bodlon | Five things, except now it's seven things.

So two friends -- hmfeelyat and kel_reiley -- were doing that "five things I think of when I think of you" thing, and I was all like, "YEAH! I WILL PLAY WITH YOU!"

And then the two of them gave me their five things they wanted me to talk about, and three of them crossed over. Thus, here are my seven things. If you want me to give you five things to write about, feel free to ask in the comments below!

Questions from hmfeelyat and kel_reiley,

1. Dogs

Dogs. Oh dogs. I love dogs very much. They're the largest and most human household integrated of the companion animals, and of the two most common -- being dogs and cats -- the one to which I am not violently allergic.

For most of my life, I've lived with one or more dogs. My first dog -- a fluffy white Spitz named Pretty -- was small and extraordinarily patient with my barely post-toddler self. Sarah, an unusual honey-brown lab mix came next when I was a young adolescent. I found Flidais when I was sixteen, and visited her and Sarah when I could after I moved away from home. She lived long enough to move up with my mother when my mother retired, and I feel privileged that she lived out the end of her life close to me. Ada came to live with me just before my mother's retirement, and lives with us still, along with Gwen, who Ada found and brought home to me on a terribly cold winter's night a few years ago. My mother also has two dogs: Samantha and Junebug.

I often joke that when I go home I get to be covered in dogs. Considering the size of my dogs (about 130 lbs of dog combined), and that both of them often sleep in bed with me, this is actually very close to the truth. When I think about my relationship with dogs, I tend to feel very connected with them. They're family, and a tremendous commitment, and while I'm often imperfect at it, I try. I usually get big, slobbery kisses in return for those efforts.

Without a dog, my life has a dog-shaped hole in it. If I can go the rest of my life as a companion to one of more of them, that will make me very happy indeed.

2. Writing

Is a thing I do. Ta-dah!

...

Okay, fine. I'll write more about writing.

I've been writing here and there since I was quite young, but not seriously until about my mid-twenties. These days I tend to keep to a routine and try to treat it like real work most of the time. I have a very strong "freak out and make stuff" impulse, and much of it gets channeled into making words. Sometimes people even publish them.

My usual routine involves getting up at 4 AM on weekdays so that I can write from around 5 AM to 7 AM. I also like to write a little bit on the weekends, though I don't always make time for it properly. That means I usually get about 14-20 hours of writing done a week, which means my work week is actually about 54-60 hours total. That to me seems like evidence enough that if I didn't get a lot out of it, I wouldn't still be doing it.

3. Coyote Astronauts

I like coyotes. They're impressive and appealing animals, extraordinarily adaptable, and I resonate with some of the popular symbolic associations that go along with coyotes.

This past July I came across this article (http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/localnews/2015748458_coyote28m.html) about a coyote who'd managed to get its head stuck in a mayonnaise jar, and was rescued by a coyote-friendly human.

A friend of mine, Sam Starbuck, also harbors a fondness for coyotes, so I passed this story along via e-mail. Hilarity ensued, including the words "HE LOOKS SO SILLY. LIKE A COYOTE ASTRONAUT."

Boom. Icon born.

4. Gallifrey One (aka Gally)

Gallifrey One is the biggest Doctor Who convention in the United States. I've attended (and been on panels, despite having no professional Doctor Who cred) twice, and plan to attend again this coming February.

I enjoy Gally a great deal -- it's not quite like going home so much as going to the sort of party that I've always wanted to throw, where I've had truly bizarre and lovely experiences (drinking with Ian McNiece!), and with the added bonus of being in California during their squishy green season -- and am extraordinarily lucky to have friends who'll share a room with me in spite of my incredible talent for snoring.

5. bodlon (my username on DW and LJ)

"Bodlon" is a Welsh word that means contented, pleased, or willing. "Bodlon trafod" means "open to negotiation." I chose it because I want to cultivate a life and mindset that allows for more contentedness, more flexibility, and more openness.

6. Zombies

Zombies have sort of become a pop culture thing to the extent that I worry they've lost a lot of their power. The cutesy zombie trope is fun here and there -- just as characters like Sesame Street's Count or plush Cthulhu toys can be fun ways of playing with other horror archetypes -- but I've always been most fascinated by horror zombies because they pose such a unique combination of problems. Widespread contagion coupled with the uncanny valley, personal choices about mortality (i.e. what to do with someone who's bitten), lifeboat ethics, the various moral and social implications of the origin story utilized in a particular scenario, etc. all really excite me from both an audience perspective and from a problem-solving standpoint.

They're also probably the most overtly monstrous of our modern monster set. It's difficult (but not impossible -- see Fido or the end of Shaun of the Dead for examples) to rehabilitate them in the same way we've done with vampires and werewolves. They retain a lot of their scariness. The animalistic, hungry dead are inherently alien in ways that many other alien things just aren't.

7. Andy Davidson

Andy Davidson is a supporting character on Torchwood, played by Tom Price. He's a character who started out in something of a dual role as comic relief and a connection to Gwen Cooper's previous professional life, but has managed to survive two full serial seasons and two long-arc seasons (the five-part Children of Earth and the somewhat longer BBC-Starz joint series Miracle Day). A lot of his characterization is tied up in his ordinariness. He doesn't usually get the proverbial memo until fairly late in the action, and even then seems often to have to do a lot of that work himself. When he's funny, the punchline tends to rely on that same ordinariness.

He's also become, I think, the most interesting person on the program. His whole existence is about conflict and tension.

Andy's character arc, I think, speaks more closely to the viewer's real experience than any of the principals possibly can. While Torchwood proper have their own base and essentially exist outside of society in the role of vigilante alien hunters with cool toys and a seemingly endless pool of resources, Andy's just...well, he's us. He's a beat cop in Cardiff, making a beat cop's wage, and doing the work.

Unlike Gwen and Jack, both of whom are able just able to drop off the grid after Children of Earth, he's inextricably tied in to the world most of us exist in. This is made clear very early on with quips about CSI in "Everything Changes," and in season one's episode "Day One," where he comments on his change in relationship with Gwen when he runs into her on an investigation. In "Adrift," an episode late into the second series of the show, his connection to the community is emphasized by the fact that he's even working with the mother of a lost boy off the clock.

Because of his unique position -- very much of this world and subject to its rules in spite of his associations with Gwen and Torchwood -- his interactions with Torchwood's work are peppered with difficulties relating to the rule of law, his role and responsibilities as a peace officer,
his resources and limitations as someone without Torchwood's status, and so on.

His character is essentially the benevolent face of the system, doing his best within it to fulfill its promises. Sometimes this is a great advantage for Gwen and the rest of Torchwood in that he exists to assist them from within that construct. He has insider access and legitimacy that Torchwood does not, especially post-Children of Earth. However, that same legitimacy is double-edged: Andy's buy-in (which, I think, is ultimately necessary for him both in terms of world-view and actually continuing to to fulfill his roles both in and out of character) sometimes results in him aiding agents antagonistic to Torchwood who outrank him, as we see in both Children of Earth (helping Agent Johnson find Gwen's house) and Miracle Day (assisting Rex Matheson in his extradition efforts). His friendship with Gwen does not outweigh his deeper duties, or his commitment to the greater good.

When he does break with the rank and file, he takes that risk because of that solid commitment to his beliefs about right and wrong. Andy is clearly in his job because of a firm belief in service to the people in his community. Once he turns, he turns hard. In Children of Earth, he strips off his outer uniform to join civilians in a fray against riot police. In Miracle Day, he shoots a trooper in the head to protect Gwen's family. It may take him a while to get there, in no small part because he's often out of the Torchood information loop. Once Andy arrives on the side of the protagonists, however, he's loyal and fierce. He's there because he wants to be, and because it's right to be there.

Furthermore, he does this in spite of what can only be described as a litany of slights (mainly exclusion, and often by Gwen) from Torchwood's side of the relationship, or the fact that each time he changes political sides is potentially a major personal and professional sacrifice. Gwen has the means to disappear. Andy, meanwhile, could easily be looking at suspension, termination, or even prison. Not even Rhys is in such a volatile position after the second season.

In short, Andy Davidson is both brilliantly ordinary and intimidatingly admirable sort of all at once. Thinking about it, he's got a lot of the same qualities I admire in Rory, but without the Incredible Plastic Roman effect. He's just some guy, but he's got a ton of heart and more than the usual courage, and a lot of faith in his convictions.

Oh, and he does it without having a flashy vintage coat. Who wouldn't be impressed?