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