The Oppenheimer Report 11/30/09

I just returned from Buffalo where we celebrated the American Thanksgiving with my Mom, my sister, and her family. The newest addition to the group is Nadia, the two month-old baby daughter of my oldest nephew and his wife. Hands down, the most energetic member of the family, and the one with the best lungs, is Samantha, the now-toddling 18 month-old daughter of my younger nephew and his wife. Last Thanksgiving, I posted a photo of Samantha and her dad, posing with my dad. My mother’s house is full of rare and fragile china, and almost everything had to be moved to a higher level when Samantha, the little whirling dervish, spun through the house like the Tasmanian Devil. I actually caught one rather valuable piece of glass as it was capriciously flung through the air. Thanksgiving dinner was bittersweet as our patriarch, my father, was conspicuously absent for the first time ever. We decided to commemorate him by laying his silly red Cornell sherpa hat across his chair at the head of the table. I had the benefit of his presence for fifty-three Thanksgivings, and he gave great toasts. He couldn’t carve a bird to save his life, but boy did he have a way with words. There have always been three generations at our Thanksgiving table, and this year was no exception. With Samantha and Nadia at one end of the table, and my Mom at the other end, there was plenty reason for joy and laughter. The circle of life continues. As I have often said, Thanksgiving is by far my favorite holiday of the year, and I realize that I have plenty for which to be thankful. I prefer holidays that have nothing to do with religion, and this is the one holiday every year when my family gathers together. It’s also when I choose to re-connect with friends and relatives I might not speak to during the rest of the year.

As I write this entry, I have just returned from court in Sundridge, Ontario, where I was subpoenaed as a witness in an assault case. Last May, the guy who was hired to plow our driveway last year assaulted and injured one of our employees, at our home, when we disputed one of his overcharges. Not only did he charge too much, but he always came to plow at the end of the day, long after we needed his services. After delaying several court dates, and after making every attempt to manipulate the system, he was finally forced to face the music. Shauna and I had witnessed the assault, and this guy was claiming our employee initiated the fight. Nothing could have been further from the truth, and I was worried that the charges, brought by the police, not us, would be dropped if we did not pursue the matter. As it turned out, the schmuck ended up having to sit in the court room for over an hour, along with his skanky girlfriend, waiting while the court scrambled to find a court recorder. I think that, having to sit there for an hour, and seeing the three of us, prepared to testify against him, was enough to give him and his attorney pause. Had he testified to what he’d said in his police report, he would likely have been forced to perjure himself on the stand. Anyhow, he caved and pled guilty, and now he will spend the next six months under house arrest, after which he will be on probation and likely attend anger management classes. Merry Christmas! What a hoser.

Yes it’s once again that time of year, when little people all over the world dress up like elves and endure the indignity of capitalism gone mad. It should be a better year for the beleaguered retailers than it was last year, and you should look for my holiday suggestions in the coming weeks. If you crave visions of sugar plums dancing in your holiday-addled heads, nothing says “I’m a holiday-induced nutcase” like Jamie’s famous “High velocity 151 Eggnog”. Hide the car keys and prepare to get naked in front of complete strangers, we’re gonna break dance under the mistletoe tonight. You won’t know what hit you, but make sure someone has a camera. Nobody says celebrating has to be pretty.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2009 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

The OppenheimerReport 11/23/09

I was in Toronto last weekend and I called my friend Bob at the last minute to see if he could drive up from Buffalo for our annual boys-night-out weekend of depravity and debauchery. Last year, the event was to be scheduled around the Toronto International Boat Show, but when my dad got sick we had to cancel. In years past we have often chosen to spend the weekend in Niagara Falls, Ontario. You hear and see a lot of ads extolling the excitement you’ll experience when you drop your life savings at the Fallsview Casino, but Bob and I are not big gamblers. We choose Niagara Falls, Ontario because we can’t get enough of them chamber of horror wax museums.

This year, we did a walking tour of Toronto’s several entertainment districts. We walked from our apartment down to University and Front to a sports bar, where we watched the Sabres succumb to the Bruins as we dined on bar food, then watched the thrilling conclusion to a Raptors/Heat game, wherein the Raptors won. That’s right, I watched part of a basketball game. The thing about Toronto is, it’s such a great sports town that one can get vicariously caught up in the fan frenzy, regardless of the event. I’m not a baseball fan either, but I was up here when the Toronto Blue Jays won the World Series back in the early 90’s, and the town just erupted in unbridled glee. I, along with tens of thousands of jubilant fans walked up Yonge Street to celebrate that momentous event, and it was an experience I will never forget. As a Bills fan (and a Leafs fan … ugh), I’ve learned to take what I can get.

Because the Air Canada Centre is close to the bar we were in, when the Raptors game was over, the bar filled up rapidly with Raptors fans. Nothing makes me feel old (hey, I’m like only 54, and that is totally not that old)) like finding myself in a sports bar surrounded by twenty-somethings … six hundred young-uns with their beers in one hand and their Blackberrys in the other. Bob and I joked about how there was clearly a buffer zone between us and everyone else; as if they feared they might catch some virulent strain of old age if they ventured too close. “Stay away from the creepy old guys, I think they’re like, narcs or something!” The only time anyone came near us was if they became so mesmerized by the text message on their personal communication devices that they strayed into our circle of fossildom. Brief aside, I realize this is the age of texting, but does anyone else find this a strange social phenomenon? Was this bar full of young, single adults, texting other young, single adults at other bars, presumably to let them know they were somewhere other than where they should be? Decades ago, when I was a young, wild, and crazy playboy (hah!), I didn’t call people from bars, I went to the bar WITH them, and then talked (or didn’t talk) TO them, FACE TO FACE. There is some kind of weird social disconnect going on here.

A nightcap at the legendary Horseshoe Tavern on Queen Street, my Mecca of dive bars, and then back up to the apartment, again on foot, with a few stops along the way, mostly to relieve myself. The older I get, the less booze I drink, and the more I brag about “the experience” afterwards. Next time, I’m wearing “Depends” … those bar bathrooms are deeesgustin’. Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2009 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 11/16/09

The weekend before last we had a warm spell, and we were able to get done a lot of the outdoor chores we needed to do before the onslaught of winter. After cleaning up the property a bit, burning some brush, and splitting some more firewood, I surprised everyone with my stupidity by putting on my swim trunks and jumping in the lake … but not before insuring that the event was photographed. Of course, with all the cold weather we’ve been having, the lake was ice cold, and my dip lasted about ten or fifteen seconds. When I saw the pictures, I realized that there is nothing in the shot to signify that it was taken in the first week of November; it looks as if it could have been a warm summer day. If the shot was panned out, the viewer could see that all the trees were bare. One thing in the picture indicates the season: the dock is up. It’s a digital shot, and I’m pretty sure the date is recorded, but it doesn’t matter. I know I did it, and I have four witnesses. I never understood those polar bear clubs, where crowds of crazy people, jump into ice water in January, but now I think I could probably do that. Yes, I am an idiot … and proud of it.

Last week, our long absent builder showed up and dumped topsoil on our front and side lots to bring us up to finish grade, and he also spread gravel on the lower drive and under the carport so that we will no longer be constantly tracking sand into the house. After he was gone, Shauna and I seeded the topsoil so that, come spring, we might get an early start on some grass. I can’t imagine what that will be like because, for the past three years, this place has been a construction site, covered in sand, mud, clay, and construction materials. Now we’re slowly beginning to reclaim our property. Though it will be a long time before this place is landscaped the way we envision it, just getting all of the construction debris off the premises has made a world of difference.

Final thoughts … I went in for my annual physical a few weeks ago, and the doctor’s office was pandemonium. Phones were ringing off the hook, and though the office had just opened, the waiting room was full. Apparently, there was a lot of concern about the shortage of flu vaccine, and people were scrambling to find out if they qualified as “high risk”. I usually get a flu shot, and I’m not sure if it helps or not. Knock on wood, I don’t get sick that often. I’m certainly in no hurry to get the H1N1 vaccine. Save it for the people who are more vulnerable. While this swine flu does not particularly scare me, the word “pandemic” does. Based on the fact that there is a shortage of this H1N1 vaccine, at a time when it is probably needed the most, I am concerned that some more virulent and deadly virus might some day shake us out of our delusions of control. We in the West spend so much of our energy obsessing over our health – don’t smoke, don’t drink, disinfect everything, eat less salt, lose weight. What is becoming increasingly clear to me is how out of control we really are over our health. Sadly, in many cases it boils down to who inherited the best genes. Science has advanced considerably since the last deadly flu epidemic, but are we any safer now? Yes and no.

I’ll tell you this … there’s nothing like a dip in an ice cold lake to cure what ails you.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2009 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 11/9/09

Last Thursday morning we woke up to a brief snow flurry and a blanket of wet snow on the ground. The lake was barely visible, and then, suddenly the flurry was over and the sun broke out across the lake. The snow-covered trees were absolutely spectacular to behold, and there wasn’t a sound to be heard. This log home is situated in a place of such beauty and serenity, that one glance out the window calms the soul. On the other hand, there has been so much trouble associated with the actual building of the house, so many loose ends, and disputes with contractors, suppliers, and builders, that it is difficult sometimes to see the forest for the trees. Though we are essentially done working on the house, at least for this season, I wake up every morning anxious about what must be fixed or changed. I wrote a song a long time ago entitled “The Curse of the Sea”, and there is a line in that song which speaks to the issue of contentment:

"Everybody has a hideaway, kept under lock and key
In our mind’s eye we’re all travelers to where we’d rather be
Anxiousness can imprison you, you don’t know what you need
You just know you haven’t got it now, call it the curse of the sea…”

A week ago, while I was down in Buffalo, I took Mom out for dinner to a Chinese restaurant that had been recommended by one of the nurses. Mom had a craving for Chinese food, and whenever she is willing to venture out, we encourage her to do so. The trouble was, because her favorite nurse was not on duty, she wanted me to take her out, alone. On top of her litany of other chronic illnesses associated with old age, my mom was recently diagnosed with a not-so-well known and very challenging form of dementia known as Lewy Body Disease. For years we thought she had Alzheimer’s, but Lewy Body is quite different. The good news is that there can be long periods of lucidity. The bad news is that, one never knows when those will be. One moment she’s Mom, and the next she can turn into an entirely different person. It’s a bit like a geriatric multiple personality disorder, and it’s very strange to behold. Needless to say, I am wary of taking her anywhere without professional assistance, and yet, she was adamant about wanting to go with just me. The nurse on duty seemed to think I could handle the task, so out we went, with the implicit understanding that the nurse was available if she was needed. It was a cold, windy, miserable evening, and when we got to the restaurant, I realized it was a bit of a dump. That didn’t seem to bother Mom, and we decided to give it a try regardless. The food was quite good, and we had a very enjoyable time together. Most of my trepidation about the outing had faded away by dinner’s end, then, as we were leaving the restaurant, she seemed to get very winded from almost no exertion. I feared she was having some kind of coronary event, and by the time we got to the car, I was running through various disaster scenarios, involving nurses, ambulances, and a nearby hospital. Thankfully, she stabilized and we were able to go home. I dodged a bullet there, but that was probably my last dinner alone with Mom.

Having just watched my father slowly pass away, I am now watching it happen to my mom. In her moments of clarity, I see glimpses of the woman I once knew, but that woman is almost completely gone now. While I will not mourn a life well lived, and she’s had a pretty good life so far, I do find myself with ambivalent feelings about this difficult end stage. For my own peace of mind, I know I need to be there for her. For her there is ennui, and confusion, and anger, and a whole host of other emotions going on. For me there is only the futile effort to help her face this last challenge with as much dignity as she can muster. For her, dignity is in short supply these days.

“In my mind I travel distant lands, to where the mountains meet the sea
To Africa, to the South of France, to Ireland so green
And you can call me a fool to worship the adventure of uncertainty
But my life is filing papers, I prefer the curse of the sea …

Infatuation, imagination, no destinations,
Call it the curse of the sea”



As the late Warren Zevon once said, “you’ve got to enjoy every sandwich”

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2009 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 11/4/09

Hope you all had a happy Halloween. I was in Buffalo last weekend to see my mom, and once again, I did not dress up. I wonder how many people went with the ubiquitous “balloon boy” theme. I like topical costumes. Once, many years ago, there was a news story about some whales that got stuck in a block of ice, and I remember some girl coming to our Halloween party dressed as the whale. She used a giant piece of Styrofoam for the ice and made a whale with its head sticking out of it. It was hilarious, and very creative. One of my more elaborate costumes was a tuna fish. I spent a long time on that costume – I hand-sewed the whole thing - and it WAS amusing. Unfortunately, it looked nothing like a tuna fish; everybody thought I was a sea monster or a shark. The problem with Halloween is that we always have candy left over, and I feel obliged to eat it. To make matters worse, this year we gave out Reeses Peanut Butter cups, and those are my favorites.

While I was down in Buffalo last weekend, I stopped at one of my favorite fast food restaurants, Mighty Taco. Mighty Taco is a Buffalo phenomenon, and they’ve grown considerably since I started eating there. Mighty Taco is far from the best Mexican food available in Buffalo, but as fast food goes, it’s pretty good. They may have locations all over the Northeast for all I know. When I first started to eat at Mighty Taco, back in the early eighties, they had only one or two locations. Their first location, a little hole in the wall on Hertel Ave., was walking distance from one of my favorite bars. Many a late night was capped off with a garden burrito and a Super Mighty Taco (my particular favorite). Mighty Taco also had the rudest ads on radio, which, of course, appealed to me. One ad in particular involved someone farting loudly on a bus. You hear all the other passengers groan, but then someone comments that the gas smells pretty good, and he asks the gas producer where he ate. Why, Mighty Taco, of course! I think the owner of the company had a recording studio in his basement and he created his own very off color ads. Whatever he did seemed to work, because Buffalonians have been consistently loyal to Mighty Taco. Years ago, when Taco Bell, the great Satan of TexMex food, invaded Western N.Y with multiple locations, Buffalonians voted with their wallets, and within a few years Taco Bell closed most or all of their locations. Brief aside … the best burrito I have tasted to date is available at a little restaurant on College St. west of Bathurst in Toronto.

In the news last week, Hillary Clinton was in harm’s way when terrorist bombs went off in Kabul. As the U.S. contemplates sending another 40,000 troops to Afghanistan, there seems to be quite a lot of debate about what is the proper course of action for that war torn country. I like the strategy of winning the “hearts and minds” of the people, but I think maybe that will require a little more understanding of their culture than we have the patience to develop. I’m afraid it’s a pipe dream to hope that some of the billions in American aid will be used for anything other than fighting the dreaded Taliban. I wonder if anybody has actually done a cost benefit analysis. Which is more effective: $5 Billion for guns, tanks, and ammo, or $5 Billion for improved health care and the rebuilding of infrastructure? We lost seventeen or eighteen men last week along with two helicopters. And what about reports that Afghan President Karzai’s brother is on the CIA payroll? Yikes, are we now in the opium business? If that guy really is “on our side”, he’s a dead man now that his cover is blown. Remember when Geraldo was drawing maps in the sand during the Iraq war, revealing sensitive information about U.S. troop positions? War is hell, especially with guys like Geraldo in your side. Michael Jackson’s movie was released last week, and I had to laugh when I read an explanation for why the movie was rated PG-14 … apparently “crotch-grabbing” is considered something which requires parental supervision. Who knew? I do want to see the movie, because, like many other people, I want to see footage of that last rehearsal. Train wrecks R Us.

Finally, and with reference to last week’s report about the old T.V. programs, how could I have forgotten, “I Love Lucy”, Mr. Ed, and one of my favorites, “Green Acres”? I loved that double-dealing Mr. Haney character, remember him … and the scatter-brained Mr. Kimball …and Fred Ziffel’s pig “Arnold? I wonder what ever happened to Arnold. I hope he didn’t end up in a taco. Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2009 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED