As previously mentioned, I became hopelessly hooked on Doctor Who over my Christmas break. My only prior exposure to the show was a handful of old episodes with Tom Baker (aka, the Fourth Doctor). I knew that the Doctor travelled in a blue box and was somewhat kooky, and that was it. I was only vaguely aware that the BBC had resurrected the series a few years ago, and perhaps wouldn’t have paid it much mind, save that there was a certain sci-fi-shaped void in my entertainment consciousness.

With Farscape and Stargate now gone (and sadly missed), I needed a show that was funny and interesting and wasn’t afraid to embrace it’s own cheesiness. When Liz over at The Park Bench got hooked, I knew I’d have to check it out.

One of the many things that I didn’t know about the the Doctor was that he could regenerate when seriously hurt, resulting in him taking on a different look. As in: new face, same Doctor. You have to admit, there’s a certain genius to creating a show around a character who periodically changes appearence. If handled well, the turnover of actors can really keep the show fresh and interesting. But they say that there will always be one Doctor who’s *your* Doctor.

While Christopher Eccleston’s brash and brooding Ninth Doctor drew me into the show, it was the Tenth Doctor’s dark-edged energy that won me over. David Tennant will always be *my* Doctor, from the crazy hair to brainy specs to the Converse high tops (oh, and that he naturally has a delightful Scottish accent doesn’t hurt either).

And now, with Tennant’s departure from the series, just today the BBC announced the Eleventh incarnation of Doctor Who. No matter how much it may be a part of the mythos, it’s still hard to get used to the new face. Then again, I didn’t think Barty Crouch Jr. could ever pull off the Doctor, and now I’m so going to miss him.

But on with the show. Or, as the good Doctor would say: Allons-y!

(the picture is from my new project
365: a photo a day for 2009)