The Oppenheimer Report - 2/20/07

There has been a lot of talk in the local news of late about the issues of public transportation and commuting. Some expert on the radio made the point that many Toronto commuters pay over $400 per week to drive long distances across the GTA (Greater Toronto Area). Urban sprawl has pushed the middle class commuter further and further out into the “affordable” suburbs, and that enormous weekly commuter cost suggests that perhaps public transportation is a viable alternative. As much as I like to drive, I’m fed up with city traffic problems. When possible, I use public transportation in Toronto, because many times, it is simply easier than driving and parking. The other day, I heard it suggested that Toronto may, some day in the not too distant future, levy a “congestion tax” for commuters entering the downtown core. London, England did so and apparently it has had a positive effect on that city’s horrible traffic problem. Toronto’s traffic problem has gone from bothersome to practically unacceptable in the 13 years since I moved here.

Though I often use the subways, I haven’t taken the bus all that often. The other day, I took the bus, because I was in between two subway stops on Yonge St. Rather than walk a quarter mile in the wind and cold to the nearest subway station, I figured I’d use my new and improved (harder to counterfeit) TTC token to pay for a bus ride. Conveniently, there was a bus stop right across the street. It wasn’t long before the bus came, and I assumed, from the TTC map I’d consulted, that I was on the right bus. Off we went, heading south, and I quietly congratulated myself on my intelligent and energy-saving decision. We’d only traveled about three or four stops when the bus suddenly made a left turn. I got a sick feeling in my stomach, thinking I’d taken the wrong bus after all, and was now going to end up in “Scarberia” (derogatory Torontonian expression for the eastern suburb of Scarborough). Thankfully, that was not the case, and the bus immediately pulled into a subway station. With no announcement, the driver got off the bus, and some of the passengers, including myself, wondered what was going on. After a few minutes, a new driver boarded the bus and took his seat. Apparently, we were involved in a shift change. That was fine, but it would have been nice if they’d told us what was going on. After a short delay, we were back on our way, heading south. Then, about ten minutes later, the new bus driver announced: “this bus will be ending its route at the Rosedale subway station.” That station is about a mile north and short of where I needed to go, and I’m not exactly sure why this happened, because that bus was supposed to head all the way downtown. I was told by the surly bus driver that I needed to get off the bus, and board a southbound subway car to travel two lousy stops south. Would there be another charge? Would I need a transfer pass? Would lunch and drinks be served? I was cast out into public transit limbo to fend for myself. I waited patiently for the subway to arrive, and when it did, it was of course packed full of passengers. For someone not accustomed to taking public transportation, this was all a bit confusing. I suppose I will need to consult the “TTC Commuting for Dummies” manual before I venture out again. I specifically took the bus to avoid inconvenience, but this journey wasn’t particularly convenient. Still, for about $2.10, I can travel anywhere across the city, and I can avoid the stress of rush hour traffic. It’s a trade off, but I guess it’s worth it, especially in the winter months, when driving around the city becomes particularly problematic. I’m tempted to pick up a weekly pass, allowing me unlimited use of all TTC services. Then I can get REALLY lost. I still haven’t been on a streetcar and hope to ride one of those before they are rendered obsolete.

I noticed on the news the other day that they still haven’t buried soul singer James Brown. The legend lives on, along with the stench of his decomposing corpse. By the way, is it just me or does anyone else see a resemblance between James Brown and Condoleeza Rice? Separated at birth? At present, the lawyers are playing tug of war with Anna Nicole Smith’s body. She could be in the fridge for a while, because there’s big money at stake there. I think her coffin should have two bump outs to commemorate her enormous fake boobs. Just a suggestion.

Final comments … with all the press this week about celebrity meltdowns -- Britney Spears is the latest (excessive partying, skipping out of rehab, shaving her head so she looks like Daddy Warbucks) -- I genuinely find it sad that celebrity and wealth so often destroys people. I liken this latest Spears crash and burn to the downfall of Twinkie-hoovering poster boy for star-rot, Elvis Presley (except that I think he was talented). At some point, the celebrity becomes so wealthy and famous that he or she becomes surrounded by opportunistic yes men and women. Don’t these famous people have any real friends??? Nobody has the balls to say “take that spoon out of your snoz and get some help, you f-up!” I watched a little of an old Anna Nicole Smith interview on Larry King Live, and wondered how anybody close to her could have ignored the fact that the woman was seriously over-medicated. Regardless of what I (representing the judgmental public at large) might think about Smith as a human being, was there no one anywhere who loved her? I think all celebrities should be required to take public transportation at least once per week … it’s very grounding.

- Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2007 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 2/15/07

According to three allegedly expert groundhogs, Punxatawny Phil, Wiarton Willie, and Hoser Harry (or whatever they call the one from Nova Scotia), this winter was supposed to end soon, but I think those groundhogs are lying little rodents. From where I’m sitting, it looks like Jack Frost has been taking steroids. Last week, I was moaning about our little snowstorm up here in Burks Falls, Ontario, which dumped about two feet on us in less than 48 hours. Then I saw on the news that in Oswego County, N.Y., they’d had steady lake effect snow for over a week, dumping as much as eleven on some unlucky residents. Now that’s what I call a lake effect snowstorm! I’d heard stories about the legendary snowstorms on the east end of Lake Ontario, but ELEVEN FEET? That’s a lot of snow! Every time I think of lake effect snow, I am reminded of the time a friend’s French poodle was plowed into a snow bank in Buffalo. It’s hard enough losing a pet, but how does one process something like that? Life is tough enough as it is, but when the Grim Reaper is a comedian, it’s even harder. Still, we Buffalonians are a hearty clan … we pry our frozen pets out of snowbanks and we move on.

And speaking of bizarre deaths, “celebrity” Anna Nicole Smith has left us for that great medicine cabinet in the sky. She was kind of like Marylin Monroe, but without the talent or the good looks. I know I should not speak ill of the dead, and yet I do. It never ceases to amaze me that this woman achieved any level of fame simply because she met some old millionaire in a club where she was stripping, he married her, and she instantly became rich and notorious. I couldn’t get enough of her slurred ineloquence, the stories of her many tribulations, and of course, her gigungas breast augmentations. She was the darling of the tabloids, the car accident we all slow down to watch. But who am I to judge? I’m judgmental, that’s who I am! Was her death an accident? Was her evil publicist and lawyer (interesting combination) involved? Would she ever get all the money from her deceased Texas millionaire husband’s estate? How many plastic surgeries did she have? So many questions remain unanswered, but I think the question on most people’s minds is, did she really have sex with that old man? Before she died, she was in embroiled in a bitter lawsuit over his $400 Million estate. Apparently, the millionaire’s son felt he was entitled to the inheritance as well. Now that both the son and Smith are dead (how ironical, eh?), the big question is, who will inherit all the money … I mean after the attorneys get their cut? My guess is that Smith’s newborn baby girl will be entitled to a good chunk of it, which probably explains why any man who has ever exchanged DNA with Smith is now claiming paternity. I give that little girl 14 years max before we read about HER tragic death by misadventure. Ain’t celebrity grand?

And speaking of “where-did-the-money-go?” … last week, I was watching my favorite comedy show, Jon Stewart’s “The Daily Show” (my number one news source these days), and he did a story on missing funds earmarked for the rebuilding of Iraq. Apparently, shortly after the wildly successful overthrow of Saddam Hussein, the United States government shipped $12 BILLION in CASH over to Iraq to assist in the rebuilding of her infrastructure. There was so much cash that they loaded it onto a transport plane on pallets, each containing many large bundles of one hundred dollar bills. Now, several years later, it appears that only about $4 Billion is accounted for. If you ask me, Iraq is showing all the signs of a budding democracy. You might ask, where did all that money go? Really, what’s twelve million anyhow … three pork barrel projects for New Jersey? My guess is that the missing eight billion ended up in the hands of insurgents who are now dragging the country into a civil war, but that’s just a hunch. And nobody documents bribes, so I think we can kiss that money goodbye. I’m sure we’ll be more careful next time. Stewart had one suggestion for where the money went … it was Fatima in accounting.

We are still up in the Great White North, reclaiming hardware and paneling from the old cottage. Last night, at yet another town board meeting, we jumped over another hurdle in the excruciatingly long process of obtaining a building permit. Perhaps as early as the end of this month, we will say farewell to the old cottage. I look forward to the new house, complete with central heating! Later on today, I may take a break from the ongoing task of chopping wood to go hunt for groundhogs. Come on you furry little lying bastards … say hello to my little friend … make my day … heeeeere’s Johnny … ( fill in your own cinematic reference to imminent murder).

- Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2007 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 2/6/07

As usual, our trip up north was delayed until late in the week. We were expecting several large parcels in the mail and didn’t want to leave Toronto until they arrived. We had ordered samples of a metal roof we are seriously considering, and were also waiting for a package from Kamloops, BC, containing samples of the logs we are definitely using to build our house. We needed those log pieces on which to test different stains. When both packages finally arrived, we set out on Friday afternoon. On our way up, we visited a large fireplace store near Barrie to look at wood and propane stoves, and then we were to visit a window and door store in Bracebridge. We made both stops, but we were late arriving at the window store. By the time we finished with the window guy, it was dark and snowing quite heavily. After a quick pizza in Huntsville, wolfed down in the car (Jasper wasn’t allowed in the restaurant and we wanted to keep the car warm enough for her), we set out on the last 30Km of our trip up to the cottage on Little Doe Lake in Katrine. The snow continued to fall.

Between Huntsville and Katrine, we fell into one of the worst snow squalls I have ever experienced on the road. Had I not been following a large truck, I’d have had no idea where I was going. I still didn’t have a clue, but figured that, when the truck hit whatever obstacle popped up, then I’d stop. No flies on me. Turning off at an exit was not an option, because I simply couldn’t see one, and there was no indication where the road ended and the shoulder began. Perhaps I was foolish to keep going, but I reasoned that we were in more danger stopping on the highway and therefore running the risk of death by snowplow (or by clueless driver). There must have been 20 cars behind me in the same predicament. Boldly (read completely lacking common sense), I crept along at 20-30 KPH and prayed for a clearing. I think my Buffalo roots kicked in, and I channeled with the younger Jamie … that moron who thought nothing of heading down to ski country in the Western New York Southern Tier snow belt, on a Friday night (drunk night), in a blizzard. Heck, we Buffalonians EAT that kind of weather for breakfast. Nevertheless, I WAS a little out of practice. Shauna was a nervous wreck and, after about 40 minutes of this white knuckle driving, I was a bit frazzled myself. Finally, about 5 Km south of Katrine, the weather cleared, a bit. What had been a complete whiteout devolved into merely a blinding snowstorm. Eventually, we made it to our cottage, and although the new, long driveway had not been recently plowed, we were able to make it down the road with relative ease. A trip from Huntsville to Katrine, that should have taken 20 minutes, took well over an hour. Thank goodness for our new Acura MDX. I cannot say enough about the handling of that vehicle in the snow.

The cottage was predictably cold, but thankfully our builder had turned up the space heaters in anticipation of our arrival. I reconnected the water lines, turned on the pump, and immediately heard water gushing from another room. I assumed a pipe had burst, but as it turned out, I’d left a drain line open when I drained down the system a few weeks before. Oops, better mop that up. At least there were no frozen pipes. I fired up our (not air tight) wood-eating stove, and then we had running water and (some) heat. Damp and tired, we collapsed into the couch and reclining chair for an uncomfortable sleep.

It snowed constantly from Friday night until Sunday morning, dumping about 18” to 20” of additional snow on Katrine and the surrounding area. That’s a lot of snow! Apparently, we were unlucky enough to be in the center of a narrow band of lake effect snow blowing off Georgian Bay.

We cancelled a Saturday meeting we had scheduled in Huntsville, because our driveway was by then, impassible, and we called Harvey, our snow plow guy, to dig us out. I don’t know how many snow plow guys you know in the big city who will come and dig you out right after a snowstorm, on the same day you call, but good old reliable Harvey showed up Saturday night of all nights, safely enclosed in his large, heated tractor, and plowed our lengthy driveway. That was one dilemma addressed. Then, on Sunday, the temperature dropped to about –25 degrees Celsius, where it was predicted to remain all week. This is nostril-hair-freezing (and ear-hair-freezing, if you’re over 50) weather, and as I have said more than once, Nature is a Mother. We were low on stove wood, and I was expecting to be able to use our fireplace to burn our larger logs. I held off as long as I could, to save wood, but when I finally tried to light a fire in the fireplace, the cap at the top of the chimney was frozen shut and buried underneath a pile of snow. There was no way I was getting up on a ladder to try and remedy that situation, so the fireplace was not an option. We have been getting by so far on the heat from the wood stove, which needs to be stoked on the hour, and on four anemic electric space heaters. If we add ANY additional demand to the circuits, say a toaster oven or microwave, we immediately blow a 30 amp fuse and all the heaters and lights go off. The fuse box is outside and I can only replace fuses by taking my gloves off. The other day, as I was removing a blown fuse, it was so cold that the metal stuck to my fingers. Since I began this report on Wednesday, our Guardian Angel-like builder supplied us with enough firewood to hopefully see us through the duration of our stay, we can get out of our driveway, we have running (but not potable or hot) water, and we are well supplied with food (though I think barbecuing outdoors is out of the question). We had an important meeting with the builder yesterday, and although there is still much to do before we break ground, we are making good progress in this excruciatingly long process. I can’t believe we are still contemplating a winter start. I look around this little cabin and, perhaps for the first time, feel a bit sad that it may soon be gone. Shauna and Jasper are still asleep, buried underneath piles of bedding on the reclining leather chair, and I sit here avoiding the morning ritual of carrying Jasper though the thigh-deep snow for her morning pee and poop. I have shoveled for her a lovely restroom.

Absent the creature comforts of the city, up here we are constantly reminded of the need to respect Nature. We met with a lighting specialist on Sunday, who moved up here from Toronto with his wife several years ago, and I think he hit the nail on the head. In the city, we try to bend and manipulate Nature to accommodate our needs. Up here in the soon-to-be-saturated-with-city-folk Great White North, people adjust more willingly to the forces of Nature. I think that’s how it should be. Someday, all of this will be an amusing anecdote. This is “Grizzly” Oppenheimer, signing off.

-Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2007 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED