first came across it. Either way, she assured me, it works. It made sense to me since people sometimes pay a lot of money for personal garment steamers. But I thought I'd give it a try all the same.

Below are the before and after pictures of the three shirts I tried this trick on over the course of several showers. All three are labeled as 100% cotton and are of varying degrees of weight and style. After all was said and done, a 15 minute steamy shower worked on these shirts to a varying degree of success.

Before

After

The first shirt I tried was a gray polo from Old Navy that is part of my uniform for work. The material is somewhat stretchy and I found this trick worked wonders on this shirt. When I got out, the shirt looked as if I had ironed it. There were a few wrinkles still near the bottom but a few quick tugs and a pat down of the shirt took care of it.

Before

After

This next shirt is a Mossimo brand flannel shirt from Target. The material is less elastic than the polo and is much thicker. I was a little worried that the stream and extreme heat might prematurely shrink one of my favorite shirts but it was fine in the end. This shirt was less wrinkled going in than the gray polo and came out with slightly more wrinkled than the polo when the two end results are compared to each other. The tug and pat down trick helped a little but it did not have that freshly ironed quality of the polo. I'd say the shirt is still wearable if stiffly-ironed is not the look you are looking for. Also, the material and style of the flannel helped to hide some of those persistent wrinkles.

Before

After

Lastly, I tried this trick on a dress shirt. The shirt I chose was a Merona brand shirt, also from Target. The material is still 100% cotton according to the tag but is thinner and stiffer than the polo and the flannel shirt. The shirt went in as a bag of wrinkles and came out still significantly unchanged below the breast line and sleeves. Though it was an improvement, I would have been better off just ironing the damn thing. I definitely would not wear it if I had somewhere to be. Granted, I may not have stayed in the shower long enough or maybe the shirt was just having an off day. Perhaps I would have better luck with another dress shirt, maybe a shirt that is blended with other fabrics.

All in all, a decent advice from our Life Hack Duck. I definitely would try this out with other pieces of my wardrobe. It would help to know which items I own that I can do this with. Brooke says she's done this before with garments of varying materials, so I'm sure I'll have a better success rate with other dress shirts. At least I know that if I'm running late for work, I can save time not having to iron my work shirt. Also, I don't think this trick was made for the boss-level state of wrinkles that these shirts were in. I bet it works best on previously iron shirts that happened to pick up some creases in the closet.

Try it out yourself and let me know what you think.