The Oppenheimer Report 11/15/10

Last weekend, my pal Bob and I resumed an annual custom which we had sidelined for about four or five years … we spent the night in Niagara Falls, Ontario. Most people  assume that we would go there for a concert or to gamble in the casino, but not Bob and me. We travel to Niagara Falls to experience the scary wax museums. We joke with our wives and friends about how we’re going to go wild and paint the town red in a full blown Bacchanalian frenzy - after all, Niagara Falls Ontario is Vegas North (well, not exactly) - but the truth is, we haven’t really done much of that sort of thing in over thirty years. We did go to the “old” casino once about five years ago on one of our visits, but it was not what I would call fun. It reminded me of a video arcade without children, or laughter. While I understand that in theory gambling in a casino is supposed to be entertaining -- and I’m sure that for some people it is -- the idea of handing over my money to someone and then not getting anything in return is, to say the least, unappealing . I’m way too cheap to part with my greenbacks when the odds are so heavily weighted in favor of the casino. Besides, having recently spent over three years surrounded by and paying building contractors, somehow I feel as if I’ve already had that experience. The fact is, I’m not much of a game player in general. No sir, I want more bang for my buck, and there were at least three or four chamber of horror wax museums just begging for our entertainment dollars.




You have to understand, Bob and I are experts on the subject of scary wax museums, and we’ve probably been to every one in Niagara Falls. There’s something about wandering around in an unlit labyrinth, not knowing when some macabre display will flash before your eyes, that spells excitement for me. Sadly, this year House of Frankenstein turned out to be the only chamber of horror worth its salt. Typically in the past, each one of those museums employed live “growlers,” as Bob and I dubbed them, whose job it is to lurk in the shadows and surprise the unsuspecting spectators. Clearly, with the downturn in the economy, there is a profound shortage of growlers, and this was disappointing. While a dusty, poorly lit exhibit of some wretched victim being eviscerated by a werewolf is o.k., in my opinion it pales in comparison to the adrenaline rush provided by a well-trained growler. The best part about the growlers is that you can mess with them. I think Bob actually tackled one during a previous visit, and we came up with all sorts of creative ways to make their job harder (for instance, responding to their attack with an air horn). This year, I was bound and determined to photograph one of them, which is no mean feat given the element of surprise and the darkness. Call it the thrill of the hunt. Of course, I forgot my camera for the visit to House of Frankenstein, and that turned out to be the only one with live entertainment.



Naturally, in between wax museums there was some imbibing, because as we all know, alcohol reinforces one’s suspension of disbelief. As well, we needed to analyze the experience while it was fresh in our minds. I’m glad we had a few beers, because each successive chamber of horror turned out to be a little bit lamer than the previous one. I insisted on retrieving my camera from the hotel room for the last two forays into hell, and of course those venues were completely growler-less. I did take a lot of pictures anyway, probably more than I would have had I been sober, and mostly of Bob giving me the finger. I interpret the old saying “you can never go home” to mean that nothing stays the same. The final insult was that, after our last overpriced “museum” visit ended, instead of being returned to the dark and eerily lit entrance, with the mysterious and creepy monster trapped inside a shaking crate beside the ticket booth, we were spit out into the salad bar at the restaurant next door. Talk about throwing a wet blanket on the terror! Perhaps my enhanced memories of past growler-filled terror chambers might have been a little exaggerated, but the truth is, it doesn’t get much better than a Saturday night in Niagara Falls, Ontario accompanied by my best friend. We cruised the garishly lit midway which is Clifton Hill, we hit a couple of bars, we did some people watching, and we laughed. Time takes no prisoners; even a couple of bozos as fortunate as Bob and I have had our share of worries and tribulations. Sometimes you just have to stop and smell the sugar waffles. As we rode the Ferris wheel that overlooks the sparkling tourist town, I looked out over the dimly lit falls in the distance, and as I listened to its distant roar, I reminded myself that life is pretty darned good.



“We’re traveling around in the circle of Life

We turn to the left until we come to the right

We’re traveling around in the circle of Life

The past is the future with a little more light…”

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED