The Oppenheimer Report 7/28/09

Last week I had the very interesting experience of taking some garbage to one of the Toronto transfer stations. Because of this never ending garbage strike, my mother and father-in-law had some uncollected garbage, which had been building up in their garage over the past several weeks. I, the good son-in-law, offered to dispose of it for them, not fully realizing what that would entail. When I arrived at the transfer station, there were picketers and police cars, and a bit of a line up. When it was my turn, I realized that, before I could actually dispose of my garbage, I must listen to one of the striking workers present their case. Of course, after he was through with his little talk, I had a few questions for him. In all, it was an edifying exchange of words, and no punches were thrown. Clearly this strike has caused a great deal of animosity, but it takes two to tango. I read an interesting article in the Toronto Star the other day – I do read sometimes – suggesting that the reason this crippling strike has gone on so long is that both sides have gone public with their negotiating strategies. By doing so, they have painted themselves into a corner, because once they have stated their position publically it becomes much more difficult to compromise. Wasn’t it the SALT talks three decades ago, before the end of the cold war, when Russia and the United States were in dispute over the shape of the negotiating table? Yikes.

I came up north last weekend with the good intention of completing some of the outside staining work I have not yet been able to finish, but the weather would not co-operate, In fact the weather continues to be atrocious here, and what has been particularly frustrating has been its unpredictability. One minute the sun is shining the next there is thunder rolling in. Today, I was at the dump in Burk’s Falls, dropping off some of the construction debris from our site. I seem to be spending a lot of time in these places of late. Unlike the fancy Toronto transfer station, the Burk’s Falls dump is basically a big landfill, with a little building for recyclable materials. Once one presents one’s dump card, one is let through to the landfill to dispose of one’s garbage. Before I could get out of the car though, the heaven’s let loose and we had a downpour the likes of which I have rarely seen. Even the ever-present black bears, who roam around picking through the plentiful supply of bear delicacies, were driven off. By the time the twenty minute deluge was over, there was a waterfall of muddy crap streaming down from the top of the fill and pools of water everywhere. I had a desperate call from Shauna to come back to the house, because apparently one of the old culverts near our property had backed up diverting an over-abundance of water onto our property. I understand the town of Huntsville, thirty kilometres to our south, had some substantial flooding, causing washed out roads and sink holes. Within several hours, our property had drained off, but how devastating this weather must be for the folks in low lying areas. There is great song by Chuck Pyle called (I believe) “Here Comes the Water” describing a flash flood in a valley. When the ground is already saturated and we get rain such as we got today, the storm drains back up, and there is no where for the water to go. Too bad we haven’t found a way to divert our over supply of H2O to the more arid regions of our country.

This coming weekend, weather-permitting, I plan to participate in a power boat poker run on my friend Bob’s 27’ Magnum. Though he’s invited me to attend many times, this will be my first. He claims his will be the slowest boat out there, at 65mph. I hope to report on that adventure next week. Stay dry! Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2009 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 7/20/09

Esteemed anchorman Walter Cronkite died last week at the ripe old age of 92. Once dubbed “The most trusted man in America,” Cronkite was, along with Edward R. Murrow, one of the pioneers of responsible reporting in America. It’s sad to note that his passing will likely receive one fiftieth the media attention that Michael Jackson’s did. It seems we have a short attention span for stories about those whose lives are not riddled with scandal or misfortune. I turned on CNN the other night, and was just in time to see the never-before released clip of Jackson’s hair catching on fire in a fireworks malfunction, which occurred during the filming of a Pepsi commercial back in the 80’s. Talk about your prime time video. How does one compete with that “news”?? Perhaps the clip was released posthumously to provide some spin doctor explanation for why the pop superstar might have undergone multiple plastic surgeries, or why he became addicted to prescription painkillers. Take your pick … a clip of Walter Cronkite, crying as he reported the assassination of John F. Kennedy, or a clip of the gloved one’s head on fire.

Celebrity’s a bitch; if you can’t take the heat, stay away from the fireworks, or at least don’t put flammable stuff in your hair. But why is it that so many of us gravitate to the train wrecks and completely ignore that which is truly important and noteworthy in our culture? Why does bad news sell so good? In so many cases it’s not even hard news. So much of what we read and hear today falls into the “infotainment” category and it is often saturated with spin. Someday, there will be a movie or a biography special on Michael Jackson, and we will finally know “the truth,” but for now we must settle for whatever dirt the butler, nurse, nanny, chauffeur, cook, chimp handlers, iron lung salesman, and tabloid photographers choose to dig up. I figure we’ve got a few more months of this the-public-wants-to-know nonsense before we move on to the next dead zebra on the savannah. Meanwhile, poor Walter takes his seat in the nosebleeds, doomed to obscurity, because I’ll wager a growing majority of Americans are now too young to have known how important he was. Then again, Walter probably wasn’t all that interested in glory or fame. I doubt he ever considered doing a Pepsi commercial. He probably would not have been a spokesman for Nike. I’ll bet he was approached by Viagra, but I think the disclaimers would have scared him away.

Final note …we are closing in on the one month anniversary of the beginning of Toronto’s garbage strike, and I can say from firsthand experience, this city is a smelly mess. As much as the mayor would have us believe it’s not really that bad, in fact it is, and Toronto residents have begun “get-off-your-lazy-fat-asses-and-DO-something” pep rallies in front of City Hall, in a vain attempt to move this thing off center. It’s a PR standoff, with one side hoping the public indignation will push the other side into caving. I’m no fan of Mayor Miller - I wanted John Tory for mayor - but as well, city employees, who receive benefits many in this city don’t, are striking for, I believe 3+% per year salary increases. Perhaps they need to wake up and smell the rotting tuna. How does NO job sound to you?

It’s too bad Cronkite’s hair never caught fire. He wasn’t involved in any scandals, and I understand he was happily married. I don’t think he even had any plastic surgery. Venerable is boring; he needed some kind of signature disaster news clip, something by which to remember him. He’ll be yesterday’s news in no time.
Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2009 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 7/14/09

Once again I was pleasantly surprised by the reunion to which I referred in last week’s report. I spoke with a lot of distant cousins and some of their grown up kids. My recovering alcoholic cousin seems to be on the wagon, and remarkably much the same as the charismatic character I remember from our ill-spent youth. My logger/farmer cousin from Oregon and his wife were there, and it was better than I could have imagined to finally meet her and to re-unite with him. We all have some miles on us, and I find that these reunions are strangely reassuring in that they remind us that we are not alone with our problems. In my recent myopic stupor, I needed a little dose of that reality. What was especially meaningful is that those relatives from Oregon were able to stop by and visit my ailing Mom.

At the dinner I attended - and there were three or four other dinners - I sat next to the granddaughter of the hostess, along with her fiancée. He’s a microbiologist from New Orleans who left the Big Easy after Katrina struck, and she is a horticulturalist. Together they raise rats - cute ones of course, not the plague-spreading, boot leather-gnawing kind - which they sell as pets in order to defray their living expenses. That’s right, rats. And people BUY them, so hogtie me and feed me beets. I asked the two of them the question everyone asks young lovers … “where did you meet?”, and when they told me it was online, I thought to myself, judgmental soul that I am, “Hmm…I suppose that’s marginally better than meeting at a bar.” Then came the zinger … “at a body piercing site,” after which she proudly pulled out her nose earring, which she had conveniently tucked up inside her nostrils, because “grandma wouldn’t approve.” I nodded admiringly, secretly relishing the thought that this person, who was probably twenty-five years younger than I, would presume that I am hip enough to approve. As is happening more and more these days, I am beginning to feel old, and I feel as if the part of me that used to be open-minded is starting to atrophy. The truth is, these young adults were interesting, intelligent, albeit quirky individuals, and, when I was able to discount my notions of what constitutes an acceptable pet and appropriate body jewellery, I genuinely enjoyed speaking with them. Who buys a rat for a pet?!

What is going on with the weather? If I hear the term “upper level low” one more time as an excuse for all the wind, rain, and below-average temperatures, my eyes are going to pop out in an indignant rage. Up north we have had copious amounts of rainfall in short periods of time. I put an empty bucket out in the back yard one day, and within a few days it was at least a third filled with water. Storm drains are being taxed, driveways are washing away, and the heavy wind, cold temperatures and rainfall are no doubt the subjects of many conversations. Speaking with friends out west in Exshaw, Delbourne, and Edmonton, Alberta, I’m told that the weather in that part of the country has been atrocious as well. There seems to have been more severe weather all over the country, and last night I heard on the news that there had been a “travelling microburst” somewhere around Oshawa, Ontario which had much the same effect as does a tornado. Of course, all these accounts of abnormal weather bring out the Prius-driving, anti-carbon, Gore-loving, told-you-soers, who arrogantly proclaim that all of this is the meteorological Second Coming, substantially caused by our over production of greenhouse gases. Absolutely, we should try and reduce our carbon footprint, as we should in general try to recognize and reduce our negative impact on the environment. But as well, don’t rely on bad science. We are guilty of extreme hubris when we assume that we can control Nature. I remind you that Nature is a mother, and we should listen to her! Weather patterns like El Nino and La Nina likely have a far greater influence on the weather than Bubba with his supercharged, gas hog 1975 Dodge Challenger. Address the things you can more effectively influence, like population growth, food production, less solid, un-biodegradable waste, and more potable water.

On a related note, at this writing, Toronto is heading into day 24 of its garbage strike. Actually, it’s a city worker strike, and other services are affected as well, but garbage is the olfactory bell ringer for media attention. We’re infamous, and last week our mayor was even interviewed on CNN trying to put a positive spin on this public relations and tourist industry disaster. There is nothing so effective in reminding us how much crap we generate than to see it piled up, in and around our city of 2+ million people, in parking lots, in parks, and overflowing from street corner garbage receptacles. This has been an ugly, ugly strike, and tempers are flaring, especially among residents in close proximity to the temporary dump sites. All the rain hasn’t helped, but if the weather was hotter, it would probably be even worse. Perhaps something good will eventually emerge from this problem. I am becoming more and more aware of the excessive amount of non-bio-degradable packaging I personally generate. What is the solution? I’ve bought the re-useable bags for the supermarket, though I keep forgetting to bring them with me when I shop. I suppose the single most effective step for all of us to take would be for us to be more sensitive to what we throw away. I call charities up on the phone and tell them
I will not contribute if they mail me any more paper. Given the choice, I will buy fresh vegetables and skip the plastic bags. I’m told by some in the know that a little co-operation from everyone would likely go a long way to stem this red tide.

Final note. More than one of my readers asked why, several weeks ago, in a report dealing with Michael Jackson’s demise, I displayed a picture of rock legend Jimi Hendrix. Don’t you think they look alike? Seriously, the idea was that Hendrix was also a remarkably talented and in some ways tragic star. Though their circumstances were quite different, their ends were eerily similar.

And as for the Toronto union workers, I understand that yesterday, finally, the first olive branch was extended. Boys and girls, it’s time to “stink or swim!”

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2009 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 7/6/09

A belated Happy Canada Day for my friends in the Great White North, and a Happy Fourth to my friends and family stateside. On the Fourth, I was mowing the lawn when Shauna called me up to the house. To my great surprise and amusement, I was presented with Shauna, her parents, and a friend, slowly walking towards me, carrying the star-spangled banner on a makeshift flagpole, as they sang the American national anthem. My father-in-law was even limping. All that was missing was the bloody bandage and a piccolo. They even got most of the words right (thanks in part to the fact that it is sung at most NHL hockey games). I’m not a very good singer, but I instinctively put my hand on my heart and joined in as well. I don’t know why the Founding Fathers picked that particular anthem to be our National theme, because it has a three octave range, and it is hard to sing. “America the Beautiful” or “God Bless America” are much easier to sing, and in my opinion, better songs. Then again, I’ve never written an anthem. Well, I suppose “Swamp Queen” is sort of a love anthem.

I always used to take the Fourth of July for granted, and never really thought much about the significance of the holiday. As I watched what Mr. Obama promises is the beginning of the end of the American presence in Iraq, and the coverage of the sham elections in Iran, and as I take note of the mounting casualties in Afghanistan, I am reminded that freedom can be a bloody business. People die so that others may be liberated, and over the years, I have become increasingly thankful for the sacrifices of all those who fought for my right to express my ridiculous opinions. More and more, I value and appreciate the freedom I have been so fortunate to know, but what concerns me is our propensity to foist it upon other cultures that may not be ready for the unsettling change freedom necessitates. How would North Koreans fare if they were suddenly “liberated”? How have we done in the Middle East so far? Is it a matter of national security that we liberate other countries – is that why we fight other people’s battles? Is it for oil, real estate … other natural resources? Maybe, just maybe, not everyone is ready or willing to fight or sacrifice their stability (albeit enforced) for our ideals … or for Big Macs, celebrity suicides, and reality television. Just exercising my right to offer a ridiculous opionion.

Next week, I will travel back to Buffalo to see my mom and to attend a family reunion on her side of the family. Sadly, she will likely not attend, although I hope some of the attendees can visit her. This week, Lehman relatives will arrive in Buffalo from Dallas, Oregon and Florida. As the Lehman/Oppenheimer side of my family rapidly erodes, I take every opportunity to connect with those that are still with us. Mom’s brother “Peanuts” Lehman passed away a while ago, but his son will be at this gig, and I haven’t seen him in perhaps forty years. He was once active in the horse logging business in Oregon, and I believe bred draft horses for a while. I love his emails, because they are colorfully written vignettes of life on a farm, described with a unique, stream of consciousness style. We share a love of music and good song writing. Another cousin, with whom I have lost touch and not seen since a funeral brought us together almost twenty years ago, will come up from Florida. I am told he has wrestled with demon alcohol most of his adult life. Back when we were teens, we were just rebels without a clue, and alcohol and drug use was a badge of honor. Now, these many years later, he is soberly struggling with the payback years. Everyone has one of those in their family. I wish him luck. Somewhat less so than with the trepidation I felt going to my boarding school reunion, I am nonetheless a little nervous about what I will see, and how I will be seen by these distant relatives. It should be interesting.

As I sign off this week , I can see the American flag waving in the wind outside the living room window. Corny as it is to say, I am thankful that I live in a free country, and I’m thankful to have a family with whom to share that freedom. Next year, bandages and a piccolo.
Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2009 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.