"The Sixth Doctor’s Coat is the worst. He may have actually been a successful, awesome Doctor if it wasn’t for that shit coat haha"
Aaactually, while I personally like the coat (and Colin himself), SF Debris makes a convincing case why the coat is responsible for the death of classic Who.
It is the year 2014.
We live in an age of instant communication to any point on earth, where live video feeds of news as it happens can be delivered to us quickly and information spread to any who can hear it. The world that we live in is not the world that our parents and grandparents lived in….
Dude, you don’t have to justify yourself to us. You put out content pretty much by yourself every week, content that takes entire teams of writers and editors and sound technicians to pull off for TV shows. and for a HELL of a lot less money.
I’m not even in this fandom, but hearing this made me feel so much better about life
I needed this today.
Can’t remember which episode this came from. It’s either the one where Q showed the crew the Borg for the first time, or its the one where Picard has to prove Data’s sentience to keep him from being disassembled (I’m bad with episode titles and too lazy to look it up :p).
It is neither. the episode is called “Peak Performance.” Context-wise, Data believes he has some kind of defect or error because he lost at a video game to an intelligent alien who’s a grand master at the game. The idea is that an android like Data, who should be even faster and more skilled at the game due to his programming, loses and he can’t figure out how he made a mistake.
If I remember right at the end Data plays him again and wins, but by only attempting not to lose. I think it was like, 4d chess or something?
The game was called “Stratagema.” From what I could understand, it looked like you were constantly trying to take over enemy territory and area and they implied some games between experts can last for hours as they continually build up more and more territory acquisition.
How Data won… was by not winning. Basically, he realized that there was no way he could actually DEFEAT the guy, so instead he played for a stalemate - passing up obvious opportunities to advance in order to keep a balance. According to Data, he could’ve theoretically played indefinitely with no winner ever emerging.
He’s not seeing it because he’s honestly just not interested in the characters or the story. He even admits that it’s probably very good.
It’s okay to not want to see something because you’re just not interested.
See Also: me and Super Sentai.
Or you and Sherlock. Or me with Legend of Korra.
Dante Basco writes his tribute on his blog to Robin Williams, seen here acting as Rufio in Hook opposite Williams.
…I was lucky to work with him as an actor and witness first hand the magic of what made him a legend, the wit and other worldly improv skills. As well as see him single handedly put the morale of a movie set, easily hundreds of people, on his shoulders and kept everyone laughing as they worked long hours for what seemed like months on end. And at the same time, I was fortunate to spend private times, many mornings in the makeup chair, (which with my tri-hawk hair took hours), just talking about poetry… And soft spoken and introspectively we would discuss Walt Whitman and Charles Bukowski.
With “Hook” and so many other films, I, like millions of others became a fan and was always delightfully surprised by the performances he managed to produce, but with his passing, I can’t help to feel, along with my generation… I can’t help feeling like it’s the death of my childhood. I guess we can’t stay in Neverland forever, we must all grown up.
But I just want to bid a sorrowful farewell to one of the greatest I’ve been able to work with and be around and I’ll always remember my time with you as some of the greatest moments in my life… and just like the rest of the world, I’ll remember you with joy and laughter.
O’ Captain! My Captain! See you in Neverland…
"Here’s how it works for most of us, as far as I can tell. I’ll even put it in list form, because who gives a fuck at this point:
1. At an early age, you start hating yourself. Often it’s because you were abused, or just grew up in a broken home, or were rejected socially, or maybe you were just weird or fat or … whatever. You’re not like the other kids, the other kids don’t seem to like you, and you can usually detect that by age 5 or so.
2. At some point, usually at a very young age, you did something that got a laugh from the room. You made a joke or fell down or farted, and you realized for the first time that you could get a positive reaction that way. Not genuine love or affection, mind you, just a reaction — one that is a step up from hatred and a thousand steps up from invisibility. One you could control.
3. You soon learned that being funny builds a perfect, impenetrable wall around you — a buffer that keeps anyone from getting too close and realizing how much you suck. The more you hate yourself, the stronger you need to make the barrier and the further you have to push people away. In other words, the better you have to be at comedy.
4. In your formative years, you wind up creating a second, false you — a clown that can go out and represent you, outside the barrier. The clown is always joking, always “on,” always drawing all of the attention in order to prevent anyone from poking away at the barrier and finding the real person behind it. The clown is the life of the party, the classroom joker, the guy up on stage — as different from the “real” you as possible. Again, the goal is to create distance.
You do it because if people hate the clown, who cares? That’s not the real you. So you’re protected.”
Robin Williams and Why Funny People Kill Themselves