Callicoon

I was thinking about my dad this morning.  He passed away in early 2005.  Went in for heart surgery at NYU and was dead five months later from the damage accumulated from post operative infections.  He hated New York City. I always thought that maybe it was intuitive.

My father was a very social creature.  He would get up at 4:30 in the morning so that he could join the gang down at the local gas station eating nook to commisserate before they went out to do logging or road work or whatever occupation required an early morning start time.  The people in my town always enjoyed the oral history, especially laced with humor.  There seemed to be a practical intelligence to them.  And they didn't really care who you were as long as you could entertain or be entertained. Dad lived for this stuff.

Dad was also very quietly an active contributor to the well being of the town.  Later I would hear what he did for the conservation of the town and the Delaware River that ran through it. He was always going to meetings for zoning or the park commission or what have you.  It wasn't something we spoke about at home.  I read about it later.   Which is why the following does not suprise me.

His friends were not generally aware of the direness of his condition until the end.  They were a little shocked that he actually died. There wasn't much to visit because he couldn't communicate.  Mostly he drifted off as his body lost the battle as one infection after the other slowly defeated it. There was a helplessness permeating the situation that was infuriating.  His friends were used to fighting for him if he was wronged and there was nothing they could do.

At the time that Dad passed away, there was a terrible flood in Callicoon.  It rained so hard that the river and the creek did something that hadn't happened since I was a little girl.  It breached the banks, eating and spitting out most of the things in its path.  One of the few places we had together as a community....the only  besides a small park where they set up the farmers market in the summer in recent years....was The Youth Center.  It was where we had town picnics and the local swimming pool.  There was also a playground, a basketball court, tennis courts and a large softball field.  Nothing fancy.  Built for practical upkeep and longevity.  The waters annihilated it all, leaving the playground buried in dirt.  The floors of the main building were wrecked. The soft ball field looked like a meteor hit it, pitted with ditches.  The center, so important to the community, was a not for profit reliant on the kindness of donations. It would cost the community center which was maintained by a local board of directors, thousands of dollars to fix the damage.

One day soon after the flood, a convoy of trucks drove through town. They passed by the window of the local newspaper where one of the men who sat on the youth center's board of directors worked and continued on to the youth center then pulled into the baseball field.  The man on the board of directors became immediately concerned because no money had been had been confirmed for repairs yet.  He walked across the very resilient bridge that went over the creek to the remains of the softball fields and found a man leading a group of workers. They were in the process of filling in and repairing the destroyed playing field.

"Excuse me?  Who are you?" He asked. The man gave him his name, returning with, "And who are you?"  The man on the board of directors said, "I am not aware of a work order for this.  Who sent you?" And the man with the work crew said, "Eddie Curtis."  "But Ed is dead," said the newpaper man. "Now, ain't that just like him?" The contractor replied.

The newspaper man on the board of directors  gave up trying to make sense of the situation and  began to walk away. The man with the trucks called back to him,  "Hey!" He yelled, "Where do I send the bill?"  He pointed to heaven, "Up here?" And then he pointed to hell, "Or down there?"

The workers finished the field and drove out of Callicoon.  The following year it was flooded again, this time taking out the out building.  But the softball field remained fixed.  I'd say it had guardian angel but Dad was an atheist and would just say that it was because his friends did good work. He would be happiest that I was told this story in the local grocery store by one of his cohorts. Because ain't that just like Callicoon?

The Buffy Horse

If it ain't booze and coke, it's Netflix instant play streaming.  I'm what they call an addictive personality.  Or tenacious.  All depends on the person you are talking to in the inside of my head at the time. There isn't a lot I can afford to distract myself with these days.  And, realistically, I do need distractions. Comic books are out for right now because there isn't extra cash, even to justify by reselling....my normal ruse to get around my guilt. Music is a constant.  I don't even consider that an addiction as much as an is.  Like comedy is an is.  And looking for writing is in is.  Books are commitments that need to be schlepped around.  I have about 10 in my inner queue waiting for me once I am done with.....this.  This thing that has usurped my existence until forced.  Buffy.

I discovered Netflix instant play when I acquired a Mac laptop that would allow it.  Money was so tight that I was getting set to ditch the service altogether but it opened a world of movies, mostly old or straight to video.   But some new ones.  And the rockumentaries that I am always ordering on regular Netflix.  It encouraged me to seek out new things that I never would have looked at but it didn't require leaving the house or paying extra.  I eventually delved into the television shows that had become popular in other countries but never aired in the USA. I became a huge fan of The It Crowd in the UK and Slings And Arrows from Canada. Shows that ran a couple of seasons and had either been canceled or had not released more recent seasons to Netflix instant streaming yet.  I also caught up on The Tudors, Weeds, a couple of other shows I wanted to see but couldn't access. Shows in short spurts during some down time.  And then I decided to watch Buffy The Vampire Slayer. A show that looked genuinely stupid to me when it aired initially.  I had put Sarah Michelle Gellar in the Melissa Joan Hart tri name basket.  Along with other blonds from her generation like Britany Spears. But it was there.  And so I began.

It is like drinking.   I walked away from drinking relatively easily but the actual doing of it was like uncorking a bad genie out of the bottle.  There seriously was no such thing as one.  There never is.   Some of us just ain't born to do half-assed.  Same with sex.  It isn't easy getting me into bed but, man, when you do I am there body soul and every ounce of enthusiasm a person can muster.  Somehow I stumbled on a show that I love that ran 7 years, 6 with over 20 episodes a season.  Roughly 140 at 45 minutes a pop.

I blame Spike.  There is no character on television that I have found more entertaining and ridiculously hot. I just want Buffy to hook up with him and end it already.   It is admirable as hell that a story line based on something as goofy as a vampire slayer can last for this long and still remain interesting.  The writers were smart enough to take unexpected turns (while there is some of the worst background directing I've ever seen...which adds to the charm).  The little sister twist in Season 5 that looked like they totally underestimated the audience for two shows explained itself with a non-traditional turn.  I didn't see it coming. I don't see a lot of things coming. I get the cult of Buffy now. I regret not going into LA during that time period just so I could have delved more into stunt work.  Because Buffy alone seemed to provide an endless supply of work. I want to do more horror film just to romp around in special effect shots.  Buffy is infectous  on many levels.  Buffy Buffy Buffy.

There is talk of a new series. Fools. You will never get a cast that will be able to live in the shadows of this group.  Even the extras will be too sleek and perfect compared to the awkward characters wandering the background. No one can match James Marster or Alyson Hannigan in there perfect imperfections.  Even Sarah Michelle Gellar who looks so bland from a distance has quirkiness that I doubt will be found easy to match let alone top.


Sigh.   I am a third of a way through Season 6.  That leaves about 28 more episodes. I will shove them down my mental pie hole as fast and hard as I can so I can move on with my life.  Maybe start reading comic books again which only come out monthly.  Or a book.  With 3 or 4 hundred pages that will end within a month. Or a drink.  Drinking would be easier.  Free me, Buffy.   Let me out of the cult.  Give me your season 7 episode 20 something cup o' kool aid and stop me from writing 20 minutes worth of hot vampire jokes. I wonder if there is a meeting I can go to?  How many seasons did Angel run?