The Oppenheimer Report 9/27/10

Our internet service up here in Katrine is via a wireless cell phone device called a MiFi, put out by Bell Mobility. It works pretty well most of the time, and it is certainly faster than the dial-up service we were compelled to use for the first year we lived up here. For those of you still chained to dial-up service, you know that it is becoming increasingly unacceptable for modern data transfer. People were sending me multi-megabyte picture files via email and it took hours to download them. I used to have to download my email messages before I went to bed, because it took all night to receive them. Forget about trying to send a large file to someone else. As well, if you only have one phone line, dial up service can make it impossible for you to make or receive phone calls. This little MiFi unit is about the size of a small remote control and, since Bell added a cell tower across the lake, service has been pretty good. It’s a viable solution for rural locations that have cell service. That said, several months ago, there was a massive recall on the MiFi unit we use. Apparently, the rechargeable lithium ion batteries had a tendency to overheat and explode. Bell provided an alternative (inferior) unit until ours could be fixed, and it was a big pain in the neck which involved changing the settings on our computer, dealing with overnight delivery trucks, and I believe doing a special rain dance around the computer. About two weeks after they took back the defective unit, an allegedly new one was delivered to us. Shauna noticed that it overheated just like the old unit had, and we suspect they simply gave us our old unit back, unfixed. A few weeks ago, perhaps a month after the unit had been replaced, the thing stopped working altogether. When I took the battery out to reboot it, I noticed that it had swollen up like a balloon. In other words, it was about to explode ... the problem they intended to rectify. As I a begin writing this report, we are again without service and I am beginning to wonder about Bell. Right now, there is a terrific storm blasting across the lake, and the winds are ferocious. Our satellite just blew out, there goes the power, and the generator has just kicked on. Perhaps I should turn off the computers. And technology marches on …


That was last Tuesday. I watched that storm blow from the vantage point of our dock. Our dog Jasper was on my lap, and she let me know, in no uncertain terms, when it was time to head for shelter. Last Tuesday a band of destructive thunderstorms blew through the Muskokas and knocked out a lot of trees and power. The tail end of Hurricane Igor has just flooded parts of the Maritimes with 8 inches of rain, and today, Thursday, there were heavy rainfall warnings for our region. I only wish we’d managed to have a couple of our dead trees cut down before the bad weather moved in … I don’t really feel like cutting and moving a felled tree off our driveway. Although I own a chainsaw, and know how to use it, I prefer to let the professionals do that sort of work. I have enough trouble playing the guitar with ten digits.

Final note. When it rains it pours. I got a call the other day from one of our nurses in Buffalo that our Corgi “Tuppence” (AKA “Tuppy”), the Oppenheimer family dog, was very sick. She’s an old girl and she has a lot of age related chronic illnesses. We thought she might bounce back, but after speaking with the vet today, it doesn’t look good. It was less than a year ago that we were all joking about Tuppy the hunter, when she killed a possum in our back yard. The dog moves like a turtle, so that must have been one feeble possum. Now I must make the 4 hour journey down to Buffalo and perhaps say goodbye to our beloved pet. This will be hard enough, but I’m really concerned about what this news will do to my confused mother. For Mom, Tuppy has been a fixture in the ever shifting sands of  reality, not to mention a loyal companion who never left her side. In a rare moment of clarity, the other night Mom resigned herself to the sad fact that Tuppy “may not make it” through this latest struggle. Still, Tuppy has been a great dog, with a lot of personality. She was there all along to comfort Mom, there every morning to accept her token piece of toast from Mom’s breakfast plate. She stayed by Dad’s bedside for his final weeks, and we were all hoping that she would be there to comfort Mom until the end. I only hope Mom has the opportunity to say goodbye to her. The next 24 hours will tell.


Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 9/20/10

A belated Shana Tova to the fellow members of my tribe. As we usher in year 5771 it is once again time to reflect on the ups and downs of 5770. This past year was a roller coaster in my family. Last Friday marked the Eve of Yom Kippur, a day of atonement for the Jews, and for me it was a day spent with family. Thursday, I drove my “mekhutonim,” my parents-in-law, up north to Jasper Bark Lodge to spend a few days with us. They’ve been through a lot this past summer, and we thought they could use a break in the bucolic Great White North. Friday I took both 85 year-old parents out for a little ride on the ATV, and I think they were good sports to do that. Once an avid fisherman on this lake, my father-in-law has not been fishing in over five years. In what turned out to be a comedy of errors, I decided that my good deed for the year (I only do one per year) would be to take him out fishing before the season ended. We drove all the way to Magnetawan for big minnows, then rushed home at breakneck speed to get them in the lake before they died. Then we scrambled to find all the fishing gear, which has been stashed away since the house was built. We put hooks, spinners, and sinkers on the lines, we found the net and stringer; we were ready to roll. I thought I’d take him out in the porta-bote (my folding boat) because it will go slow enough to troll, but getting him in the boat proved to be a challenge. He somehow managed to fall into our paddle boat, which was sitting on the dock and full of rainwater. That necessitated a change of clothes. Jump ahead a half an hour, he was dry again, and I finally, with some difficulty, got him from the dock into and seated in the little boat. As I started the little outboard I heard a thump and looked back to see that he had slipped off the seat and fallen backwards onto the floor of the boat. As the motor was idling in neutral, and the boat was drifting away from the dock, there was my octogenarian father-in-law, legs up in the air, lying on his back on the floor of this little boat, with a fishing hook sticking out of his chin. Now he was bleeding, and there was sheepish grin on his face as he and I came to the humbling realization that perhaps this fishing venture was not such a good idea. I got the fishing hook out of his chin, pulled him back onto the seat and assessed the damage. Not so bad. Then I gave him my Jewish pep talk: “We’re going out dammit. I didn’t just race all the way back from Magnetewan with the world’s most expensive bait so you could wimp out on me. This was for you, I don’t even like to fish!” Finally, we did get out, and while we did not catch anything, we had a pretty good time. I made fun of him the whole time and he hurled his usual verbal abuse at me, pretty much the description of our relationship over the past seventeen years. We stayed out for about an hour, until the sun began to go down and it started to get cold. When we got back to the dock, I was able to get him out of the boat with less difficulty. As he was walking away, I noticed he had his sweatpants on backwards, but didn‘t think anything of it. I went to put the boat away, but I looked back because I heard Shauna and her mother laughing hysterically. They were leading him up the path to the house and his sweatpants had now fallen down to his ankles, but he didn’t seem to give a flying Walenda … he just kept on walking. If you don’t have a sense of humor about getting old, you might as well just curl up and die. I’ll give this to ALL my parents, they are not quitters. All in all it was a memorable fishing expedition.




Well, I finally watched an episode of “Jersey Shore”. I’m not sure why they call it that, because the episode I watched took place in S. Miami Beach. Regardless of the location, it was predictably ridiculous. This particular episode focused on the infidelities of several of the bulked up cretins within the group and oh, the drama! I’m not sure I have ever seen such stupidity exhibited on television. I sat and watched the show, incredulous and appalled. Regardless of gender, they all refer to each other as either “dog” or “bro,” and although most of the words they spoke were, I believe, from the English language, it was all Greek to me. I wonder if that language program Rosetta Stone has a file for Jersey Ghettospeak, because it is clearly a language unto its own. At one point, one of the characters was trying to figure out who wrote a suspicious note revealing the indiscretions of another. It was determined that it couldn’t have been “Snooky” because she never uses big words, like “wisely.” I too am cnfounded by big words like that. Snooky is, by the way, the girl who was recently arrested for being a “public nuisance.” Hey, don’t go buggin’ on me bro, I dint make this sh-t up. I believe that will be my last viewing of “Jersey Shore” … yo, been there, done that.



Yesterday, I took Mom and Dad Taylor out for a second troll on the lake, this time in the big boat. Again we got no bites, but there were no disasters as well, and we shared a sunset together. It’s always good to spend time with one’s family.

Carpe carp.



Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 9/13/10

Labor Day weekend, Buffalo hosted its 9th annual “Wingfest” to celebrate one of its several culinary claims to fame: the ubiquitous Buffalo chicken wing. One of the features of that dubious celebration is a chicken wing eating contest. From what I understand, there are professional “eaters” that travel the globe competing in these gluttonous events. Astoundingly, 43 year old Sonya Thomas, who weighed in at 105 lbs. won the competition by eating 181 chicken wings in 12 minutes. I am impressed and disgusted at the same time. There were twelve contestants and she even beat out 250 lb. Joey Chestnut, the pro porker famous for winning the last four Nathan’s hotdog eating contests. But 181 chicken wings, yikes! We used to go to a local bar called Gabels on Monday nights where the special was ten cent wings and three Steam Whistle splits for a buck. Twenty wings are a decent amount of wings to eat, but my record is perhaps thirty or thirty-five. Any more than that and I get really sick to my stomach. What pray tell does the ingestion of 181 deep fried chicken wings do to one’s digestive tract? On one of my recent visits to Buffalo, I went to Duff’s out on Sheridan Drive, a restaurant that many Buffalonians feel is Western New York’s chicken wing Mecca. I decided to check it out because I was in the neighborhood, and had once sold the property surrounding the restaurant. Frankly, I was not all that impressed; I thought the wings were expensive and no better than the ones I might find at twenty other Buffalo restaurants. Most visitors to Buffalo assume that Frank and Teresa’s Anchor Bar in downtown Buffalo is the best place to try Buffalo wings, because they are famous for being the home of the Buffalo chicken wing. Still, I’ll wager that most Buffalonians have some place they like better. Personally -- and this changes from time to time -- my favorite place for wings in Buffalo is La Nova Pizzaria, over on the West Side. Big, delicious, meaty wings that are incredibly messy to eat. La Nova is an institution in Buffalo, and they also make excellent pizza. La Nova is so popular in Buffalo that they will ship their pizza to homesick Buffalonians around the world. They’ve even shipped to troops in Iraq.



You may know by now I’m a reality television junkie, and I try to catch at least one episode of each new effort before it is yanked unceremoniously off the air. For me reality television is kind of a canary in the coal mine for cultural Armageddan, and I watch it with the same conflicted enthusiasm that I watch celebrities self destruct. I’ve been hearing a lot of buzz about MTV’s controversial “Jersey Shore” and finally recorded an episode or two on our fancy new PVR. I have not actually watched the show yet, but probably will soon, because I read in the paper the other day that one of the characters, Snookie, AKA Nicole Polizzi, had been arrested for being a public nuisance. In other words, they arrested her plastered ass on some Jersey beach. Welcome to the Lindsay Lohan Hall of Shame. The gist of the show is that it follows the delinquent and hedonistic exploits of a group of young Italian American “adults” on the Jersey Shore. I can see how this might be a big seller with today’s twenty-somethings, for the same reason the “Jackass” movies were such big hits. I don’t remember exactly what I was doing when I was in my early twenties, but I’m sure there was a fair bit of partying involved, and I’m sure I took pride in my own stupid exploits, and vicariously in the retarded behavior of my friends. It is, on the other hand, a bit strange to now be seeing that same behavior celebrated in a popular T.V. series. Fuddy-duddy that I have become, I do sometimes catch myself tsk-tsking and grumbling about the end of civilization. The fact is, not all "young adults” are boneheads, but there are always a few in every generation ( see Byron Brown Jr. several issues ago). Certainly alcohol is the great facilitator, and no, I’m not going to recount some of my more ridiculous past behavior for your amusement and harsh judgment. I understand the Italian American community is indignant about “Jersey Shore” but let’s face it, it ain‘t just the Italians. A few weeks ago there was a blurb in the paper about some Amish people south of Buffalo who were pulled over for DWI … IN THEIR HORSE DRAWN BUGGY. How bombed do you have to be to call attention to your inebriation in a horse drawn buggy?!



181 wings … as the Irish would say, JAYsus!



Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 9/6/10

The other day, as I was watching the attention deficit disorder news channel, a byline flashed across the screen which read something like: “ Randomized placebo tests indicate that marijuana is an effective pain reliever.” No kidding, I could have told you that. I’d like to thank Nancy Reagan and all the other boneheads from the religious right responsible for making marijuana the big bad wolf in the war against drugs. If I had a nickel for every ignoramus who buys into the “gateway drug” argument, I’d be able to buy me an influential congressman. Why not expend our limited crime fighting resources on the heroin and cocaine trade and hand out parking tickets for pot? In my opinion, smoking pot falls somewhere between spitting on the sidewalk and stealing a pack of gum on the crime spectrum. While I’m not much of a pothead anymore (it‘s the smoking part that bothers me), I am surprised that marijuana has not yet been legalized. I’ve always had a much bigger problem with alcohol abusers than potheads. Seriously, how many violent, aggressive potheads do you know? They may be forgetful, hungry, perhaps a little “out there,” but hardly a danger to themselves and others. Then there are medicinal benefits. Years ago, a co-worker of mine in Buffalo had a father who was dying of pancreatic cancer. As you probably know, that is one of the most painful cancers one can suffer, and this co-worker was at his wits end trying to find some relief for his dad. As a last resort, he asked me if I could get him some pot and, scofflaw-fraternizer-with-the-foul-underbelly-of-society that I was at the time, I got him some weed. About two days after I gave it to him, he came to me and thanked me profusely, saying his father was able to take his meds without experiencing the usual nausea, that his almost non-existent appetite had improved, and most important, smoking pot seemed to provide him with some pain relief. I think that governments should do what they do best and suck every tax dollar they can extract out of the production and control of marijuana, and leave the decision about whether or not to use the drug up to the allegedly free adult individual. Of course I don’t condone its use by kids (I was about 14 when I first tried it), but the fact is, some kids will smoke pot, just as some kids will drink. As for the health concerns, clearly marijuana has its health risks, but they pale by comparison to the deleterious effects of most of the other mind-altering drugs of choice (which are, ironically, easier to procure on the streets than pot). And while we’re on the subject of attitude adjustment, here are two other interesting stories which made print last week …




The Buffalo News ran a story last week which said that, according to a Forbes Magazine survey, Buffalo was listed as one of the top tailgating cities in the U.S.. As a diehard Buffalonian, I can attest to the fact that Bills fans are serious about their tailgate parties, and I attribute that to two things. First, Buffalo is a big drinking town anyway; it probably has more bars per capita, or at least it did when I lived there, than most other major cities in the U.S. . Secondly, the Bills have consistently sucked for the majority of their NFL career, and when loyal season’s ticket holders head out to Rich Stadium on a blustery October morning, it’s not so hard to understand that many of them choose to be anesthetized by kickoff time. I have only attended a few Bills games in my life, because I am not a (an American) football fan, but I have seen some legendary tailgate spreads at Rich Stadium. Apparently, there is one section of the Rich Stadium parking lot which is command central for the serious tailgaters. I personally know of one guy who routinely gave away gallons of rum each week in blender drinks. He had a special blender called a “Daiquiri Whacker”, driven by -- I kid you not -- a gas-powered weed whacker engine, complete with pistol grip throttle! Google it if you don’t believe the product exists. Other people bring gas grills, elaborate music systems, professional dancers ( o.k. I’m kidding about the dancers). I was rather proud to hear of Buffalo’s high ranking in the tailgate department.



The second story, gleaned from www.time.com last week, finds that heavy drinkers outlive non drinkers, and I find this hysterically funny. So much for abstinence! I’ve always secretly believed this might be true, and it probably explains why Buffalo has so many ambulating nonagenarians … perhaps it’s the booze. My dad always had a belt or two of whiskey before dinner, and he was like the Energizer Bunny up until the very end. I think it all boils down to achieving some kind of balance in your life. You can be sin-free on the surface, but if there are demons in the sub-conscious, fugetabotit. Booze is such an overt sin; no skeletons in the closet or secrets there.



As I sign off, the extreme heat and the humidity of the past week have given way to high winds and much colder temperatures. Having danced up the East Coast, Hurricane Earl, which started out as a Category 4, lost most of its punch and just soaked the Maritime Provinces as a tropical storm. As the mercury hovers around 52 degrees F. and the winds are howling, it occurs to me that this is perfect tailgate weather. Party on Garth … but remember, stay away from that evil weed. Drugs are dangerous, don’t be a dope.



Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED