Various Artists
I AIN'T A GAMBLIN' WOMAN, I GOT SUCH-A ROWDY WAYS
Raunchy Women's Blues 1923-1937
Clara Smith, Lucille Bogan, Lil Johnson, Moanin' Bernice Edwards
The human race makes sense out of chaos. Marking it out with weddings and Christmas and calendars. This whole process is beautiful, but only if it's being observed.
Me, on a new date: Hey, have you ever thought about the fact that there are plenty of planets where "the Doctor" doesn't refer to the Time Lord carrying around the sonic screwdriver, but rather to the young women who swing through their lives and ask their names and demand answers and sacrifice themselves, to the young men who start off unsure and second-fiddle but bring a kindness, a loyalty, with them and end up finding their own voices and their own purpose? Do you ever think about the role that myth plays in Doctor Who, how so many companion exits and finales take on the role of storytelling, about how companions become gods and immortals and walk the entire dystopian earth and wait two thousand years and be the cause of every Cyberman's single tear and wrench the Doctor back into the universe and carry the story off of screen with them, that they birth myths in their wake, that Doctor Who finales so often leave science-fiction behind them and become mythology itself, when these humans insert themselves into the mythology of the Doctor only to usurp him, that they make themselves the Bad Wolf and Orpheus and the Woman Who Walked the Earth and the Doctor Donna and the Last Centurion and the Girl Who Saw the Stars and most of all, they become the Doctor themself, that the Doctor's story goes nowhere if Rose doesn't save him on Satellite Five or Amy doesn't pull him back into existence or Martha doesn't walk the entire hell-earth to restore him or Clara doesn't make him forget her or Jack doesn't sacrifice himself to stop the Daleks or Bill doesn't carry him away from the Cybermen or Donna doesn't stop him from drowning himself with the Racnoss or Yaz doesn't pilot the TARDIS or River Song sacrifices herself at the library or Sarah Jane and Mickey don't help restore the earth back to its place in the sky and that the Doctor is only a myth with so many stories to their name because their companions make it so-
My date, sliding the breadsticks out of their purse back onto the table, hopelessly intrigued: Go on...
You couldn't do a straightforward Human Nature plot set in the 12th Doctor era bc if 12 got fobwatched Clara would immediately steal his identity. Missy would also steal his identity. Absolutely insane Doctorfication possibilities.
Also, 12's forgotten memories canonically manifest as songs AND he's faceblind, so he wouldn't even have a dramatic dream journal full of half-remembered portraits, he'd just be hanging out in his university office shredding guitar solos while Bill (who he just met) is like "Wow, sick riff Professor Smith!" and he's like "Thanks, it's called I Dreamt I Rode a Dinosaur."