I gotta tell ya, this has been a day. No treadmill this morning because of an early medical appointment, called early to get my autistic son from his adult day training workshop because of behavioral issues, and a work deadline that feels like I will never reach. By 5pm I had hit my breaking point, and decided to hit the treadmill to shake loose some brain cells. I wasn't optimistic about today's new story, The Sensorites, but I was pleasantly surprised. Sure, it's not The Daleks, but it is light years ahead of The Keys of Marinus. On top of that, the monsters looked oddly familiar. Or, more specifically, OODLY familiar.

Let's talk about that.

Woof, what a long day. I should be in bed right now. But before I do that, can I get a litlte WHAT WHAT for breaking 100k cumulative steps since I started this project?

As for the back  half of The Aztecs, it's every bit as good as the front half. Let's talk about that briefly...

Yesterday I railed about the stupid science fiction trope of "alien courtroom drama". Today, by all rights, I should be complaining about the trope of "main character is mistaken as a God". The difference, though, is that The Aztecs uses said trope with deftness and restraint. Writer John Lucarotti, who also penned the amazing Marco Polo, spent a great deal of time researching Aztec culture and history, and it shows. Best of all, the entire plot centers around Barbara Wright. Have I mentioned lately that she is a goddess? Because in this story she takes on the literal role of the goddess Yetaxa. I love this story so much!

Let's talk about that.

Ugh. You know what science fiction trope I really hate? It's the courtroom drama, but with wacky non-human rules that clearly exist for no other reason than to create plot drama. Three quarters of today's viewing was exactly that, with a final bit of lazy wrap-up at the end for the overall story arc. Thankfully, this is such a wretched plot device that I am sure the show will never use it again. Except, perhaps, as a framing construct for an entire freaking season with the sixth Doctor. Thankfully, that experience is a long way away so I can pretend it isn't going to happen.

So how bad were today's episodes? Well, let's talk about that.

Before I talk about today's terrible awful episodes, first I have to crow: This morning I weighed in beneath the 300 lb mark for the first time. Yay! It will take a few days for the moving average to catch up, but this is a huge milestone for me. I am very happy, and it was worth trudging through these craptastic Doctor-less stories to hit that milestone. 

As for the episodes themselves, as mentioned yesterday William Hartnell was given a few weeks off from filming. He clearly needed it. In his absence we get two more extremely trite and episodic entries in the quest for the Keys of Marinus.

Let's talk about that.

Today I started a new story written by Terry Nation, of The Daleks fame. Unfortunately, thus far The Keys of Marinus does not live up to the same standard. The overall thrust of the six-part story appears to be "setup, then spend one episode recovering each of these four objects, then resolution". It's exactly the same kind of grinding mission that makes me completely uninterested in gaming these days. But even beyond the overall story structure, each of today's episodes in their own way addressed the notion of Free Will -- although I think not intentionally. Oddly, the first episode seems to posit that Free Will isn't necessary. The second episode does the reverse, but not in any kind of knowing way.

Let's talk about that.

This morning marked the seventh, and final, episode of Marco Polo. Picture, if you will, me striding away on the treadmill as the big climax unfolds, completely transfixed as Marco and the villainous Tegana finally face off with swords raised. Now imagine the volume of profanity as my stream of the reconstruction chose that exact moment to crap out. I'm just sayin', there may have been some dialog provided by yours truly that would not have met the BBC's broadcast standards of 1964.

Thankfully, after a few minutes of troubleshooting, I was able to resume the broadcast and see the big finale. Let's talk about that.

Look, I know that in the 60's it was perfectly acceptable for a Caucasian to be cast in the role of an Asian. They could put on a bad wig and maybe a Fu-Manchu beard, turn their L's into R's and their R's into W's, and perform in a broadly caricatured manner, and it would be totally cool (ref: Mickey Rooney in Breakfast at Tiffany's). But just because it was completely acceptable for the time doesn't make it any less uncomfortable to watch now.

Let's talk about that.

Today I learned that Aladdin was actually a bad guy who raised an army of trained killers by getting them all whacked out on weed - hence why there were named the Hashshashin. And that, my friends, is the origin of the word "assassin". So there you have it, Doctor Who fulfills its educational mandate, and teaches us all about the perils of reefer madness. I also watched a story about people on the verge of death by dehydration while I, myself, was literally dripping with sweat. How's that for irony?

Marco Polo continues, let's talk about it.

First things first: Oof, the treadmill really kicked my butt this morning. My alarm went off, I ignored it. I laid there thinking of a million reasons why I could really, just this once, take the morning off. And then, mostly because of this blog and my own manufactured accountability, I dragged my sorry self out of bed and got to work. I'm glad I did, but wow was it a fight through the last few minutes. So... thank you to all of you (probably imaginary) readers, you are keeping me motivated even if you are just phantoms in my brain.

As for Doctor Who, today's viewing was the first two episodes of my first reconstructed episode (a.k.a. "recon"), the much-lauded Marco Polo!