The Oppenheimer Report 2/23/15

Last Saturday, I drove down to Toronto to meet my buddy Bob for our semi- annual boys night out. For the last four or five summers, I have joined Bob in the Western New York Offshore Powerboat Association Poker Run. For the winter session, we usually attended the Toronto Boat Show, but every year that show has become a little less interesting. As much as I enjoy examining new boats in the winter, ones that are not covered in snow, it seems that more and more pontoon boats and fishing boats were creeping into the show. There are only so many floating living rooms I can inspect before I get bored. After waiting in long lines last year in order to board some of the bigger cabin cruisers and sailboats, we decided that this year we’d find a different winter diversion. As neither of us drinks alcohol anymore, we seek entertaining distractions that don’t involve bars. This year we decided to go to the Toronto Motorcycle Show, and it was my first motorcycle show ever.

 

Bob and I used to ride motorcycles together. He’s owned a motorcycle almost as long as I’ve known him. In keeping with his love of classics, he still owns the immaculate (1975-76?) Kawasaki KZ 900 he’s owned since it was practically new. Back then, that bike was considered one of the “superbikes”, boasting about 85HP. Jump ahead thirty years, and motorcycle technology has come a long way. These days, the bikes are all sprung with high tech mono shock suspensions, come equipped with powerful anti-locking disc brakes, and much more powerful motors. Even the smaller four cylinder bikes would probably beat Bob’s classic KZ900 off the line. I bought my first of two Yamahas, in the mid 80s,  largely because I got tired of riding on the back of Bob’s bike. I enjoyed our motorcycle adventures, and while we never made any Easy Rider trans-continental road trips, we did take some memorable day trips. During my motorcycle riding years, I put about 14,000 miles on the two bikes I owned. I only remember one minor mishap in all the years I rode (I dropped my bike at low speed once when I hit a gravel patch turning into our driveway). I haven’t been on a motorcycle in twenty years, although I am still licensed to ride one, and these days, it becomes less and less likely that I will buy anything two-wheeled that does not require me to peddle. or push. Bob is a far more experienced rider than I, but even he has slowed down a bit. Last summer, there were several stories on the news about the preponderance of serious motorcycle accidents involving senior riders in the Greater Toronto Area. Aging baby boomers, intoxicated with the illusion of freedom that motorcycles represent, buy fast, powerful bikes, often their first motorcycles, only to find out the hard way that motorcycles require much more hand eye coordination than cars. Defensive driving takes on a whole new meaning once you start driving around the city in a motorcycle. That was the deal breaker for me. When I married Shauna, and moved up to Toronto, I quickly learned it is not a place I wanted to ride a motorcycle.

 

After we walked around the show for a few hours, we decided to head over to the Ripley’s Aquarium, situated near the CN Tower. I do not recall ever having been to a big aquarium before, and I’d recommend this one to anyone visiting Toronto. It really is spectacular. Finally, we stopped and had dinner downtown, and then walked back uptown to where we were staying. Walking up Bay Street from downtown, I could not help noticing how much Toronto has changed in the past year. Almost overnight it seems as if seven or eight new high rise condo buildings have sprung up, and my apprehensions about change visited me once again. While I do not consider myself over the hill just yet, I had just spent the day with my former drinking buddy, looking at fast motorcycles neither of us had any intention of buying, and I was now walking through a city I’d lived in for over 15 years, but now hardly recognized. Am I any wiser than the thirty-something that once pegged his Yamaha Radian at 115 MPH? Perhaps, a little. Certainly I am more uncoordinated,  a little more forgetful, and definitely more cognizant of my mortality. As I watch the high rises spring up around me, seemingly as I walk up Bay Street, I wonder, am I keeping pace? Bob says we should get tee shirts printed up that read: “Ape Shit at Eighty!”

Maybe that old saying is true: "slow and steady wins the race."   

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2015 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 2/16/15

 

First things first – Happy Family Day, and a belated Happy Valentine’s Day to my twelve loyal readers! I treated my lovely wife Shauna to her customary gift, a package of cinnamon hearts. I usually buy my cinnamon hearts from Dollarama, and that store sells some strange Valentine’s Day gifts. I once bought red plastic handcuffs there, in the shape of hearts, lined with pink fur. Nothing says “Happy Valentine’s Day!” like bondage accessories. This year the dollar store was out of cinnamon hearts so, reluctantly, I bought Shauna’s gift at Walmart. I have noticed that cinnamon heart quality control is going downhill. Whereas they used to at least resemble little hearts, now they are just irregular little red blobs; kind of like blot clots. I buy these crappy little Valentine gifts for two reasons. Everyone knows I’m “thrifty” but I am also making my statement that Valentine’s Day is a load of hooey. I love Shauna, and she knows it. More than half my love songs (all five of them) are about her. The fact is, I do not think love is something that can or should be celebrated on one specific day, any more than Christmas should be the one day when people celebrate peace and goodwill. About ten years ago, I wrote a Valentine’s Day song for Shauna, and every year I sing it to her. I’ve gotten a lot of mileage out of that song. This, year, I chose to share it with “the world” (read the twelve people who might consult my Facebook page). The other day, I recorded it for the first time, on my portable recorder, and posted it to Facebook. Take that Hallmark.

 

One of the ways I am trying to grow as an artist is to play and write as much as possible with other people. This is a relatively new practice for me. My first writing session was with local artist Doug McLean, and since then I have had sessions with several other artists as well. The other day I had my first meeting with a female artist named Gina Horswood. Originally from Australia, Gina now lives in Huntsville, and she is really talented. She certainly does not need my help, as she is an accomplished songwriter in her own right, but we gave each other notes on songs we are in the process of writing. My friend Buck was a gifted banjo player, until a stroke interfered with the dexterity of his picking hand. He’s getting that back, slowly, and we’ve played together a few times lately. The brain never ceases to amaze me with its ability to recuperate. Frankly, I don’t know who’s getting more out of these sessions, because Buck is a remarkable source of information about local musicians. We’ve been practicing one of my songs, with the hopes that he will be able to record with me by the time I get the second album done. This should not be a problem, as the first one is taking longer than expected to complete. Another local guy with whom I played the other day is an older fellow I met while volunteering at the Katrine Community Centre. Ed Brown impressed me with his gift for rhyme and, after he learned that I write songs, he began to sing a cappella versions of various songs he’d written every time I saw him. I think he’s pretty good, so the other day, I went over to his house and we recorded a few of his tunes. I record a lot of local artists on my little Zoom H4N field recorder, then I give them the digital file. I think it is helpful for singer/songwriters to hear their live performances, and I wish someone had done that for me when I was starting out. Also, this is a record for posterity. Some of these folks have never before recorded their music. Ed used to play around Toronto a lot, but life pushed him in another direction, and he is now a little out of practice. If these recording sessions help him improve, then I have succeeded. I have found with music, you get what you give.

 

The big news this week is that it’s really cold here. I think my car battery is lunch, but as much as we grumble about it here in the Almaguin Highlands (last night it was -37C), places like Boston and the Canadian Maritime provinces are getting hammered with one blizzard after another. The problem has become where to put all the snow. My friends in Sharon, Massachusetts said that the snow banks are so high now that the snow blower cannot blow over them. Now there is apparently another big storm approaching. It’s time to pull out the summer photographs. Again.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2015 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 2/9/15

Yesterday, I indulged myself in yet another time-sucking session on Facebook to catch up on all the amusing clips that my friends have posted. I know, I’m an idiot, but this to me is what early retirement is all about. I am always looking for amusing stuff to share on my page, and there is no shortage of amazing video footage and audio clips that people put up. The other day I watched a clip of a man with no arms playing blues guitar with his feet, better than I ever could. My favorite clip from the past week was a tongue in cheek YouTube spoof of the popular song “Say Something” by A Great Big World (Alex Preston), sung really well (but with altered lyrics) by a disgruntled Toronto Maple Leafs fan. I think “I’m giving up on you” is the key phrase here, and you can fill in the blanks. The Leafs did finally win a game Saturday night, after breaking their own record for most games lost in a row (10 or 11) … a record not challenged since 1967. Hey, they’re only about 13 points out of a playoff spot, so I still hold on to my tiny morsel of hope. They are not done yet; soon, but not yet.

 

I attended the Kearney Dogsled races on Saturday, primarily to hear my song writing pals Doug McLean and Jeff Stamp perform some of their original songs at the Kearney Community Center. While the races themselves are of little interest to me - I fear that sometimes the animals are not particularly well cared for - I have attended for the past three years. For me, the race marks one of the temporal stepping stones to Spring. First there is the “holiday season”, followed by the Burk’s Falls Winter Carnival, then of course there is Groundhog Abuse Day, and not long after, the Kearney Dogsled Races, followed by the Katrine Winter Carnival, and various and sundry winter-related equipment malfunctions. Before you know it, you’re at the end of April clawing the walls with your family and re-enacting the final hour of The Shining.

Following a Supreme Court ruling, assisted suicide may soon be legal in Canada, and I think that is a remarkable development. Euthanasia pioneer Dr. “Death” Jack Kevorkian is probably smiling in heaven. Let me weigh in on this decision from the perspective of a son and son-in-law who has now experienced the demise of three of his four parents. I was confronted with this issue twice, once directly, when my mom was in the end stages of Lewy Body Disease, and a second time, indirectly, when Shauna’s dad slowly slipped away after a crippling stroke. His stroke was on the right side of his brain, and he was left unable to swallow. His decline was slow and emotionally confusing for the entire family; probably not what he would have wanted. In both cases our decision was not to assist the demise of the patient, if only because there was no clear directive from the sufferer. As I believe the Supreme Court ruling suggests, this should not be a right denied the individual, and in some specific cases, it will clearly be the right thing to do. Of course, some in the medical community will fight this, and I understand their concerns that this “right” will be abused. Clearly this is a contentious issue. I ask: what about the rights and dignity of the terminally ill patient? Just as I don’t think religious leaders or politicians should have any say in whether or not a woman chooses to have a baby, I do not think these leaders should have the right to dictate end of life decisions. Listen carefully to the anecdotal evidence from some of the terminally ill, and perhaps you too will be inclined to offer them some control over their ends. Indeed it is a complicated issue, and it will inevitably lead to legal debates about the legality of certain health care proxies, but I applaud Canada for this brave ruling. Now let’s see if it holds up.  

 

Final notes. My apologies to all of you who are on Facebook, or my email list, and who received multiple requests to listen to my HBR “Live Drive” performance with Juan Barbosa. Shauna and I may have been a little carried away with this. It was my first live on-air performance with a professional musician, and I was so happy that Hunter’s Bay Radio recorded and posted it. I was proud of myself for doing this scary thing, and I wanted to brag a little. So my ego is swelling. I wish I could say the same for my popularity!

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2015 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 2-2-15

I have not used the ATV in a few weeks, and with all the cold weather, I figured I’d better go out to the shed and fire it up to charge the battery. I picked a day that was relatively mild last week – “relatively” being the operative word here - and went out to the shed to start it up. When I walked into the shed, I noticed that a bag of corn feed which we keep on hand to feed the wild turkeys had been torn, and corn was spilled on the floor. This was probably the work of one of the 23 different varieties of rodents who inhabit these premises. I cleaned up the mess and didn’t think much more about it. Then, as I turned the key to start the ATV, it fired up, but sounded like a coffee grinder. My immediate reaction was that this was some kind of catastrophic engine failure, or some broken part in the crankcase, but then I looked behind me and saw corn shooting out of the exhaust pipe. I can only assume that one of these resident rodents had made the exhaust pipe his or her food stash. Once all the corn was out and the smoke cleared, I drove the ATV into town, picked up the mail, and by the time I headed home, the problem was solved. Several years ago we had to replace a furnace motor in our house after a mouse got into one of the condenser hoses, which then caused water to back up into the furnace. If it’s not flying squirrels, it’s bats, or mice, or moles, or voles, or beavers, or rabbits, or minks, or weasels, or muskrats, or possums, or bears, or raccoons, or, well, you get the picture. As I suggested in last week’s report, you can’t fight Mother Nature. The other day I grazed a deer that ran in front of my car. It ran off into the woods, but it was another week or so before I was apprised by the local police that they were in possession the front license plate to my car. I suppose it was torn off during my deer collision. Country livin’! So far we haven’t seen any flying squirrels since we plugged up the gaps in our eaves. Thank goodness for that. I don’t enjoy killing any animals, even mice, but when they start to mess with my home and my equipment, I go medieval on their little asses.

The other day, shortly before our Live Drive performance on Hunter’s Bay Radio last Thursday, I was on Facebook writing an announcement for that show, and I noticed a post on someone else’s site which gave me pause. There was a photograph of a pile of charred corpses. Upon reading further, I learned that the photograph was allegedly of the aftermath of a recent Boco Haram attack in Baga, Nigeria, which cost the lives of two thousand victims. The gist of the post was simply that, we in the West do not hear all that much about the atrocities that occur in Third World countries. Even the genocide in Rowanda did not really come onto the U.S. media radar screen until it was already a giant massacre. The Paris attacks a few weeks ago were tragic, and I am glad that the outrage was palpable throughout the world, but 2000 African souls?! This is a 9-11 scale attack and nobody in the West even blinked. I am once again reminded how complicated and brutal are the conflicts in the darker corners of the world. I have no idea what happened in Nigeria, but I do know that our Western news is selective. The dirty little secret is that not many people want to hear about the slaughter of innocent victims in Africa. Maybe we do not feel their lives are as significant as the lives of Westerners. Wouldn’t you rather see the 24-7 coverage of the big storm that didn’t hammer NYC, or hear expert accounts by astrophysicists about why air pressure in an inflated football can be affected by the atmosphere? The horror of 9-11 is indelibly etched in every North American’s consciousness, but it is worth noting that no suffering throughout the world is any less newsworthy.  

 

It’s no secret I am a weather junkie, and when something like the recent blizzard  (I cannot believe they named it) in the Northeast hits, I am glued to the tube. My sister lives in Connecticut, but she dodged the bullet, as the storm veered east and hammered Massachusetts and points up the coast. Up here we call that “snow flurries.” In Superbowl #49 yesterday, Seattle snatched defeat from the jaws of victory when, within spitting distance of winning the game, and right after a spectacular reception which should have cinched their victory, Seahawks quarterback Wilson threw an ill-advised pass that was picked off by the New England defense. Despite all their controversy over the past week, the New England Patriots won the game 28-24. I’d  didn't really care who won and it was a good close game, but I would hate to have had money on the Seahawks in that game, and to have watched them lose the way they did. Talk about your deflated balls.   

 

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2015 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED