The Oppenheimer Report 2/22/12

O.K., I apologize in advance for this, but there is more squirrel news. I know, I know, get a life. I already have one thank you: chief cook and exterminator. The other night Shauna called me up to the bedroom rather excited and implored me to look out the window at our eaves. You may recall if you’ve been following this blog that I have for almost a month now been on a mission to eradicate the red squirrel population on our property. While I have not seen any red squirrels lately, the other night there were the familiar scampering noises in our roof, and I was emotionally preparing for another round of squirrel genocide. Now we have a new problem! There on the edge of our eaves were three, count ‘em three flying squirrels. These things are smaller than the red squirrels and look a little like what you’d get if you crossed a bat with a gerbil, definitely registering on the “creepy” end of the rodent spectrum. Unfortunately, I believe that they may fall into the endangered species category and I am reluctant to shoot them. Even if I did want to shoot them, they are nocturnal creatures, and I don’t own a pair of night vision goggles. This is great, they’ll be up all night partying in our roof, listening to whatever annoying rock music flying squirrels listen to, chewing on our wiring and raising hell. To rub salt into the wound, as Shauna and I watched in disgust, two of them began to fornicate, right in front of us. And I thought the red squirrels were bad. I feel violated on so many levels.

This week we’re down in Buffalo because the time has come to start cleaning out my parents’ house. This time I brought Shauna and Jasper down with me for moral support, and I think that this was a wise decision. I know I’ve been whining a lot about this, but there’s a sold sign on the front lawn now, and when I walked into this vacant house Sunday evening, it was like a hard slap in the face. It suddenly hit me that a big part of my life was soon going to disappear. It's finally sinking in. Once again, I am uncovering strange little reminders of the distant past. In the back of a medicine cabinet I found my first bottle of cologne. It was probably also my last bottle of cologne, certainly my last bottle of Aramis. Monday, Presidents Day, or Family Day for Canadians, I met with an estate guy who came highly recommended in Buffalo. I’m hoping he can sell most of the furniture, fine art, and personal items not already spoken for. It’s not so hard to sell the dining room table, but who wants the ratty couch on the third floor, or the 30 year old console TV in the den?

Syrian President Bashar al-Assad is proving to be every bit his father’s son. Having murdered over 5000 of his people in the bloody crackdown now centered in the city of Homs, he must be living in the Dark Ages if he thinks he can hide these atrocities from the world. How for instance does a leader claim there is no armed conflict when almost every Western news agency has footage of his snipers picking off unarmed Syrian citizens? On the other end of the spectrum of relevant news, I found the coverage of Whitney Houston’s untimely death to be a bit excessive. It reminds me of the over-the-top coverage of Lady Di’s death back in ’97. The only thing missing was another Elton John remake. Greece got it’s bailout ($172 Billion), now it’s Spain’s turn. I heard on the news that travel is at its highest level in 18 years. Finally, I was six years old when astronaut John Glenn made a historic five hour flight, circling the earth three times in 1962. Monday was the 50^th anniversary of that flight, and Glenn is now ninety years old. Where does the time go?



Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2012 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED