The Fourth Doctor

Day 159: For all of the fact that I deplore both commercialism and plastics, occasionally some "must-have" object crosses my radar and my resolve collapses. As my readers know, I am a huge fan of Star Trek (particularly the Next Generation) and during my less anti-plastic years purchased as many action figures as my budget would permit. For the most part, they now live in a large computer-paper box and only come out for special occasions like photo shoots. That said, I am also a Doctor Who fan and have watched almost every episode of the original series, and naturally have found my favourite Doctors. I bought a Tardis and a Dalek early on and added Doctor #10 to bring substance to the scenario playing out on top of my dresser, but was recently tempted to add Doctor #4 in person of Tom Baker who truly defined the role for all time. What surprised me when I purchased these four toys was the quality when compared to the tacky figures marketed with the Star Trek logo. They resemble the characters with much greater accuracy and are proportionally correct, without the outsized hands designed to hold cumbersome and poorly executed tools seen in the Trek action figures. The joints are designed better and are less obvious as well. If mass-marketing can be done this well, why do things on American shelves have to be so sleazy? The answer, I think, is that these are made to be cherished and handed down to the next generation of Who fans, not discarded upon inevitable breakage. We should take a hint and cultivate a culture which embraces durability rather than planned obsolence. Then perhaps plastics wouldn't be such a bad thing.

Ice Planet

Day 47: "I don't care where we go, just as long as it's warm." Crow took one last look at the frozen Earth as the TARDIS spun into the time stream, ready for any adventure as long as it didn't involve thermal underwear. The Doctor had promised her abundant lichens to study, but something had gone terribly wrong. Instead of landing in an interglacial period, they had come down in a mini-Ice Age. "I suppose I should be grateful for the lack of mosquitoes," she continued. "I didn't really think that through very well. Can we turn up the heat? My toes are still numb."

The only specimen she had been able to retrieve for her collection proved to be identical in all respects to the Cladina mitis of her own time. While it was interesting to note that lichen evolution had apparently reached its acme in this era, and the Cladina was proving to be superbly adapted by surviving without change for thousands of years, the knowledge warmed nothing but the proverbial cockles of her heart. Her hands were blue. Her nose was red. Her hair, already silver, carried a fine sheen of frost. "How about orchids?" she asked. "Mycoheterotrophs? And what are YOU worried about, anyway? The bugs don't like you. It must be that sonic screwdriver, the noise it makes. Gawd, give me Daleks any day over mosquitoes and ticks!"

It could be that the Doctor didn't know what he was letting himself in for when he picked up his latest companion. He'd found her flat-out on the forest floor, magnifying glass in hand and a camera around her neck. He'd asked what she was looking for and she'd replied, "Alien life-forms. They're everywhere." A widely travelled man, he'd taken her figure of speech literally and offered his assistance, something he could hardly withdraw over a minor misunderstanding. When at last she exulted, "Pilophorus! I knew you were around here someplace!" he realized his mistake. Only then did she face him, introducing herself with a grubby handshake. "I'm Crow," she said. "I'm studying lichens."

"I noticed," he replied as casually as he could manage. "And I'm the Doctor. I know a place..."