Showing posts with label Questions I asked myself while sick. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Questions I asked myself while sick. Show all posts

Princess Who?

As often happens as I fell asleep one recent night, I presented myself with A Question.


If The Doctor (of British television and science-fiction adoration) were to regenerate as a Disney Princess, or for that matter were to have a Disney Princess become his companion, which lucky royal prospect would get the nod?


So, in the interest of satisfying my own curiosity and having a bit of a laugh I present:*

THE PRINCESS WHO SMACKDOWN!

A three round competition to determine which animated lady deserves to hang with our favorite Time Lord. Winner takes Ten . . . or Nine, or any Doctor, up to Eleven, really.




Vote in the comments for the four princess you'd most like to see adventuring alongside The Doctor, or at the very least which of each set would take down her rival. I know I have my preferences! As a bonus, I'd love to see why you choose your princesses.

NEXT WEEK: ROUND TWO, SEMI-FINALS

*Please note, I put together that graphic in Paint, so yes, I'm aware it's a little questionable. However, I am not profiting (except maybe in popularity?) from this little exercise of grins and giggles, so don't get weird on me. Just vote, and back up your vote with your reasoning.

These Dreams

Last night I dreamt:

1. That I had somehow become a shape-shifter, but in my dream shifters were all kept together in an almost militant setting, in a secret base in the middle of and beneath a small lake.  Also, I was a boy for most of it. I'm pretty sure I can attribute this to watching Teen Wolf and seeing some tweets about Supernaturally online.

2. That I had an extremely vivid dream in which my mother and step-father were getting divorced. My real lie in-laws were my step family and my own children were step cousins. Not cool. I texted a friend about it in my dream-within-a-dream only to wake up and find my mother's long time, live-in boyfriend was David Tennant, and he wasn't going anywhere. He adored my mother and me, and my little brother. Try the strange weirdness that is completely crushing on your potential step-dad, even though he clearly loves having "relations" with your mom. Also, when I woke up (not really awake, just from the inner dream), my friend had texted me back with condolences. Sleep texting?

So, dear psyche, please stop doing this to me. I'm an adult woman with a fantastic (hot) husband, great sons, and I can frakking well delight in the quirky, lanky beauty that is David Tennant without your help, thanks.

Love,
Amethyst

Epitaph

I am not dying. I just feel like I am. 'Cause I have the flu. the yucky kind with body aches. So I'm blogging, because I don't have enough sense not to, in my current loose state of mind.

This morning I got to thinking about the new strides in social media (don't freak; I'm a dork, not a geek, so the technobabble is beyond me, too, but I still squee over new gadgets--I think it's a nice balance) , and how things like Twitter--at an artist's or author's discretion--open a door into the entertainer's life.

That's weird. Not like bad weird or good weird, just plain weird. My best friend would probably get what I mean immediately . . . at least after I'd fed her a dose of Robitussin. We're tight like that. Even cold medicine brings closer our cognitive processes.  Anyway, by weird I mean artists are not precisely known for letting their creative times, in which they write, or compose, or create, all hang out there. As a sub-species, we're hermit-like. You see the work, but usually only after it's only all worked out.

With Twitter, blogging, live chats, we're giving up that reclusive way of life. That makes me curious. Because don't they say it's a bad thing to get to know your heroes or role models too well (presumably, because we're all human, which is, for some inexplicable reason, always a surprise to fans)? With all this technology, yeah, we're closer to our audiences, but what if Real Life us doesn't measure up to our Cover Life selves? Do we let down fans? Or do we make fans feel special, included, hopeful (especially fans aspiring to follow something along in our footsteps)?

Don't mistake me, I'm not trying to sway anyone one way or another. I love tweeting, and I like blogging (although I do it less because I feel to blog fluff somehow a betrayal of my readership and right now I'm a broken record ab out being stuck in a rut). I just have to think about that question.

I've read books I loved but then seen some unlikable behavior by the author and liked the book less for it. Same is true of music, just as is the opposite--thinking something was "meh" only to admire the artist for some good behavior, and seeing his or her work in a more positive light.

How much of a responsibility to remain mysterious to, or to be a revelation to our audiences do we have? If we produce fiction, or an alternate view of looking at or illumination something, is it up to us to shroud ourselves in an accompanying source of mystery? Are we at fault for bursting bubbles if we don't?