The Oppenheimer Report - 10/1/12

Last Tuesday, on the eve of Yom Kippur, the Jewish Day of Atonement, Shauna and I walked down to the dock at dusk and recited our prayers. While I am not a religious man by any means, and far less observant than most Jews, I find this particular high holy day relevant, and we usually acknowledge the day by fasting. When I was a kid, Mom insisted I and the family attend temple services with her on the high holy days, and I never really got it. I didn’t like all that standing up and sitting down, reciting prayers that had little meaning to me, and listening to a cantor whose voice I never liked. Even though I knew generally what the services were about, I‘d rather have been almost anywhere but in temple. As religions go, I think Judaism is a pretty good one. My lack of religious conviction has nothing to do with any kind of devotion that my parents failed to instill in me, or because I am in any way ashamed to be Jewish. I am simply at odds with all the bad things done in the name of G-d, regardless of the religion, and I am particularly wary of all religious fundamentalism. That said, I stop short of declaring myself an atheist, and there I found myself reciting parts of the Kol Nidre by the lake. We stood among Mother Nature’s congregation, with the multi-colored landscape of Fall surrounding us, washed in a golden light from the setting sun, and we acknowledged those whom we’ve lost in the past year. We also reflected on our shortcomings. It’s not a bad idea to take stock of the things I’ve done wrong in the past year, and to express hope that I can be a better person in the new year. I’ve rarely seen a sunset so beautiful. Crepuscular is I believe the term, with rays of sunlight beaming through the clouds and a soft pink light across the sky.

That was a beautiful night, unlike most of the week before when it was so miserable up here I saw a chipmunk scamper by our window wearing foul weather gear. He had that whole Nor’easter thing going on; boots, hat, everything. I think this is how The Farmer’s Almanac predicts things; they just look at what the animals are wearing in the Fall. We have one final building project slated for before the snow flies and at present, the deck of our carport is torn off. Admittedly, this is not great timing, but as one quickly realizes up here in the GWN, contractors up here work on a different time clock. And if it’s moose hunting season, fuggettabbottit. Should the November rains come early this year, we will be screwed.

I think we all assume that teamster boss Jimmy Hoffa “sleeps with the fishes”, but since he disappeared without a trace 37 years ago, no one knows exactly where he went. Rumours abound as to how it happened, and last week, there was yet another tip, this one suggesting he’d been buried in the driveway of a Roseville, Michigan home. I’m pretty sure this will turn out to be yet another dead end. Perhaps he’s embedded in the end zone of Giants Stadium, or he’s long since been digested in the belly of some alligator down in the Everglades, but more than likely, his body was disposed of in some even more untraceable way. This was a high profile hit, and this is the mob we’re talking about. When those guys want to make someone disappear, they usually succeed. Why would the mob bury him anywhere he could be dug up? Without a trace means without a trace. Unless some credible mob snitch makes a death bed confession, I think this one is a bona fide cold case. Someday, perhaps Geraldo will do a 4-hour special on it: In Search of Jimmy Hoffa‘s Teeth. My theory? I think he was made into hotdogs; you never know what goes into some of those discount dogs.

Crooner Andy Williams has passed on after a battle with bladder cancer. When I was a little boy, our housekeeper/babysitter/ surrogate grandmother used to make me watch The Andy Williams Show with her. Mr. Moon River himself. Sadly, that show wasn’t the worst thing we watched; I also sat through many an episode of General Hospital, Gomer Pyle, USMC, The Lawrence Welk Show, Petticoat Junction, and countless other examples of 70s TV drek. Perhaps this explains my present day love of bad T.V.; I’ve been trained to enjoy it! Who knows what that did to my development? Thanks a lot Mary, and if you’re up there in heaven reading this (because everybody does), smoking your Pall Mall non filters, I forgive you.

After all, that’s what a good Jew does on Yom Kippur.

-Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2012 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED