Conventional Care

The world is falling apart, and Peter Capaldi is leaving Doctor Who.

I’m glad I can still be concerned about frivolous shit. There’s still another season with Peter at the helm, so I’ll have a number of episodes to say goodbye. There are still conventions to attend and as long as actors are willing to brave the wild American wasteland, I’ll attend them.

Hell, Mark Hamill is coming to Dallas. He’s been pretty rough the ol’ Pres on Twitter. I hope the citizens of Texas are kind to him. I’ll be there for a photograph, perhaps. I’ve met Captain Kirk and two Doctors in Dallas (had to fly to London to see Tom), so I might as well add Luke Fucking Skywalker to the mix.

I’m going to bring my laptop so I don’t have to clumsily SwiftKey the convention roundup from my hotel bed. We actually got into the Omni this time, connected to the convention center, so no traipsing across Dallas streets with an infant, unless we want to.

We have plans this year, Gina, Willie, and I. We’re going to hit the FanExpo in Dallas, we’re going to WhoFest 4 in Irving, and we’ll most likely be driving across town that weekend to spend some time at Texas Frightmare, where, among others, we’ll get a chance to see Malcolm McDowell and the kids from Stranger Things.

I’ll be the Brigadier, most likely, with my stupid, glorious mustache. Willie will be Baby Benton. Gina is working on Sarah Jane Smith. If you aren’t familiar with Doctor Who, those sentences mean nothing to you, and that’s okay.

Maybe this is boring planning-talk but I need to repeat this to myself. I need to think about spending time with my family. I need to remember there are things outside the wailing and gnashing of teeth. Cora starts kindergarten this year. Bea will be in preschool by the fall if she can get the potty thing under control. The cat, well, if she doesn’t eat our pet butterflies (which she is attempting to do behind me right now), I’m sure we’ll have some other caged insect for her to fret over. GG want’s ladybugs but I’m leaning towards Madagascar hissing cockroaches.

I’ve spent my recent days with a never-ending tension headache caused by constantly clamping my jaw. I only find solace in family and friends, but it’s hard to talk about anything that isn’t the nosedive we’re currently in. It’s like asking the passengers on THAT GODDAMNED PLANE ANALOGY to play some amusing parlor games while Donnie pushes the yoke forward and the nose tilts down, the refreshment cart goes crashing by, the whine of the engines and the air ripping over the wings sounds like a WWII buzz bomber you probably only heard on Looney Tunes propaganda films, and we’re supposed to do charades.

Maybe we should. I’m going to try to go through the motions and stand in lines, stalk the Celebrity Zoo and take ninja photographs of actors I’ve never met, pay absurd amounts of money to press their flesh and snap a photo, or go through the autograph line and quickly run a well-rehearsed ridiculous anecdote by them and either make a connection or completely bomb my performance. I have a solid fifty-fifty record on that one. Maybe I’ll hold Gina’s arm and let her do her charming thing, which is always a sure bet.

Maybe this isn’t your bag, folks, and that’s okay. Make sure you make some time for you while you’re struggling for the fate of humanity. There may come a time when that’s an impossible thing, and our memories of life mostly unencumbered will be the only thing we have to drive us forward to the clearing. I don’t know who waits for you there, but for me, it’s people in funny costumes, and performers who made me feel.

Do the things people do until you can’t do them anymore. Make them drag it out of your hands, but while you hold it, live it.

Live, dammit. I’m going to try. Yeah, yeah, “Do or do not,” Yoda, but sometimes all you can do is give it a shot.

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