The Oppenheimer Report - 12/28/15

This time last year ...

Wednesday was a special day for Shauna and me. We headed in to the Hunters Bay Radio station at noon to see Bet Smith and the Currie Brothers put on a surprise, live on-air concert for the unsuspecting and ailing James Carroll. The performance was grand – I’d never seen the band play live, although I am a fan of Bet’s songs and her new EP Loose Ends – and the whole thing left me and Shauna with good vibes about the holidays. While not a fan of Christmas, last Wednesday, I had a chance to see the good side of the holiday. Andrew and Rob Currie closed down their thriving music store in Gravenhurst for a few hours, on one of the busiest days of the season, in order to do the gig. They simply wanted to thank James for all his radio support, and it meant the world to him. Shauna and I were buzzing after the concert, so much so that afterwards, we broke into spontaneous dance in the dairy aisle of Robinson’s supermarket, singing in terrible harmony Torme’s The Christmas Song (“Chestnuts Roasting On An Open Fire”). Some lady standing not far away from us, who previously had a holiday scowl on her face, saw us making fools of ourselves and began to sing along. Lunacy can be contagious.

 

I woke up the morning of Christmas Eve to the sound of high winds, looked out the window, and don’t think I’ve ever seen the lake so churned up and angry. These were freight train winds, rattling the doors and bending the trees. There were tree limbs scattered about the yard when I took Jasper out for her morning walk, but other than that, there were no trees down across the drive. I was relieved that there was no need to use the chain saw for some emergency cleanup. Not so fast! The winds continued to howl throughout the morning, as a cold front marched in to collide with the unseasonably warm air we’d been enjoying. By 2pm, the power went out, which I’d half-expected, but what I did not expect was that our generator would fail. Propane-fired, our generator is set up to turn on automatically when the power goes out, and it has done so faithfully, at least fifty times over the past eight years of power outages. Upon inspecting it, I noticed that the little indicator lights were not on. I stared blankly at it for about fifteen seconds, opened the one panel that was not locked, and came to the abrupt conclusion that we were screwed. Cold weather was blowing in, and now the power was out, on the afternoon of Christmas Eve, when every electrician within a hundred miles of Huntsville had buggered off for the weekend. No water, no lights, no heat. Thankfully, the weather was mild and the outage only lasted about 9.5 hours. It could have been much worse. I’m expecting the electrician will get here today (he’s had several frantic messages from me), before the big storm rolling in from Texas knocks out our power again. Fingers crossed.

 

While I took a row in my little boat Christmas day, El Nino proved to be a kick in the butt for the southern and mid-western regions of the U.S. Yesterday, the Dallas area experienced F3 and F4 tornadoes that caused widespread destruction and multiple casualties. Our unseasonably warm weather seems to be over and we are bracing for the first winter storm of the season. It should start to roll in this evening.

 

It’s that time of year when I reflect on the year that has passed and make resolutions for the New Year. My aspirations are as lofty as they have always been: peace on earth, good will towards men. On a more personal note, I aspire to continue to do things that challenge me. Along those lines, I begin to host "Talent on the Bay" a week from Wednesday, an hour long radio show wherein I'll interview local artists and have them perform live. I’m nervous, but looking forward to it. Happy New Year everyone, hope it is a good one for all of us!  

- Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2015 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 12/21/15

I am fascinated by the myth of Krampus, that monster who disposes of naughty children shortly before Christmas. I understand there is even a new holiday horror flick dealing with the subject. Krampus is the anti-Santa, or the yin to Santa’s yang if you will, and I first learned of him several years ago when I did an Oppenheimer Report on the subject. It just makes sense that, if there is going to be a Santa for all the good little girls and boys, there ought to be someone on the team to clear out all the bad apples as well. Santa has enough on his plate without having to decide who’s naughty and who’s nice. Krampus is apparently cause for a celebration in Austria, and on Krampusnacht, or Krampus night, people dress up in outrageously demonic Krampus costumes, sometimes getting a bit liquored up, they parade around town harassing parade goers, and generally behave like football fans at a tailgate party. While the whole thing seems a little weird, I am in favor of any tradition that tempers the sometimes over-the-top enforced gaiety and materialism that has regrettably come to characterize Christmas.

Anyhow, Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to my twelve loyals readers, and especially to my good friend James Carroll,  Program Director, Producer, Host, and Editor at Hunters Bay Radio, who is very sick right now and facing his challenges with courage and dignity. James, you are a good man, whose achievements in life are too numerous to list, and I love you like a brother.

To follow is one of my very first holiday “reports”, written around 22 years ago, before I began to edit for offensiveness.  I wrote the very first one the year before, but upon re-reading it, it is not appropriate for a public blog. Yes, believe it or not, I have toned things down a bit over the years. This one is a bit politically incorrect, but nowhere near as bad as some of the reports were. Some of the references in this report are a little dated (one of the big issues at the time was acknowledging gays in the military) but it might be interesting to some of you how far I have not come. Perhaps some of my “twelve loyal readers” will remember this one. Happy holidays to one and all. Thanks for reading!

12/7/93 .....

Three months in the Betty Ford Clinic and Santa is a new elf. No more substance abuse, no more drinking, and no more fooling around with the reindeer. Last year's FWI (flying while intoxicated) put a real cramp in his style. He had to send everything out Federal Express because he couldn't fly, and it really put him in the hole financially. So this year, Santa is clean and sober and ready to roll.

That's a good thing because he has some major problems with which to deal. His liability insurance premiums have gone through the roof, literally. In 1991, there was an unresolved $5 Million class action suit brought against Santa and North Pole Partners Inc. for roof damage to thirteen homes on Long Island. Doesn't it figure those litigious pricks in downstate N.Y. would sue Santa?! What do you expect in the state where the governor plunders billions from state pension funds to balance the budget? Ho friggin' ho.

Then there was that equal opportunity issue. The Feds are on his back because, try as he may, Santa has not been able to fill the required quota of African American elves on his payroll. While there seems to be no shortage of Hispanic and Asian elves, the fact is, there just aren't that many Black elves out there willing to work for candy. The few that there are, get scooped up for big buck holiday T.V commercials.

Look for some new toys in the marketplace this season. If your child is a stargazer, why not buy him a scale model of the Hubble Telescope. It comes complete with an eye chart and a list of excuses used by real-life NASA scientists for why everything's blurry. Expensive custom replacement lenses sold separately.

For the politically correct child, how about the new GI Bruce doll. Throw him in the foxhole with your Chuck Norris or Mr. T doll and watch the sparks fly. Your child will have hours of fun, showering homophobic abuse on this fun-loving scapegoat of military intolerance. Color coordinated fatigue ensembles and "civies" sold separately.

And finally, for the Nintendo or SEGA junkie in your household, how about the new video game called “LA is burning". You are a promising young actor who just has to make that final audition. You've got the job if you show up, but uh oh! First you have to GET there. The fun begins as you set out from your trendy bungalow in Venice, only to experience the labyrinthine perils of everyday existence in L.A. Weave through the highway and drive-by shootings, gang warfare, race riots, police harassment, destructive brush fires, snooty, arrogant rich people and overpriced restaurants, snooty, arrogant poor people who work as waiters in overpriced restaurants - crime pestilence, greed....this game has it all. And it's going to take more than a joy stick to get you through this one kids ... are you up to the challenge? Don't forget your mace!  Gosh I love this time of year.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c1993  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 12/14/15

Limited by one's ability to sustain a pulse

In keeping with the North American obsession to lust for ridiculously unhealthful food, Wendy’s Hamburgers is presently advertising a bacon cheeseburger with some kind of white drippy cheese sauce oozing out the sides. For a few dollars more, one can purchase the accompanying and equally artery-clogging bacon-covered French fries, drenched in even more white ooze. To be honest, it looked somewhat appetizing to me, in a heart attack-inducing sort of way. The problem with all of these well-photographed junk foods is that, in reality, they don’t look anything like they do in the ads. Every once in a blue moon I’ll succumb to a Big Mac (heart) attack, and when I do, I cannot adequately describe my disappointment when I unwrap my guilty pleasure. The burger patties are about the size of fifty cent pieces, the un-ripened tomato is pale orange, the rest of the ingredients are squeezing out the sides like a waterfall of puss and shredded salad. The burger looks as if it had been stepped on, and the whole package is about as appetizing as three day-old road kill. I suppose when they make five billion of these things per day, presentation suffers. Maybe they can’t all look like the perfectly stacked burger in the photo, but perhaps they could look better than squashed raccoon.

 

I received an email from my friend Harve the other day, and Harve is one of my biggest fans. He’s been reading this report on and off for a long time, perhaps as long as I’ve been writing it, and he also listens to the radio show. He read me the riot act in this email because he said I’ve become too steeped in gloom and doom of late. He’s right of course, and I have let my negativity run rampant lately. Sorry about that.  Long ago I remember some wellness guru, perhaps Andrew Weil, advising his listeners to avoid watching the news, because the news is always hopeless and depressing. I am especially astounded by all the nonsense surrounding Donald Trump, and I am embarrassed by what the rest of the world must be thinking of America. Still, I suppose I need to take a deep breath, as Harve advises, and laugh at the craziness. Believe me, Americans are not crazier than the rest of the world; it just seems that way.

 

I watched SNL last Saturday night and this was the subject of the Weekend Update segment, typically my favorite part of that show. The gist of the sarcastic commentary was that Trump was probably not a racist, as so many are convinced, but merely playing the Islamophobia card to win over the crazy religious right wing nut balls who seem to have hijacked the Republican Party. As much as they were poking fun at the insanity of Trump’s nonsense, there may be some truth to the theory. I view Donald Trump and his handlers with the same bemused detachment I view a hyperbolic WWE wrestling celebrity. Sadly, isn’t this what American politics has become? What I find far more interesting is that Trump, and to a much lesser extent Democratic nut ball Bernie Saunders, represent huge threats to the status quo. Their numbers don’t lie; a lot of people are following them. They are circumnavigating the conventional, money-sucking vortex of PACS and special interest lobbyists, and this might be a good thing. Don’t get me wrong – I cannot stand Trump. His arrogance and his stupid, childish bullying offend me, as I suppose they do most thinking human beings. Yes, Donald Trump is a public relations nightmare for America, and he is appealing to the lowest common denominator of the American public, but at the same time he is shot across the bow of a broken and corrupt political system. I don’t think he is as ignorant as he comes across; I think he’s playing to the center. He largely funds himself, and if nothing else good comes from his campaign, it might redefine the center of the Republican party. To me the guy is the canary in the coal mine, warning us of how clueless our electorate and our power elite have become. Can he win? I think the media and the money changers will shut him down eventually. They’re doing a pretty good job of painting him as Adolph Hitler in the mid 30s. Ironically, the electorate doesn't seem to care. 

 

One final humorous note, on the subject of self-help:  there was a segment on the news last night about power posing which made me chuckle. Everybody knows how big the Marvel franchise has grown, and superheroes are all the rage these days. Apparently, some researcher has discovered that striking a super hero pose, with erect posture, hands firmly placed on one’s hips, for about two minutes, will noticeably increase one’s confidence and productivity. So if you’re nervous about that big meeting, or about to be introduced to your fiancée’s parents, just hop into a bathroom stall and pose like Batman or Wonder Woman for two minutes. I prefer my tapping therapy, but hey, whatever floats your boat. Next Monday, I will post my very first Santa report, written back to the early days of this report. Seasons beatings to one and all! Relax Harve, I’ll try to lighten up for the new year.

 

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2015 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 12/7/15

A month or so ago, I spent a couple of hours in the hospital with a friend who went in complaining of respiratory problems. A chronic smoker, he was clearly oxygen-deprived and frightened. He underwent a battery of tests, including a CT scan. The long and the short of it is that he found out last week he has developed lung cancer. I have known this man for about two years, but even in that short period of time, I have grown to respect and admire his many accomplishments. He and I are the same age, and his bad news hit me hard. The next step will be a biopsy and other tests to determine if the cancer has spread and if it is operable. His prognosis is by no means a death sentence, but I can’t imagine what is going through his head right now. This recent diagnosis is just one of the many nagging voices in my head that cries “don’t do this, and don’t do that.” With every peer who falls ill, I become more acutely aware of my own mortality. Of late, and especially with the omnipresent “THEY are out to kill us!” media blitz, it seems that mortality has become my obsession. With every stiff joint or sharp pain comes the little voice asking, “Is this serious, should I be concerned?” Hypochondria has begun to worm its way into my life, and I feel somewhat ashamed about that.
 

Everyone has a cancer story. A cousin of mine in Toronto is a survivor of colon cancer. Before his diagnosis and surgery many years ago, he was a driven, ambitious businessman who spent a lot of time on the road. Now, after several surgeries and a myriad of lifestyle changes, his vocation has become secondary to his family and to his fundraising efforts on behalf of colon cancer research. So far, he has remained healthy, but more importantly, his priorities have changed. I would wager that each day of his “new” life is more valuable to him than months of the life he led before he became ill. I know he is reading this report, as he does every week, and I want him to know his journey and his transformation have been a life lesson and an inspiration to me.

Well over a decade’s worth of these weekly reports have been vacuous nonsense reflecting my cynical, sometimes sarcastic, and often uninformed take on current events. I rant about reality television, self-absorbed and overpaid celebrities, corrupt and inept politicians, bizarre world events, and the general downward spiral of mankind. More often than not, I try to be funny, because humor has been my coping mechanism to process the depressing over-abundance of “information” I reluctantly absorb. My self-indulgent ramblings are a catharsis, and that is what writing has always been for me. What I am only beginning to realize, and perhaps the reason why I have been so uncharacteristically philosophical of late, is that I have become more focused on judging people by their actions, and not their words. In my community alone, I have found many to admire and, dare I say it, love.
 

In the past few weeks, I have been reading about a therapy called tapping, recommended to us by Shauna’s massage therapist, and it is a way of neutralizing stress. Not unlike meditation, tapping is a way of coming to terms with destructive thoughts in order to keep them from harming the body. I think it is helping me cope with my increasing anxiousness. The more I read on the subject, both psychological and physical trauma remain within us long after we think they are gone. The theory is that there are corridors to the brain which, when tapped into, can process and compartmentalize toxic thoughts before they cause us unnecessary and counter-productive pain. The book is called The Tapping Solution if you are curious. In this age of too much information and not enough truth, I seek a remedy to the overwhelming sense of dread I sometimes feel. I won’t apologize for my lack of levity, because this blog is fairly close to who I am. I will likely return to my twisted, gallows humor fiction soon. In the meantime, be good to your friends and family, and I will try to do the same.    - Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2015 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 11/30/15

The American Thanksgiving has come and gone, and while I miss the experience of congregating in Buffalo for the Oppenheimer Festival of Bird, I’m getting used to the changes. As Joni Mitchell once wrote, “Don’t it always seem to go, that you don’t know what you’ve got 'til it’s gone …”. Generations of kids in my family grew up attending the Oppenheimer Thanksgiving supper, and it was always a joyful, well-attended event. The little kids sat at fold-up card tables and, in time, graduated to the grown-up table. I was recently in contact with my cousin in Oregon, who is about five years my senior, and he remembers sitting at the kiddie table for Thanksgiving dinner, at our first house in Kenmore, N.Y. Those family gatherings made for wonderful memories. Of course, there was always one crazy aunt or uncle, who would get sloshed and do something foolish, but who doesn’t have one or two of those in their family?

It is slowly soaking in that nothing lasts forever, and I have addressed this, ad nauseam, in past reports. As I mature (hah!), I am learning to recognize and to be thankful for all my good fortune thus far, and I strive to focus on this as I move forward. Now officially a sexagenarian, I still embody a trace of the irresponsible twenty-something, who drank too much, let chaos into my life, and took for granted all that was given to me. I am slowly letting go of that guy. It’s a natural process, but no change comes without some sacrifice. At some point, we all lose our moms and dads, and for those of you who have had a hard time letting go of the past (like me), one day it hits you like a brick. We grow up and we grow old. The former is our choice. It is only fairly recently that I have begun to appreciate what once seemed like a boring, uneventful life. Singer/songwriter Trace Adkins had a great song entitled, “You’re Gonna Miss This”, about all the joy we ignore when we fool ourselves by focusing on the “greener grass” of the future.

As I sat in Huntsville’s Family Restaurant last Thursday night, sober as a judge and eating a turkey club sandwich, (I know, pathetic right?) before heading in to the station to do my radio show, I was reminded of how life-changing it has been to have had all those happy Thanksgiving celebrations. Luckily, I have known great love. Some people have lousy parents, and/or completely dysfunctional families. From what I can see, it’s not that uncommon, and never is it more glaringly obvious than around the holiday season. There has been much discussion about Black Friday, that symbolic starting gun for the retail Christmas insanity, which will now litter our consciousness for the next four weeks. The tradition has recently bled into Canada. The other night, I watched a video of two men engaged in a fist fight, presumably over the last discounted Play Station in a Black Friday sale. Every year, I see some variation of the same video. Religion and Christmas are two things that should not inspire violence and pain, but somehow, they always do. Go figure. It’s easy to focus on this nonsense, but I am starting to turn away from all this. I reached out to some friends and family with whom I had shared past Thanksgivings. I taped and watched the Macy’s Day Parade, because for some reason, I never tire of watching an enormous floating Snoopy balloon sail down the main drag of New York City. Finding contentment is a journey, and while I realize it should be easier for me than for people who are less fortunate, that’s not necessarily the case. Rich or poor, we all struggle with the same demons, and, to paraphrase Firesign Theatre, I’m just another bozo on this bus. To me, the best part about this time of year, is that it provides an opportunity for family and friends to help. What the American Thanksgiving has been for me, I hope this holiday season can be for all of you.

 

And if Uncle Ralph throws up on the rug after a few too many Manhattans, try to capture it on video … believe me, those moments get better with time.  

 

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2015 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 11/23/15

Rwanda 1994

I am troubled today. The wind is tearing across the lake, and the day is cold and forbidding. Sometimes the weather up here parallels my state of mind. Shauna reminds me to focus on all that is good in my life, and I know that I am one of the most fortunate men in the world. Of late, and especially in the past month, I have been beset with drama, much of it out of my control, which leaves me feeling anxious and at odds with myself. Certainly, the recent attacks in Paris are high on the list of contributing factors. I’m having trouble sorting it all out, but here are some random thoughts. Please forgive my self-righteous rant.

Terrorism is a sad fact of life, but terrorism and zealotry have been around for a long, long time. I’m part way through a very long but interesting article, published in The Atlantic, entitled What ISIS Really Wants, which attempts to shed light on what the Islamic State is and what it hopes to accomplish. The answers are unsettling, but what is most unsettling to me, what keeps me awake at night, is the profound ignorance of most Westerners, myself included, as to what these people, and many others believe. One can hate one’s enemy, but it might be helpful to know who the enemy is. In my opinion, hatred and zealotry are the enemies.This particular group of Muslim fundamentalists believes that the end is near, and they are, in the words of a character in the movie Pulp Fiction, ready “to go medieval on our asses.” They are medieval in their interpretation of the Koran and they intend to wipe out all apostates. That, by the way, represents the majority of the world’s population. To most westerners, these are just a fringe group of crazy religious fanatics which can be exterminated, but aside from the fact that the media is doing a great job of promoting their agenda of fear and terrorism, they seem to be attracting a larger and larger following. When followers are willing to blow themselves up or embark on suicide murdering sprees, for whatever misguided cause, this becomes, at least in conventional terms, an indefensible “war.” The only possible solution, short of annihilating an entire race of people, is to try and understand and perhaps marginalize the ideology that promotes this violence. We can ignore the warning signs, as we sip our five dollar Starbucks frappamochachinos while watching Ballbuster Housewives of Newark, but the canary is choking, and nobody has really been paying attention. There are a lot of desperate, hopeless people in the world. Right now the spotlight is on Syria, but there are dozens of other countries where the violence that occurred last week in Paris happens just about every day. Without giving the hopeless hope, how do we win this war?

I watched a documentary dealing with the 2008 terrorist attack in Mumbai, and it was eerily similar to the Paris attacks. Although law enforcement authorities completely dropped the ball during the Mumbai attack, and a handful of unspectacular foot soldiers were able to wreak havoc on a city of 18 Million, somehow intelligence did intercept cell phone conversations of the killers talking to their central command unit. The conversations (over 200 cell phone calls were intercepted) were chilling. One of the killers was captured alive and it became clear that the foot soldiers were simply young, brainwashed followers doing exactly what they were told to do. Fear, hatred, and the absence of hope can spread like wildfire, and they are dangerous motivators.

We are whipped into a frenzy of fear by reports of Muslim fanatics torturing and murdering innocent civilians, but we ignore the much greater threat that the disconnected, impoverished, and mentally ill in our own North American countries will fly off the handle. Look at the recent race riots sparked by police brutality in America. Look at all the gun violence in North America. Religious fanatics in The Middle East are not, contrary to popular opinion, our biggest concern. “We have seen the enemy and he is us.” I am concerned we North Americans, and again, myself included, are losing our souls to fear, hatred, ignorance, and mistrust. We humans never seem to learn from our mistakes. Figure out how to be charitable of heart and the problem eventually solves itself. Desperation and poverty breed more desperation and poverty. There are wonderful people everywhere in the world. Some of them need our help. Find them, embrace them, love them. It seems to me that one can’t keep “out” what is already entrenched in our culture. Help someone who needs help. If you have had good fortune, pay it forward. Do more good than bad. Sounds simple enough doesn’t it? Well it’s not, and I have struggled with this for most of my life. Not in my backyard. While I am more charitable than I was, I have a long, long way to go. My heart bleeds for every casualty of the Paris attacks, and also for the Tutsis of Rwanda, the blood diamond victims of civil war in Sierra Leone, the victims of the Pol Pot massacres in Cambodia, the Armenian genocide, the 6 Million Jews who were exterminated by the Nazis, the PTS plagued North American veterans who feel that suicide is the only viable solution to the demons in their heads, and for the millions of other casualties of the evil we all feel so helpless to counteract.

 

Learn something about your (perceived) enemy. Don’t burn down a mosque, but if you can, maybe try to change a troubled mind.

You can start with mine.

 

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2015 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 11/16/15

I began writing this report before I learned of the Paris attacks. I am including the first paragraph because I think it is eerily prescient…

Friday, 10:45 A.M. - As I begin this week’s missive, it is the morning of Friday the 13^th, and while I am not a superstitious man by nature, I am feeling a little strange today. There is a weird energy about me which I cannot explain. I’m not even sure if it is negative or positive, simply that it is a feeling things are ripe for change. I consulted Wikipedia, my oft-referenced source of misinformation, to gain some insight as to why Friday the 13^th might be considered unlucky, and came up with a myriad of possible reasons. Dating back to The Last Supper, there are plenty of examples why the superstitious might rue this day. If my readers are so inclined, they can research this for themselves, but I found two so-called statistics noteworthy. According to a stress clinic in North Carolina, it is estimated that as many as 21 Million Americans are terrified of this day, and will go out of their way to avoid normal routines in order to circumnavigate bad luck. Elsewhere in the article, it was estimated that as much as $900 Million in revenue is lost on Friday the 13^th because people are avoiding their normal activities. I think when your number is up, it’s up. Certainly one can stack the deck, and as the Darwin Awards clearly remind us, fools tend to remove themselves from the gene pool prematurely. Is Friday the 13^th really unlucky?

 

Friday, 4:30 P.M. Just turned on the radio for the first time today and heard the news about the terrorist attacks in Paris. Is this what I felt earlier? After learning about this Paris attacks, I had the same desperate feeling that I had when Shauna and I watched the second plane hit the World Trade Center on 9-11: utter horror and disgust. When it became apparent that there had in fact been several concurrent attacks on U.S. soil, I was filled with the competing emotions of fear and rage. These attacks, born out of religious zealotry are nothing new, but it is discouraging to see a growing number of religious fundamentalists bent on destroying the status quo. Good people practice their religions to find peace and harmony in a world that is often confusing and frightening, but a few nut balls can turn the world upside down. Myopia and zealotry seem to be on the rise, and I don’t think this is a hopeful sign for humanity. Apparently, it was ISIS this time; last time, it was al Qaeda, but does it really matter? I googled “Muslim terrorist organizations” and came up with a list of close to one hundred different groups. This is not a war we win with bombs or by “putting boots on the ground.” The new enemy is a shadow society whose ideology is inconceivable to us. It targets civilians, and there are no rules of engagement. The new world war will be a battle of intelligence, communication, and technology … does anyone else find this ironic? How many other attempts were thwarted? French intelligence was outmatched this time, and I suspect there are a lot of other major population centers equally vulnerable to the un-detectability of these threats. I suspect that the planners will be systematically hunted down and killed, like that recently exterminated monster featured in all those internet beheading videos. Still, others will spring up in their place, like Whac-A-Moles, and the circle of violence will continue to feed on itself. How many times must history repeat itself? Hatred cannot be exterminated with violence. Yesterday, I read some online comments about these attacks. I was distressed to see that so much hatred has been directed towards the Syrian refugees. Somewhere near Toronto, a mosque was burned down. Revenge, or finding scapegoats, will not solve the problems.  Should we now treat every Muslim like the Germans treated every Jew in WWII? Though a Syrian refugee was allegedly involved in the Paris attacks, so were French nationals.

At the risk of sounding naïve, I believe love, respect, and compassion are the only things that can eradicate this cancer on mankind, and it’s not just our enemies’ hearts and minds that need to be changed. The enemy already lives among us. Absolutely, root out the bad guys. Marginalize this blight on mankind and stop them however we can, but don’t throw the baby out with the bathwater, or we are as bad as they are.

 

We have just celebrated Remembrance Day. I was a day late, but I drove to the Burk's Falls Legion and made a donation towards their purchase of a new furnace. I wanted to do some good for the people we should be hailing as our heroes. With the approach of the American Thanksgiving, my favorite holiday, I am thankful for so many things I once took for granted. I am thankful for my (somewhat eroding) freedom, for my beautiful wife, for my good parents, and for the good friends I have made thus far. I am also thankful that I have not given up on mankind. It’s a choice, and I hope my readers feel the same.

 

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2015 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 11/9/15

My Gratitude To All Our Veterans 

 

When we settled up here just north of Huntsville, one of the things we did not anticipate was that, not only is electricity really expensive up here, but the service is not always reliable. No one has really been able to explain to me why our electricity costs substantially more here than it does in other rural communities, but the “Delivery Charge" is astronomical. My instincts tell me that somebody is making money at the expense of the ratepayers. When I hear news reports of the political scandal which ensued after a power plant project in Oakville, Ontario was scrapped, a blunder which, by some estimates, will cost taxpayers close to $1 Billion, I begin to wonder if something is rotten in Ontario. If ever there was an example of a government mishandling taxpayer money, this is it. In my humble opinion, when someone screws up this badly, a public disemboweling is the only suitable punishment. As for the reliability issue …

During the construction of our log house, our electrician strongly urged us to install a propane-fired generator in case of power outages. At the time, I thought this seemed like an enormous, elective expense. As with many building projects, our house construction had gone well over budget, and the added expense of a large propane-fired generator seemed unnecessary to me at the time. Thank goodness we ultimately listened to our electrician! Since we installed the generator around seven or eight years ago, we have had a lot of long term power outages, some during the dead of winter. That generator has been a life saver.

Last Friday morning, around 9 am, a cold front blew in off Georgian Bay, gathering steam over the open waters of Lake Huron, and by the time it reached the mainland, the winds were gusting to 75-80 Km per hour. I’ve heard people describe tornadoes as sounding like a freight train, and while far from tornadic, the winds roaring in off our little lake last Friday morning were as loud and powerful as anything I've heard before. Our generator kicked in before the storm passed, indicating that power lines had been downed in the local area, but we did not know the extent of the damage until later in the day. The powerful straight line winds had downed trees and power lines all over Southern Ontario, and I am told some people in Huntsville are still without power. Hydro crews from as far away as Niagara Falls were called in to assist the over-burdened local crews in restoring electrical service to many thousands of customers. Our local supermarket has a small backup generator, but nothing large enough to run the refrigerators and freezers. When I drove into town to get some supplies, I found supermarket employees standing guard at the freezers and refrigerators to ensure customers did not open the doors. Power outages remind us of what we take for granted.

Random final notes - Newly elected Liberal Prime Minister Justin Trudeau introduced his new cabinet last week, and it represents a much more diverse mix than the previous government had, including a lot more women. President Obama nixed the controversial Keystone XL Pipeline, scheduled to run oil from Alberta to Texas. This appeared to be an environmentally sound decision, until I heard that the U.S. has well over 10,000 miles of similar pipeline under construction right now. I just read a disturbing article about the devastating environmental damage caused by fracking. Google “fracking” and you will be appalled. Massive fresh water contamination is, I think, the biggest threat. We listened to the Canadian Folk Music Awards live on the internet last night, and that was cool. Heard a wonderful song by Maritime artist Dave Gunning called “These Hands,” which I will play on my weekly "Lyrical Workers" show on Hunters Bay Radio this Thursday night. Though I have yet to embrace the internet as my preferred medium for radio and video, I have no doubts that, at some point,  network television will become obsolete, and everyone will do their listening and viewing thorough the internet. It will likely be long before we develop a safe, plentiful, and renewable energy source. There’s nothing like a long power outage to remind me of the extent to which I am dependant upon non-renewable sources of energy. It’s time for Big Oil and the Whale Huggers to kiss and make up (yeah, when pigs fly).  Remembrance Day is in two days, and herein I express my gratitude to all the veterans who have made the ultimate sacrifice for my privilege of freedom. Thank you.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2015 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 11/2/15

Last Friday night, I attended the legendary Hassard Halloween jam session in nearby Bracebridge, hosted by an accomplished keyboard player and friend Jamie Hassard, along with his significant other, Lauren Power. Regrettably, Shauna did not feel well enough to join me, but she insisted I go. Had the pleasure of listening to some excellent musicians let their hair down (half were wearing Halloween wigs) and was even invited to play a couple of my original songs. It was exhilarating to play with such accomplished musicians, who are able pick up a song melody in four bars, and  play along as if they’d rehearsed it a hundred times. Juan Barbosa is like that, but we rarely have the opportunity to play together when we are recording. It being Halloween weekend, this was, of course, a costume party, and there were some very creative attendees. My favorite costumes involved a couple doing a Breaking Bad theme. The man was dressed as the meth-producing Walter White character from the show, and the woman was a bag of crystal methamphetamine. Her costume was hilariously inspired and she handed out little plastic bags of “blue meth” candy. I love it when people get into the Halloween spirit. My last minute costume was as the ghost of a Cornell Alumnus, which consisted of my dad’s Class of ’32 Cornell reunion hat and some blackout for my eyes. Hey, at least I did something. By the way, fun fact: fake blood does not wash off so easily.

Have you ever heard of “nutscaping” ? I had not, until Shauna apprised me of the practice after seeing a post about it on Facebook. As your cultural correspondent, I feel it is my obligation to pass on this information to my readers. Nutscaping is the art of photographing one’s testicles, using a beautiful landscape as the background. Photographing one’s balls in vacation settings; now there’s a new low! Forget the wife and kids, I want a close up of my balls, with the Washington Monument in the background. I am at once amused and appalled. When I started writing this report in 1992, I was sometimes accused of exercising bad taste in the things I discussed. It used to bother my dad, the veteran humorist, because he thought I was always going for the cheap laugh. In retrospect, I guess he was right. What I find fascinating is the profound slide society seems to have taken in the bad taste department over the past four decades. Forty years ago, comedian Lenny Bruce was vilified for using obscene language in his comedy routines, and last Saturday night, I listened to comedienne Amy Schumer do an opening monologue on SNL which, albeit devoid of swear words, would have made Lenny Bruce blush. These days, the internet is the Wild West of bad taste.   

A week ago, singer / songwriter Jon Brooks did a performance in Huntsville, Ontario and he stopped in the middle of one of his gallows humor songs to embark on a funny tirade about the internet. This particular rant concerned the preponderance of internet narcissism. He was talking, among other things, about the explosion of “selfies” on Facebook and other forms of social media, and he lamented the degradation of selflessness and altruism in favor of rampant self-promotion. I am as guilty as the next Facebookworm/narcissist of posting the odd selfie, but I draw the line just short of photographing my balls in front of the Grand Canyon. Having reluctantly, and a little late, crossed over psychologically into the second half of my life, I am amazed by how culture and technology are pulling away from me on the speedway of life. Everything from the change in language and communication skills, to the (my) perceived decay of cinema, literature, and music, makes me wonder where we will be in thirty years. If I live that long, cars will most certainly all be equipped to drive themselves, a loaf of bread will cost $30, genetically modified food will be omnipresent, people will rely on technology for everything from turning on their house lights to wiping their butts, and G-d only knows how our infotainment will be “reported” (directly off a feed from Uranus, I’d imagine). If we don’t incinerate our planet in an ill-conceived nuclear war, or become extinct because of our reluctance to adapt to the inevitable changes in our environment, we will likely end up very much like those aliens from War of the Worlds, who were so advanced technologically, but whose Achilles heel was their intolerance to oxygen.

 

Have we lost the forest for the trees, and the real question, will there be a comprehensive databank of nutscape photos? I suppose a portion of every generation of elders looks to the future with the same trepidation. Sometimes I feel as if I am just another lemming about to run off the cliff. I continue to make the same mistakes, and ignore the same danger signs as do so many other people on this over-taxed planet. Collectively, this does not bode well for the future of mankind. While a little more mindful of my indiscretions than I used to be, I still largely ignore my sasquatch-like carbon footprint. I am haunted by this weekly when I take our garbage to the local dump. Now, when I look in the mirror, I see one of those grumpy old guys who grumbles about the younger generation. I am beginning to understand why my parents just shook their heads in disbelief when I was younger. Nothing really changes does it? Looking back over the past three or four generations, it does seem that, with every successive generation, the gene pool is getting a little bit more watered down. Unless I completely lose my mind, the one thing I don’t think I will ever do, no matter how much I strive to embrace the here and now, is photograph my testicles and post that picture on the internet.     

 

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2015 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 10/26/15

 

It’s that time of year again, when mountains of candy line the entrances to supermarkets, and everything is decorated in orange, black, and that spray on crap which looks like spider webs (because we can never have enough of those). My musician friend Troy Sinister, former member of the legendary Toronto punk rock band The Sinisters, who has recently charted on Hunter’s Bay Radio’s Top 20, is a big fan of Halloween. He and his wife Kandis go all out to decorate their Huntsville property in ghoulish splendor. I can relate; I used to be a huge fan of Halloween, although I was not so much about the decorations as I was about the costumes. During my Buffalo years, I typically threw or attended at least one wild Halloween party every year. Many Halloweens ago, a friend rented a school bus, and about thirty of us travelled around to various bars in Buffalo, dressed in our costumes, ambushing unsuspecting patrons with our loud and obnoxious party. As anyone who dresses up for Halloween can attest, all bets are off when the costume goes on. Oneself is, after all, invisible. For this bus party, I was dressed as a Buffalo Sabres cheerleader, complete with shiny blue spandex tights and a ridiculously over-endowed chest. My “in drag” alter ego Halloween costumes were never pretty, but this one was particularly abominable, and it got progressively worse as the night wore on. Oh, for the good old days, when I had no shame. If Shauna is well enough, we might go down to Bracebridge for a music jam/ Halloween bash to which we’ve been invited. If we do go,  I’ll be at a loss to come up with a good costume.  
 

Last Saturday I attended the first annual Festival of Song in Huntsville, and therein was a gathering of songwriters from all over Ontario. We assembled to discuss our craft and to present some of our songs. I’ve never actually participated in a songwriting circle before, and this meeting of songwriters was both instructive and enjoyable. I knew many of the local writers, but there were quite a few new faces, and several guys who were well known. I met John McGale of the Montreal rock band Offenbach, and he was a wealth of knowledge as well as an entertaining slide guitarist. Headliners Jon Brooks and Rob Lutes were in attendance all day, and simply getting a chance to hang out with these two gifted songwriters whom I admire was a treat. They both did hour sets later on, and these are my favorite concerts, wherein the room is small and the audience can interact with the artists. All in all, it was a very successful outing, and Shauna’s second in 2 months.

 

As most Canadians (and likely very few people in the U.S.) now know, Liberal candidate Justin Trudeau, son of the legendary and charismatic Pierre Trudeau, is the now the Prime Minister of Canada. As I suspected, Canadians had had enough of the Conservative Harper government, and Trudeau and his Liberal Party won a majority government. Now that the bathwater and the baby have been thrown out, we’ll see what the new guy can do. I predict that, after a brief honeymoon, the electorate will turn on Trudeau like a pack of angry wolves. Someday, perhaps, when pigs can fly, we the voters will own up to our part in this process. In other words, leadership will only take us so far; change requires sacrifice.

Torontonians are in a state of mourning after their beloved Toronto Blue Jays were defeated by the Kansas City Royals 4-3 in a nail-biter World Series game six. While not a baseball fan myself, I was vicariously exhilarated by the Toronto fandamonium. Be it the Leafs, or the Jays, or the Raptors, Toronto fans are wildly enthusiastic about their teams, and it is infectious. I was courting Shauna when the Jays won their second back-to-back World Series, in 1993, and I remember that we were at the Granite Brewery when Joe Carter hit the game winning home run that won that series. Needless to say, downtown Toronto was chaos. Located near Yonge and Bloor, Shauna’s apartment was right in the middle of the celebration, and I had never before experienced anything close to that kind of collective elation. I remember the frightening experience of being squeezed by a wall of people on Yonge Street. If only the Leafs could somehow find a way to be a winning team (heavy sigh).       

Maybe I'll pick up some fake blood at Dollarama. I mean, I've got to do something for Halloween!                                                                                                                                         

-Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2015 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 10/19/15

 

Last Saturday night, Shauna and I attended the concert of our friend Jamie Clarke and his band Myrle, at the Algonquin Theatre in Huntsville. That was a great show and marked the release of Myrle’s new CD A Dozen Hearts. Also on the bill was his producer, the legendary Canadian Indie rocker Ron Hawkins. Yank that I am, and under-apprised of so much good Canadian talent, a year ago, I did not know who Ron Hawkins was. When I heard the name, I assumed he was Ronnie “The Hawk” Hawkins, Arkansas rockabilly artist and inventor of the moonwalk. Thanks to Hunters Bay Radio, I have been exposed to Ron Hawkins’ work, and am now a big fan. He’s a great songwriter and a riveting performer.
 

In fact, this was the first social event Shauna has attended in over 2 months. After extensive tests and frequent visits to doctors, we have fairly well determined that her Crohn’s Disease is acting up again, and this latest assault has made Shauna extremely ill. Most of our trips out have been medically related and this CD release concert was really her first public appearance since the Hunters Bay Radiothon in August. We have made many friends up here in this community and it is frustrating for both of us. Shauna wants to accept invitations to dinner, parties, and musical performances, but often does not feel well enough to go. Indeed we are often running behind schedule, even for doctors' appointments, and for those of you who regularly deal with chronic illness, you are aware that it can be difficult to make plans. One of the many reasons Shauna is so active in the online promotion of local artists is that it gives her a sense that she is contributing to the local music scene. Both of us share the desire to promote talented artists; I’m the legs and she is the brains. Her marketing skills are exceptional.

 

Today is Federal Election day and, while I cannot vote in Canada, I will bundle Shauna up before the end of the day and drive her over to the Katrine Community Center to cast her vote. If one pays attention to the polls, incumbent Conservative PM Stephen Harper is running well behind Liberal pretty boy Justin Trudeau. Canadians seem to be disgusted with the divisiveness of the Harper government and with his lack of transparency. I am no fan of Stephen Harper, although I am concerned that the inexperienced Trudeau will prove to be a disappointing alternative, especially wherein the Canadian economy is concerned. Much of the slow growth in the Canadian economy would likely have occurred regardless of the leader in charge, and much of it was an inevitable result of the slowdown in the global economy. Raising the taxes on the rich sounds great but just ask an economist if this is a realistic strategy. I’m wary Trudeau will give away the candy store. The fact is, I am always wary of a vote against one candidate as opposed to a vote for another. That is how NDP Premier Bob Rae was elected Premier of Ontario in the 80s and that protest vote proved to be disastrous for the Ontario economy. If Harper is not re-elected, he can probably attribute it in large part to his affiliation with Mike “Mr. Pork” Duffy and the senate scandal. Voters want transparency in their leaders, and Harper did everything but own up to his mistakes. I wish I had a crystal ball to tell me who is the right guy for the job. Especially in the American elections, there are no clear choices. By the way, did anyone else see the SNL spoof on the American Democratic debate held last week? Seinfeld creator and comic Larry David did a hilarious impression of Democratic curmudgeon Bernie Sanders. Bang on.

Next weekend, I am scheduled to perform at an all-day songwriters festival in Huntsville, and I understand I am to be involved in a seminar which includes one of my song writing idols, Jon Brooks. I’m honored. I’d rehearsed for two performances I was forced to cancel last summer, so I am looking forward to playing next Saturday. I sign off on this blustery cold October afternoon. I took my last dip of the season a week ago Saturday. The boat is still in the water, but it’s time to service the snow blower.  - Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2015 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 10/12/15

Most anyone who reads this report semi regularly knows that, for the past several weeks, I have been a whiney bitch about turning sixty. Because Shauna has been quite ill lately, I did not want her knocking herself out to throw a big party. She threw me a fantastic surprise party when I turned 50, which included all our parents (only one is now alive), and a lot of dear friends. It was a great dinner, held at the Oban Inn in Niagara-on-the-Lake, where we first met, and it was a wonderful celebration. When last Thursday rolled around, I figured I was off the hook, and we could let this little milestone slip by without much fanfare. Shauna and I agreed that my gift would be a vintage electric guitar of my choice, selected from Currie Brothers Music store in Gravenhurst, sometime in the near future. I was perfectly happy to spend my birthday broadcasting Lyrical Workers, alone, at the Hunter’s Bay Radio studio. I’d spent a long time, gathering birthday songs from some of my listeners and musician friends, previewing weird songs on the internet, and dredging up a few of my original birthday songs. My plan was to do the show, perhaps to get home earlier than usual, and have a late dinner while watching really bad reality television with my wife.

 

Shauna and I have a little birthday custom - we annually recycle dollar store birthday decorations purchased a decade or more ago. The morning of my birthday I woke up to the obligatory tattered “Happy Birthday” signs and crepe, decorating the house, along with love notes strategically posted on mirrors here and there. The love notes are my favorite part, and I save some of them every year. I had a lot of messages from friends and family acknowledging the day and I was delighted by all the attention.

 

I became a little suspicious when Shauna seemed to be unusually concerned about the timing of my show. Did I know how long it would take me to do it, what time did I think I’d be done?  I figured she just wanted me to get home earlier. Then, my suspicions were heightened. I got a message from one of the hosts at the station, informing me that I could load in my show early, because there was no live show. That was a little unusual. I went to the station, mildly apprehensive that there might be some kind of impromptu surprise when I got there. I arrived, but no one was there save for the host I was relieving. I chatted with Barry for a while, then did my three hour show. This birthday show was important to me, and I wanted to make it as interesting as I could. That meant doing a little last minute online research, and I took my time. As I locked up the station and walked out the door, there in the rain appeared a group of my musician friends, who jumped out of the darkness to surprise me. That they did; I nearly soiled myself. In a comedy of errors, they thought I’d be done much earlier, and because the station door was locked, they couldn’t sneak in to surprise me earlier. I understand they were out there for over an hour waiting. I later read posts about all the crazy planning that went into this surprise party, and found out just how complicated and crazy things got. More people planned to attend, but it was after all a school night and it was, after all, quite late. I feel terrible for all the people who waited outside in the cold for me to emerge, but I had no idea any of this was going on. My friend Juan Barbosa and Shauna were the ringleaders, but there were many others peripherally involved. To all those who showed up and kidnapped me to Boston Pizza, thank you for your incredible patience and for staying up so late on a weeknight. To everyone else who participated in the plot, even those who were not able to attend (including my sneaky wife), thank you for the love. The messages, both text and on Facebook, were hilariously memorable.

 

At least two attendees told me they were concerned about surprising a guy who was turning 60, outside in the dark. I am here to tell you, my heart is strong, and apparently so are yours. Thank you everyone for making this birthday memorable, and for all the good people I am able to call friends.

 

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2015 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 10/5/15

Mom and Dad shortly after they were married

In three days, I will celebrate my 60^th birthday, and I plan to spend the evening broadcasting my radio show Lyrical Workers on Hunters Bay Radio. That may not seem very exciting, but as my Oregonian cousin might say, “it’s fine and dandy with me.” It is fitting that I will be playing music and learning about songwriters on my birthday, because that is something I enjoy.
 

I’m not exactly sure why, because I am long past the notorious mid-life crisis stage of life, but sixty sucker punched me. Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt, and in my mind, I am a twenty-something. The balding, grey-haired man staring back at me in the mirror is shaking his head. Time to face the music Jamie, you are officially old. My dad was ninety-eight when he passed on, and until the day he died, he had a young man’s spirit. He was a remarkably approachable, funny, selfless, and in many ways, an open-minded man. It is mostly in retrospect that I have realized that. I want to be like my dad.

 

This has been a strange couple of weeks for me, and I’m sure I have not been much fun to be around. Ever my champion, Shauna advertises my radio show and promotes this report, but more and more these days, I wonder why I do this. I certainly can’t attribute my efforts to my legion of fans – I don’t have one - so what motivates me?  The seemingly exponential acceleration of time has me wondering how long I’ve got. Why are months flying by so quickly? Am I squandering my time? How do I reconcile myself to the changes, and how do I make the best of my remaining time, however much that may be? I never used to think like this. I was, after all, young. All around me are constant reminders of the fragility of life. People become crippled in freak accidents, or fall terminally ill, or catastrophe upends their previously charmed lives, and in one split second, everything changes. Maybe it’s the catastrophes that define us, for better or worse. It’s a question that haunts me more as I grow older. What a revelation: I’m growing old and beginning to worry about my future. I must be the only person who feels this way! What will the world do without me? I am slowly beginning to figure out that the notion of my significance is ludicrous. “It doesn’t amount to a pinch of coon shit” as Shauna’s Uncle Sam used to say. Insignificance is not something to mourn or regret, it is simply something to acknowledge. The simple fact is that when I’m gone, my memory has the shelf life of raw eggs in the sun, to all but the very few who have loved me. So, in answer to the question “Why do I write and why do I promote music?” It feels right to me. It’s my miniscule contribution to the universe. I can now rest assured that my life has had meaning. Selling industrial real estate certainly didn’t do that for me.

 

Every so often, I hear or read the story of a great man or woman, a hero or heroine in history who overcame great adversity to save lives or do good. I wonder how many more remained anonymous. I wish more people focused on the heroes, and less on crooks and pompous celebrities. There are so many heroes in our everyday lives: firemen, teachers, doctors, good citizens, even children, who perform selfless acts of heroism and bravery every day. I’m no hero, but slow and steady wins the race. I’ll just plod along, spreading my twisted opinions throughout the universe, all the while shrugging my shoulders, bewildered by the tectonic shifts in my culture.

 

To sum up - I was depressed about turning 60, but I’m getting over it. I’m a late baby bloomer. Who knows what I might do before I croak?

 

Did you hear, Mars has water? Woohoo, another planet to rape!

 

-Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2015 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

 

The Oppenheimer Report - 9/28/15

Baseball legend Yogi Berra died last week at the ripe old age of 90, and of course that prompted every news source in North America to resurrect some of those wonderful Yogi-isms … “It’s not over til the fat lady sings,” “ It ain’t over til it’s over”, and my favorite: “When you come to a fork in the road take it.” Apparently, and this according to a family member, he also said, and I paraphrase: “I have to go to all my friend’s funerals, otherwise they won’t come to mine.” While on the subject of baseball,  and although not a baseball fan myself, I would be remiss if I did not at least mention that the Toronto Blue Jays are hot this year and have just secured a playoff spot for this year's World Series. I was courting my wife Shauna when the Jays won their second World Series back in the early 90s, and I cannot imagine what the amazing (and playoff-starved) fans of Toronto would do if the Jays were to perform a three-peat.

 

At around 9PM last night the super moon lunar eclipse occurred. The last time this happened was in 1982, and it won’t happen again until 2033. While lunar eclipses are not uncommon, it is uncommon to have a lunar eclipse when the moon is at or near its closest proximity to Earth. Eclipsed by the earth’s shadow the moon sometimes appears to be blood red, and some superstitious people believe that the red moon is a bad omen. Learning machine that I am, I discovered that this lunar eclipse is the final in a series of four lunar eclipses, separated by six month increments, and known as a tetrad. Another fun fact: one of the previous three lunar eclipses in this tetrad occurred on my birthday, October 8^th, 2014. Although it was cloudy last night when I took Jasper out for her final walk of the day, I did catch the end of the eclipse through a short break in the clouds.

 

Last night, I watched a news story about a left-handed 4 year-old in Oklahoma who was forced to use his right hand because his pre-school teacher told him left-handed people were evil and inferior. I wonder if that teacher also believes in bloodletting and witch-burning. When the child’s mother complained, as a response, the school sent her an article outlining antiquated and unfounded theories on the inferiorities of left-handed people. Really? This reminds me of the Scopes Monkey Trial, and I worry that the religious right has once again sabotaged education. When I was in kindergarten, I was forced to use right handed scissors, and was also encouraged to write with my right hand. I think they just didn’t want to buy left handed scissors for the two left-handed kids in the class, but still, this is not a good thing to do to a developing child. Perhaps this explains why I now worship the devil and make animal sacrifices. For all of you who teach pre-school in Oklahoma, I’m kidding. I think Pope Francis has his work cut out for him, because ignorance is catching like wildfire these days.

 

Final note, and speaking of Pope Francis, last week he completed a three city tour in the United States, and the man might singlehandedly heal the gaping wounds that have so plagued The Catholic Church for so many decades. I thought Pope Paul was a decent pope, but this guy might have him beat. Certainly, he is sensitive to the glaring hypocrisy of excess and sexual deviance that has dogged the Catholic Church for so long, and he might be the best spokesman for positive change in religion I have yet to see. Of particular interest to me was his apology to the families who suffered sexual abuse at the hands of priests. Merely by acknowledging this profound wrong, he has done a remarkable thing. No great fan of religion, I am encouraged by any religious leader who promotes a message of love and acceptance, and there is no question that our troubled world needs a lot more of that.

 

As Yogi said: “The future ain’t what it used to be”

 

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2015 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 9/21/15

My late sister Joanne in front of the original beach house

There’s no doubt about it, change can be a bitch, and as life’s drama unfolds, I am confronted with it at every turn. Relationships form, relationships are shattered, friends and family move, people have kids, people get sick; people die. For me, the past ten years have been particularly unsettling in this regard, as I have shared the universal experience of dealing with the end stages of my parents’ lives. While I feel fortunate to have had wonderful parents, who both lived well into their nineties, there is no denying that the last years were difficult. The problem I had, and which most people probably have, was what to keep, what to sell, and what to give away.

After Mom and Dad were both gone, we had an estate sale, then sold the family house in Buffalo shortly thereafter. As well, there was a beach house, a summer home on the lake, across the border in Fort Erie, and I kept telling myself that I could not sell that house as long as my mom was still alive. The house had been in her family since she was a little girl, and that would have been devastating to her. In truth, it was I who could not bear to part with the house, and I suppose I equated the physical structure with so many happy memories. When the economy turned south in 2008, the issue became moot because there were then no buyers. The next four or five years were a string of hassles with summer rentals, upkeep, taxes, and deferred maintenance and repairs. This property, which had represented so many wonderful memories for four generations of the Lehman and Oppenheimer families, was now becoming  a bothersome expense.  With a heavy heart, I finally sold the property last fall. I made one last sweep for mementoes, then locked the door for the last time.

After the deal closed, I naturally assumed the new owners would tear down the existing structures and start from scratch. The house was in obvious need of extensive repair, and I envisioned some compound springing up with no soul or warmth, inhabited by jerks who could never enjoy the place the way my family had. That was not the case. Earlier in the summer, I was delighted to receive some photos from a friend who had photographed the house as it was being slowly renovated. The new owners opted to keep the bones of the old house and rebuild. This, coupled with later reports that they were a family with young children, who seemed to be enjoying the house as much as my family had, made me very happy.  Hey, they even have a boat.

Last weekend, while down in Ft. Erie to visit my best friend, we took a boat ride down the bay and I had the opportunity to meet the new owners. They were gracious enough to give me a tour of the improved house. What they have done to the old house is nothing short of spectacular and I was beyond delighted to see that, in so many ways, the original edifice, albeit contemporized, is still there. In fact, from the beach, it still looks very much like the old house.
 

I realize I can’t stop the march of time, although I have lately felt profoundly out of step with it. I have let go of so many things that I foolishly deluded myself would be around forever. But I am getting better at this. Seeing that family beach house in good hands, I felt just a little bit more in sync. While I am learning that I have little or no control over how the events in my life unfold, I can find my peace with that notion that some changes are for the best.

-Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2015  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED