THe Oppenheimer Report - 4/25/11

About a week ago, I received an email from our high school class agent informing me that one of my classmates had died suddenly. A few days later I got a message that another one had passed away. While I wasn’t particularly close to either of the deceased, we were all boarders together, and in contrast to some of today’s giant high school populations, our class at boarding school was a relatively small and close knit community. When I got the news, I pulled out my Taft yearbook --we were the class of ’74 -- and paged through the pictures. I was an aspiring photographer back in my high school days, and I took quite a few senior pictures for the yearbook my junior and senior years. I found a photo taken by Morgan “Gaz” Garwood, one of the deceased. It was spooky to see it, because I was present when it was taken, and I remember details about the day. It was a good day, and I took a lot of pictures as well. One of them was the photo above, which became the senior picture for my classmate Bill Worcester. In that picture, the guy aiming his camera at me is Morgan, and the guy to the left, holding a beer and looking at the camera, is John Slate, the other deceased. Out of six people in that photo, two are now gone, and that‘s a bit of a kick in the pants for me. Among other things, John was a talented artist, and we sometimes hung out with the same people, usually when we were smoking weed out on the school golf course. While I didn’t know either of them very well, both were interesting characters, and I liked them.




As Death points his boney finger at the class of ‘74, I am shocked out of my middle-aged complacency to remind myself that it was 37 years ago I took that picture, and that I am not a young man anymore. You laugh, and think to yourself, “well of course you’re not a young man anymore you cretin, you’re 55!” yet I have somehow cocooned myself in a thin veneer of age denial. While I have effectively maintained the emotional maturity of a fifteen year-old, something of which I am proud, these deaths really shook me back to the present. Off the top of my balding head, I can think of five or six of my Taft classmates who have passed on, and I have become uncharacteristically philosophical this past week. In many ways Taft shaped me into the odd character I am today, and the older I get, the more I realize what that institution and my classmates meant to me. As I said in a recent email note to some friends, I am saddened to hear of these deaths, but I am thankful to have had the time I did with those guys. At that awkward point in my life I felt un-judged and accepted by those people, and I will miss them.



I leave you with excerpts from two of my songs; the first a love song written years ago about my travels with Shauna, and the second a song I wrote two weeks ago about self doubt. Please indulge me, as both seem to be pertinent this week.



from THE TIME WE FOUND

“I used to wonder about the ones who moved on

I used to long to know where they had gone

Gazed in a mirror an wondered what can be done

When twenty years have passed as if they are one.



Cho: In a room where people walk around

Some walk in and some walk out

We see the motion but we hear no sound

We get so lost in the time we found”



from A DISHONEST MAN

Truth or dare, but what do you care, as long as you get some tonight?

Leaders and lowlifes, we all live with white lies

Then tell ourselves we fight the good fight

Sun-glassed eyes, poker-faced lies, bluffing all the way to the top

But when you’re nine tenths dead, coughing in bed

Don’t you wish that you could make it all stop?”



Cho: Honesty, honestly, I don’t know what that means anymore

Infrequently, I can see the man I was long before

Used to be, I could feel, when a lie punched a hole in my soul

Currently, constantly, the man in the mirror is a whore

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2011 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 4/18/11

Just got back from Buffalo where I spent most of the last weekend with my Mom. While we did not get the terrible tornadoes they experienced down in the southern states, the weather was, as the Irish put it, desperate, and it snowed a lot. Back when I worked in Buffalo, one of my more surly co-workers used to say that Buffalo had two seasons: winter and the Fourth of July. I think that is a gross exaggeration; usually the whole month of July is nice in Buffalo. Thursday night Mom and I watched the Sabres beat the Flyers IN Philly in the first game of the playoffs, and I high-fived her when they won. That was a good night, and she was responsive and clearly following the game. At this point, I am thankful for the good moments. As her illness progresses, she is more often than not completely unresponsive, or confused, agitated, silly, angry, sad … sometimes all of these things within the span of an hour. Much of the time she cannot differentiate between television and reality. We have to be careful what we watch on television because she sometimes absorbs the violence and bad news like a sponge, only to regurgitate it in some future delusion. When we started to watch game two of the playoffs, she struggled to get up and made it known she wanted to go to her bedroom. “I don’t want to play anymore, it’s getting too rough.” So, I’m happy for the moments now.



In just ten days Prince William and Kate Middleton will be married in a modest little ceremony to be held at Westminster Abbey, and thereafter the future of England will be secure. Today, the Buffalo News presented a timeline for the Royal romance, which began in 2001 when William and Kate met as fellow art history students (snore) attending St. Andrew’s University in Scotland. Soon thereafter, much was made of the fact that William paid for a front row seat to see Kate model a suggestive dress at a charity event. Within a year they were rooming in the same student house, and the rest is whatever the publicists want us to think. For the next four years they were on again, off again, with William at one point quoted as saying he was feeling claustrophobic. Oops. From that point on he was a dead man and will probably spend the next forty or fifty years of marital bliss apologizing for that comment. Somehow these lovebirds managed to survive the rumors, the paparazzi, the constant scrutiny, and their own perfectly normal apprehensions, and by 2010, they were engaged to be married. I think the Queen sat William down one day and bluntly pointed out the fact that he was rapidly losing his boyish good looks, which he no doubt inherited from Diana, and transforming into the bridge-guarding troll which his father resembles. Don’t be a dodo and let Kate slip away, or you may end up like your oafish father. At least with Kate, there is a 50/50 chance the kid(s) will be attractive. By the way, how come his brother Harry looks so much like that polo-playing Hewitt guy? Invitations went out in February, and we commoners are all frothing in anticipation. There are even a very limited number of commemorative Will and Kate Pez dispensers being issued. I hesitate to guess what those gems will fetch in ten years. You can keep the Royal martini glasses, just give me one of those Pez dispensers. Quite frankly, I have been a little tardy in my wedding-watcher preparations, and with less than two short weeks until game day, I am woefully under prepared for my “Royal Rumble” celebration. I may need to consult Miss Manners to determine the proper beverage and hors d’oeuvres to serve at my Royal Wedding party. Cheetos and beer just doesn’t seem classy enough. I’m thinking Cold Duck and some wheat thins with cream cheese, perhaps topped with a dab of chutney? No flies on me.



Tonight Jews begin to celebrate the eight days of Passover, and I expect to attend a Seder supper at the home of my mekhutonim, a/k/a my mother and father-in-law. Can’t wait for that gefilte fish. Mmmm. For all my fellow tribesmen, may your week be a good one, and easy on the matzo, if you don’t want to be guzzling Ex-Lax.



Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2011 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 4/11/11

Snooki w/ SNL'S Tommy Moynahan

For a while there I became a reality T.V. junkie. I couldn’t get enough of it, and the more obscure the topic, the more interested I was. Hoarding, overweight, wife-swapping, gamblers with Tourrette Syndrome, bring it on. I know, I know, I’m a moron. I suppose I was incredulous at the explosive popularity of these sometimes ludicrous shows, and my rationale for my idiocy was that, if this was the advent of the Second Coming, I wanted a front row seat. All you intellectuals can read your books. I was front and center as survivors ate giant, squirming maggots, fat people had meltdowns on treadmills, amazing racers rummaged through piles of manure in unpronounceable countries for obscure clues, rock star hopefuls blew out their vocal cords auditioning to be in the band INXS, wife-swapping couples came to blows over unacceptable dinner entrees, celebrities threw hissy fits when Trump fired them, and so on. It seemed like every week a new dark corner of our society was being illuminated by the cold, hard truth of reality T.V. Finally, after an embarrassingly long time, I burned out, and all the stunts and the drama began to funnel into the category of “I-No-Longer-Give-A-Flying-F-ck-At-A-Rolling-Donut”. That said, I still catch the odd show, just to keep current. I follow American Idol with some regularity. Can you believe that America voted Pia off??? I’m absolutely conflobulated. Anyhow, the reason I’m bringing up my embarrassing addiction is that the other night it paid off in spades. I was watching “Dancing with the Stars” when pro dancer Maksim Chmerkovsky buckled under the formidable girth and heft of actress Kirstie Alley and injured himself. While I suppose the rest of America gasped in horror, I was rolling on the floor laughing. Make no mistake, I am a mean-spirited S.O.B., and this T.V. moment was everything I look forward to in reality television. When I heard Alley was going to be on the show, I was excited. She’s funny and self-deprecating (I loved her HBO show), and she wears her dysfunction like a medal of honor. No, I’m not happy Max got hurt, but he seems to be alright, and it didn’t seem to faze Kirstie. The cynic in me thinks it was all a ruse anyhow to build sympathy for Alley, who will now go on to be competitive, once Max starts wearing support bandages, and will probably lose another fifty pounds in the process. That’s the thing I love about reality television – it’s full of jive and spin. BTW, I understand “Jersey Shore” goddess Snookie has written a book. Watch out Pulitzer contenders! What is next for this Renaissance woman? I hear Katie Couric’s job is up for grabs. Snookie as the CBS anchor? Take THAT Rather!




And speaking of reality, or the lack thereof, apparently Charlie Sheen’s “Violent Torpedo of Truth Tour” has been a bit of a roller coaster. He bombed the first night in Detroit, but received standing ovations in Chicago and Cleveland. Sheen implies the show is a work in progress. One review suggested he was using the forum to beg for his sitcom job back.



Let’s see what else happened … oh yes, the U.S. Federal Government came within about an hour of shutting down, but thankfully the decision has been reached to print more money, so we’re back in business. The U.S. greenback is tanking against foreign currencies, but hey, nothing to worry about! I hear there's lots of money in Libya.



Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2011 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 4/4/11

A belated happy April Fool’s Day to one and all. Did any of you play a fiendish prank, and were any of you arrested for it? Though I was not feeling particularly mischievous this past week, I did Google the top 100 April Fool’s pranks of all times, and some of them were pretty good. For example, # 12 - In 2008, The BBC reported flying penguins in the Antarctic, supported by a video clip of the event. #16 - Porky Bickar (his real name) fooled his Sitka, Alaska neighbors into thinking that nearby dormant volcano Mt. Edgecumbe had erupted when he flew hundreds of tires into the volcano and lit them on fire. Years later, when Mt. St Helens erupted for real, someone wrote Porky and said “This time you‘ve gone too far!” #35 - In 1980 the BBC reported that London landmark clock tower “Big Ben” was going digital, and their Japanese affiliate claimed that the hands to the old clock would be sold off to the first four callers #41- In 1965, it was reported that Danish Parliament declared all dogs should be painted white in order that they be more visible at night. #93 - In 1986, a Paris newspaper reported that an agreement had been signed to dismantle and remove the Eiffel Tower from its present location and reconstruct it on the site of the new Euro Disney theme park, in order to make way for a proposed stadium to be built for the 1992 Olympics. And I love this one: #95 - In 1990 a news organization reported that designers of the already over budget tunnel, under construction at the time to connect England and France under the English Channel, had miscalculated, and the tunnel excavations, meant to meet in the middle of the Channel, were off by 14 feet. The report went on to say that the error would cost $14 Billion to rectify. How could I ever hope to compete with any of these hoaxes? For my part, I thought about dressing up like a giant squirrel and chasing Jasper around the house.



Here’s a sign of the times. Everyone who does the shopping in the family knows that food prices are soaring, but have you noticed that the packages are getting smaller as well? They’ve been doing this for a long time but it’s happening more frequently these days. Apparently, it is not so noticeable to the consumer if what was once a 16 ounce bag of pasta becomes a 13.5 ounce bag of pasta. Of course one figures this out when the food doesn’t go as far. It’s very sneaky. This reminds me of a Gahan Wilson cartoon I once saw in Playboy, wherein two executives are looking out the window at some giant smokestacks belching filth into the air, with smiley faces painted on them. The caption read something like: “I don’t know J.P., I don’t think it will fool them.”



A few weeks ago, Terry Jones, that boneheaded so-called pastor from Gainsville, Florida, made good on his promise on the anniversary of 9-11 to burn a Koran, in front of his thirty followers. That hateful gesture, insignificant as it must have seemed in America and in most other parts of the world, set off a firestorm in Afghanistan last week. The result was that twelve innocent people died, five of them Afghans, none of them Americans. America has troops in Afghanistan and Jones knew this, so he must have known that publicly destroying a Muslim holy book would endanger our troops. Shame on him. He proved nothing except that he was capable of stirring up a hornet‘s nest. He obviously wanted to demonstrate that Islam is a religion of violence, but if that were the case why then didn‘t the entire Muslim population rise up? By the way, has he ever read about The Crusades? Talk about a man of God sending the wrong message. I think Marx was wrong, religion isn’t the opiate of the masses, it’s the Molotov cocktail. Years ago there was a big uproar in Western New York because Karl Hand, a notorious Nazi sympathizer, had organized a rally to be held in Downtown Buffalo. Hand was a certifiable idiot who I believe had once guzzled anti-freeze in a failed suicide attempt. The rally took place, and almost no one showed up to support him, but hundreds were there to protest. That’s how to handle hatred; expose it and de-legitimize it. I am deeply saddened about the violence that occurred in Afghanistan, and I don’t condone that murderous vengeance, but it was horribly irresponsible of Jones to act as he did. In our country the overwhelming majority know that cretins like Jones (any relationship to the Kool-Aid guy in French Guiana?) are not to be taken seriously. Sadly his bad behavior did spark murder in a very different culture, and he is, in my opinion, guilty of knowingly inciting hatred. One can argue that Americans are allowed freedom of expression, but where do we draw the line?


Here’s an idea for an April Fools joke. Fly Terry Jones to Kabul and drop him off in one of the market squares. Let him light a Koran on fire there. Wouldn’t that be funny.



Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2011 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED