Ten minutes ago, I didn’t have any brownies. Then, thanks to the combined powers of the internet and my family’s microwave, I had brownies. In mugs. BROWNIES IN MUGS. Truly, this is the most remarkable age in which to live.
I’m about a half an hour away from the end of The Day of the Doctor, and man have I ever missed David Tennant. MAN. I mean, on some basic level I was always aware of that, but I don’t think it was until that gangly noodle of a man was allons-y-ing across my screen once again that it really hit me what an indispensable goddamn treasure his Doctor was. Matt Smith has grown on me, sure, in spite of all the maddening machinations of Steven Moffat (your episodes were some of the highlights of the Davies era, Moffat; how could you have betrayed us all so completely? YOU WERE THE CHOSEN ONE), but there’s an ineffable…I don’t know, joy with Tennant’s Doctor that just elevates every aspect of the show, including the often ridiculous dialogue and nonsensical story. I’ll reserve final judgement on the installment as a whole until I’ve, y’know, finished watching it, but as of right now, my fangirl heart is all aflutter.
Oh, also, Paul McGann’s mini-prologue episode is everything. I audibly squealed when he showed up onscreen, and I knew it was coming. Doctor Who: The Movie is an affront to the entire franchise, but the fact that McGann’s Doctor never got a proper series of his own is perhaps the Who-niverse’s greatest loss. Plus, I want to make out with his stupid, beautiful face forever. FOREVERRRRRRRR.
Remind me to use more sugar in those mug brownies next time. And maybe cocoa powder that is slightly less than eight years old.