The Oppenheimer Report 1/28/19

Today's self-righteous sermon is about music and connectedness. I’ve spoken often on my Lyrical Workers show about music as the universal language, and while I am by no means an expert, I do believe music is something which unifies people. I have learned a lot from relative strangers, and I am humbled by the knowledge of some of my listeners. When I began to do the show, four or five years ago, my mission was to introduce listeners to songs that I found interesting, from the perspective of a songwriter. I also wanted to learn about new songwriters myself. The more I learned the more I realized how little I know. Listeners filled in some gaps, introduced me to new artists, and generally widened my horizons, but I have only scratched the surface of what is out there. One must wade through a lot of mediocrity before one finds the exceptional. Gurf Morlix, my producer friend from Austin says that good music is everywhere. Regrettably it rarely finds its way to a mainstream audience, and it requires some effort to uncover. I could easily have been comfortable airing the good music with which I am already familiar, but that does not reflect growth.

I, like so many others who are not seeing a lot of sun these days, have been struggling in the winter doldrums. Yesterday afternoon, I drove over to the home of my friend Gina Horswood and her partner Atticus. They were hosting a house concert for artist Corin Raymond, a Toronto singer songwriter I’ve been wanting to meet since I first heard his music years ago. This concert was a great reason to get out of the house for a few hours. For around twenty years Corin was in a band with Sean Cotton, the man who lives five minutes away from me, and recently finished producing four of my songs. As the winter blues settled on this community like a damp, cold blanket, many of us needed a little music therapy. In my opinion, Corin is one of the best Canadian songwriters I’ve heard so far. He’s an excellent storyteller, a great word sculptor, and a passionate and convincing singer. That I got to see him perform at Gina’s house, to a receptive audience, was especially therapeutic. Gina and Christina Hutt, another talented local singer songwriter accompanied me with killer background vocals on my latest effort (produced by Sean) Watch For Wolves. Back to the house concert, these days I much prefer to see these live, bare-bones performances in an intimate setting rather than at a large venue. It makes me feel more connected to the artist. Had you told me thirty years ago that I’d prefer this style of concert, I’d have laughed in your face. I used to love stadium concerts.

After this early evening concert was over, I felt strangely lighter. I’d shared this excellent performance with a small group of like-minded music lovers, and I caught up with some of my friends in the music community. Generally, I felt like I’d been resuscitated from the blue flu. I harp a lot about the increasing alienation emerging in a society at once improved and plagued by technology. My friend Noah Zacharin and I spoke recently on the telephone about the dying art of communication, and the fact that no one writes letters anymore. I think there is an erosion in community that accompanies this inability to communicate. I also believe that the universal communication music provides is unifying, and by giving complete strangers common ground it creates a sense of community. It is why I am so supportive of the radio station; by its existence, it builds a community. Good music is something to be shared, and if it can make a group of complete strangers happy, regardless of their race, color, or creed, isn’t that a good thing?

  - Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2019 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 1/21/19

The subject of today’s report is unwanted visitors from the animal kingdom. Living here in paradise is wonderful but it does have one or two down sides. In the summer months there are groundhogs who take up residence under our porch, in the winter, flying squirrels have on occasion penetrated small openings in our roof. They want to nest in a warm place to procreate, and they make a lot of noise. Because the gestation period for a flying squirrel is relatively short, one could find oneself with a real problem in no time. In past reports I have spoken about our war with these flying squirrels. They can be a real nuisance if they decide to live in the roof of your home.

About five years ago, we had a squirrel “expert” come to our house for a consultation. Over a very expensive cup of tea, we had an interesting and informative conversation about the tenacity and ingenuity of these annoying rodents. He then got up on a ladder and did an assessment of potential entry points to our house, and we then did our best to plug them up. Squirrels are notorious pests, but if possible, my rule has so far been to live and let live. I once went to the extreme measure of live-trapping a red squirrel and driving it 12 miles away from our house, simply to avoid killing it. That’s how far away one needs to take them to avoid having them return. Needless to say, I only did that once. Eventually, I changed my credo to: Live and let live, unless the little bastards get into the house. Once they break that rule I “go medieval” on their little asses. Bazookas, chainsaws, hatchets; the works. Back to the squirrels in a minute.

Our latest nuisance from the animal kingdom is a family of pigeons. In my twenty-five years living up here, I’d never seen a pigeon on our property until last year. Now, there are four or five of them residing here. They moved in last year, probably from the city, and probably because Rob Ford is mayor now. I have nothing against pigeons, as long as they keep their distance and don’t poop on me or my house. Clearly, they do not understand the rules of Jasper Bark Lodge, and they are spewing their guano all over our house. It's beginning to look like a Jackson Pollack painting. While I do have a pellet gun, I have yet to shoot a bird. Unless I decide to incorporate pigeon into my diet, I prefer to avoid killing them. High powered squirt guns are a deterrent, but I needed something to scare them away. The other day, I bought one of those wireless doorbells with twenty different ringtones. I couldn’t believe some of the annoying ringtones it features. Why would anyone want a dog barking as their doorbell ringtone? I set the ringtone to “Emergency Vehicle Siren” and plugged it in outside on our balcony porch. Then I waited for our unwanted visitors. So far I have had marginal success with the emergency vehicle ring; I think it bothers us (and our neighbors) more than it does them.  They’re getting used to it. I’m going to see if I have more luck with the barking dog, but I'm not optimistic.

Back to the squirrels. The other day I noticed blood on the snow outside our window, and I think a bird of prey got one of the red squirrels. We’d trapped a lot of mice in the house last summer and fall, but that has tapered off since January. I think perhaps natural predators are getting them before they enter the house. I feed at least one feral cat, and perhaps that is paying off. The other night Shauna and I were looking out the front window of our bedroom and noticed two flying squirrels on the ground foraging. While I wasn’t watching, I heard Shauna scream from the bedroom window. While she was watchinig, one of the squirrels scampered up a tree and, in an instant, was snatched by a big barred owl. Game over, and problem solved!

In general, the lessons we learn here on the lake are the lessons everyone should learn; we need to adapt to Mother Nature. She is the boss, and everything we do to alter her magic has unforeseen consequences. We built a big house where lots of critters live, and short of killing everything that moves, we need to figure out how to co-exist with that wildlife. That’s what we are trying to do. I have much more respect for nature these days.

Last night, we were fortunate enough to watch the full blood super duper wolf eclipse of the moon, or whatever it’s called. It was captivating. I had never before observed a lunar eclipse from start to finish, and we watched this one with binoculars. Shauna and I were mesmerized. Sure beats CNN, or Hollywood’s latest remake of a superhero comic book story.   

  - Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2019 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 1/14/19

A while back, I dropped my laptop on the floor and broke the screen. At the time, I thought I’d dodged a bullet because, other than a little crack in the upper corner of the screen, everything seemed to be working. That’s one of the reasons I’ve always liked Dell computers; the ones I’ve owned have been fairly durable, and I can be a little hard on the equipment. Anyhow, the little crack in the corner of the screen began to creep, and then it became a large and growing black blob that was making it hard to read anything on the computer. I guess that’s what happens when you damage a liquid crystal display screen. Who knew.

Two weeks ago, I finally threw in the towel and decided to order a replacement screen. Therein began my foray into the netherworld of Dell Hell. I called the Dell Oh-Haha-You-Want-Replacement-Parts-For-Your-Dell-Laptop-Hahaha Department, only to be re-routed four or five times to different departments, and each was in a far away land where English is decidedy a second language. Finally, after about fifteen minutes of this, I was connected to someone whom I thought might be right guy. He took my service tag number, which is a customer identification number in Dell’s enormous database of clients which differentiates me from all the other customers they choose to ignore. He asked me to hold the line, several times, but eventually we were disconnected before anything productive could be achieved. I called back, somewhat exasperated as one might imagine, and, after three more re-directed calls, was told by someone that I might have better luck ordering the part online (from my damaged computer). For the record, I have never had better luck ordering items online.

As advised, and now a little frazzled, I tried the online chat/order route, and that proved unsuccessful as well. For some inexplicable reason, I was disconnected from two different chat sessions, shortly after I’d typed (and re-typed) a comprehensive list of the pertinent information. What I did finally track down, with some difficulty, was the Dell part number I needed in order to purchase my laptop screen. From there, and after about three more disconnected phone calls, I was eventually able to order the part I needed, but not before being promised, twice, that someone would call me back (and never did). Dell used to be a pretty good company, and I still have no quarrel with their product (if it can withstand my abuse, it gets the El Destructo seal of approval), but their customer service sucks. No company should make it that hard for a consumer to buy parts from them! It’s as if they design their website to be unhelpful, and forget about a phone conversation. I felt like I was in the Twilight Zone.

Went for a snowshoe on the frozen lake last weekend, and I must say, that is a lovely thing to do on a sunny winter day. Goodness knows I need the exercise. The ice on the lake has been a little unpredictable, and with the extreme variances in temperature, one day raining the next day sub-zero, I was reluctant to venture out until recently.  I did see a snowmobile, towing an ice hut out onto the lake the other day, and that is always a good sign. In past winters, I’ve taken the ATV out on the lake, and there are no shortage of snowmobilers up here zapping around like Hell's Insects, but I think I enjoy walking more. I don’t think I’ve ever really embraced the high speed snow machine thing. It's hard enough to stay warm going slow. For me, going fast is much more fun in warm weather. Slow and steady wins the race, says the turtle. 

  

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2019 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 1/7/19

Vic Damone, E.T., Becky Damone, and Dr. Sydney Taylor

Today marks the 94^th birthday of Shauna’s mom, my mother-in-law, Ethel “E.T.” Taylor. Last night, with the help of yours truly, her producer, E.T. hosted her 106^th weekly Martini Music show on Hunters Bay Radio. On the show she features much of the music that was popular when she was a young lady. The music she loves has clearly stood the test of time and is very popular with our Sunday night listeners. The more I learn about the big band music of artists like Artie Shaw, Harry James, Glenn Miller, as well as vocalists like Vic Damone (for whom she and Shauna wrote the song “Every Time I Look At You”), Dick Haymes, Ella Fitzgerald, Sarah Vaughan, etc., the more I enjoy it. E.T. has exposed me to a great deal of music about which I knew relatively little, and for this I am grateful. Long after her beloved husband Sydney passed on in 2013, and now well into her nineties, E.T. remains active and in charge. She has somehow maintained her keen sense of humour, her dignity, and her sharp wit, even while her independence has been gradually compromised. Last summer, we did a promotional video while she was visiting us up at the lake. In the video, she sat on my ATV while saying a few words to promote her Martini Music show. After her little promo, she put on a helmet and said, “Hit the gas Opie!”. That was my cue to drive her quickly off camera. That video is pretty funny, and it has been a big hit for the station, receiving over 1300 views so far. Indeed, E.T. is a force of nature, both a good sport and young at heart. She is a fine example of a person who, faced with great adversity in her life, has managed to maintain her dignity and her grace. As well, she has never stopped being curious, a trait she shares with her daughter. We love and respect E.T. very much, and wish her many more years on this earth.

I’ve been a letter writer most of my adult life. I love receiving letters in the mail, and I like to send them to other people. It takes a little more time to write and post a letter, and in this era of abbreviated communications, wherein people can’t even be bothered to write in complete sentences, I think it says, “I care enough about you, the recipient, to take the time to communicate in this personal way.” That said, I think letter writing is a dying art. I write condolence letters, newsy letters to old frienda I haven’t spoken to in years, angry letters to incompetent service providers, funny letters to people who might need some humor in their life, inspirational letters to people who might have lost their inspiration. My father was my inspiration, and he was legendary for his letters. When he passed away, I kept many of the letters he had written on his laptop. Though I don’t know some of the people with whom he was corresponding, I love being reminded of his wit and charm. Like E.T., my dad was young at heart, and he endeared himself to people generations younger than he with his ability to communicate well on the written page.

  

Letter writing may soon be a dead art, because in so many ways, communications have broken down in the world. As well, the postal service is driving itself into extinction. Due to the most recent pre-holiday postal strike, I am just now receiving the Christmas cards friends and family mailed to me weeks ago. The other day, I needed to post a letter to the U.S., and realized that I was out of postage stamps. In a week or so, the rate for sending a letter to the United States will increase 7 cents. Currently, it costs $1.20. That seems like an awful lot of money to send a letter. When I was a kid, a buck twenty would buy me enough candy to make my teeth drop out. I will likely keep writing letters regardless of the cost, because of the reasons I have noted above, but I wonder how much longer I will be receiving them.

- Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2019 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED