The Oppenheimer Report 10-30-17

Tomorrow is Halloween, and I’ll wager there were more than a few costume parties going on last Saturday night. I stopped in at the local Landmark Pub to see my friends The Jukebox Scoundrels play, but I did not realize it was a Halloween party. Luckily I’d brought along my dollar store fangs, so I did not stand out TOO much. I felt honor bound to put them in as soon as I saw all the costumed attendees lining up to get into the bar. My talented friend Juan Barbosa, now sober a week, was playing the gig, and I wanted to show him some support, knowing how challenging it can be to spend time in a bar sober when everyone around you is drinking. There were some great costumes, and as I watched two guys, one in a full bear costume (a la Ted) and the other in an 8’ inflatable Tyrannosaurus Rex costume, boogying wildly on the dance floor, it brought a smile to my face. I was reminded of some of the great Halloween celebrations I had attended or hosted over the years. You’re never too old for Halloween.  

I heard on the radio today that tonight is referred to as “Beggars Night” in some parts of the U.S., and it’s called “Devil’s Night” in Michigan. In Buffalo we called it Beggars Night, and we did not give out candy on Beggars Night. My father had strict rules: no candy on Beggar’s Night, and no costume, no candy on Halloween. We used to get some strange adults coming to our door in Buffalo on Halloween, looking for candy. Regardless, if there was even a feeble attempt at a costume, we offered treats to one and all. Do you remember the orange UNICEF boxes? I don’t know if kids still collect for UNICEF when they trick or treat. Mom always bought too much candy for Halloween, so I usually had a stash for the next several months. I always groaned when people gave out healthy treats. I noticed that bible thumper Pat Robertson was on television the other day, decrying Halloween as a pagan celebration that worships Satan. Really Pat? Wasn’t Christmas once a pagan celebration as well? Maybe next year I'll dress up like Pat Roberson.

I had fun last Thursday night airing the all requests show for my Hunters Bay Radio Lyrical Workers Halloween Spooktacular. I’d put out a call for unusual Halloween songs, and received over 60 requests, many of them new to me. Of course, many people requested Michael Jackson’s Thriller, which was no surprise. Dinner With Drac by John Zacherly was a pleasant surprise, as was Marie Lavaux by Bobby Bare and Baxtor Taylor. It’s remarkable how enthusiastic some people are about their Halloween novelty songs. John Tracey, my friend who lives in Upstate New York, sent me a number of eclectic Halloween tunes, and said my request happened to come at a time when he was putting together a mix tape for his Halloween Party. I now have plenty of new songs for next year’s show. Of course Dead Babies by Alice Cooper was in the set list (in my humble the Alice Cooper album “Killer” is a classic), as well as Bobby “Boris” Pickett’s Monster Mash. I always encourage listeners to send in their song requests for my show, either by Facebook, email, or by texting the Festing Toyota Text Line at Hunters Bay Radio (705-224-2527), but every few months or so, I also post for an all request show. That seems to elicit the most responses, and it’s always interesting to me as a songwriter to hear what other people like.

Today,  I reluctantly took off all the dock hardware and gloomily acknowledged that we might be coming to the end of boating season. I am still reminded of 2015 wherein the lake remained unfrozen unseasonably late, and I was able to use the dinghy on Christmas day. I’m guessing this is not going to be one of those years. As the temperature dropped to a chilly 4C, and I reached underneath the dock to unbolt the cleats, I was thinking perhaps I’m in denial. Yesterday, I putted across the lake to pay our landscaper his last bill of the season, but today I’m not sure I’d like to be out on the lake. Nevertheless, now that the hardware is off the dock, and it’s just a matter of removing the planks and cranking it up (thank goodness for retractable docks), I’ll leave the dinghy moored at the dock indefinitely. Hopefully, I’ll get in a few more trips around the lake before the snow flies. While cold weather boating is not one of my favorite pass times, any boating is good boating. Happy Halloween everyone!   

- Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2017 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

The Oppenheimer Report 10/23/17

Another one of my favorite musical artists died last week. Gord Downie, front man for The Tragically Hip was the most recent casualty, succumbing to a brain tumor last week. Canadian music lovers are in mourning, and somewhere in Canada there is I’m sure a Hip song playing at this very moment. I started listening to the Hip in the late 80’s while still living in Buffalo, and they were extremely popular in that border city. Strangely, the band never really took off elsewhere in the U.S., which I never understood. I think they are hands down the best rock band to come out of Canada, period. I was always envious of my stateside friends lucky enough to see them in some small club. Like them or not, The Hip left their indelible mark on Canadian music and Gord Downie will forever be deemed one of Canada’s best and most unique ambassadors of rock and roll.

The other night I turned on CNN, and all I heard was people yelling over each other. This now seems to be the norm in my divided country; nobody is listening, and EVERYBODY is talking. I fear Trump’s insensitivity, rudeness, and disrespect are contagious. The subject of this latest scream-fest involved the un-presidential faux pas involving the widower of a soldier killed in that recent ambush in Niger. The general spin is that his administration is trying to dodge the real story, which is that the army somehow failed these soldiers. Nobody looks good in this latest nonsensical scandal. Politicizing the grief of a fallen soldier’s family is about as low as you can get. Once again Trump looks like an impulsive child. Can you imagine being Trump’s Press Secretary, or Communications Director, or Secretary of State? Or Melania for heaven’s sake! Hey, she knew what she signed up for when she married him, right?

I’m tired of hearing about what a fool and an asshole Trump is. I think that case has been made quite convincingly by the media and the pundits. Astonished and indignant at his decidedly un-leaderly behavior, we gasp, horrified by his latest outrageous tweet. Trevor Noah, The Daily Show host did a very funny monologue on Donald wherein he likened him to a petulant 5-year-old. It would have been funnier if it wasn’t so true.

So how did we get here? Talk about putting your big boy pants on. If you don’t like where your democratic society is headed, why blame the leaders we elect? Does not the electorate bear some of the blame? This was not a hijacking, or a military coup. This bozo won the electoral college in the United States presidential election. An arguable majority of Americans felt that it was time to drain the swamp and they would have elected Idi Amin if they thought he’d do that. I often say defensively that I didn’t vote for Trump, which albeit true, does not exonerate me. Either by apathy or inaction, I indirectly contributed to this. There is no question that Trump is a boorish, and maybe a hateful, ignorant fool, but he also represents a change from the status quo. All the people who are screaming and yelling about the fury that he has unleashed must not have been paying attention to the seething cauldron of rage bubbling underneath the calm complacent parallel universe some of us live in. Racism is alive and thriving in America, women are paid less than men for commensurate jobs, guns and violence are everywhere, and in this age of hyper spin, the average American can’t tell what is really happening by watching the news. Donald may be an asshole, but don’t shoot the messenger.

 - Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2017 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 10/16/17

To my twelve loyal readers ... This week got away from me, and I apologize for not posting my typical rant du jour. The world gets crazier by the minute, but I've been writing this report weekly since 1992, and sometimes is interesting to read what was topical ten or twenty years ago. It reminds me that nothing is new under the sun. To follow is an old Opp Report from July 8, 1997. Enjoy! 

Last weekend, during a heavyweight championship fight in Vegas, Mike Tyson bit off a large piece of Evander Holyfield’s right ear. He claimed this was retaliation for a previous and (ruled) unintentional head butt by Holyfield, which cut him above the eye, but regardless of his reasons, this was a bizarre thing to watch. Thanks to a generous friend, I was treated to this spectacle on “pay per chew,” a privilege for which he most likely paid dearly. Had we waited an hour, we could have seen the highlights for free as many times as we wished. I don’t think JFK’s assassination has been aired as many times.

Let us forget, for a moment, that this incident was one of  the most atrocious  examples of bad sportsmanship I have ever seen, that Tyson was outfought consistently until he was disqualified in the third round (for biting Holyfield the SECOND time ... after they had ruled that he could continue beyond the first oral assault), or that, immediately after the fight was called, Tyson took a swing at a cop (and countless other innocent bystanders) and was generally an out of control nutcase, or that this was far from the first time that “sparkle tooth” had gone ballistic ... the thing that really frosts my mug, pushes my buttons, sends stinging little critters up into my unmentionables ... is that Mike Tyson will probably be fined a paltry ten per cent of his  thirty million dollar purse for this reprehensible behavior. Have we all gone mad? The man should be publicly humiliated, not paid  twenty-seven million dollars!

I thought the salaries of professional athletes were getting out of hand, but this takes the tuna; it’s a new low for professional sports. At least Michael Jordan has to work for his pay.  Several jabs, a couple hits, and two serious  ear bites, and Tyson is floating in cash, handsomely rewarded for being the world’s most infamous street thug. Can you think of any other sport in which someone can lose with such dishonor and still get paid twenty-seven million dollars?

Letterman wasted no time seizing the day, first interviewing the guy who found and returned the one inch chunk of Holyfield’s ear, then interviewing the victim himself. Holyfield was pretty funny about the whole thing. He said that Tyson just lost his composure. Asked what his thoughts were immediately after Tyson bit him the first time, Holyfield replied that he was tempted to bite him back.

Two Hollywood greats died this past week: Robert Mitchum and then Jimmy Stewart.  I still cry when I see “It’s a Wonderful Life.” Newsman Charles Kuralt also died. I’m still reeling in the aftermath of Jacques Cousteau’s demise, and let’s not forget Shirley Booth ... or Mr. Ed ( in a tragic case of mistaken identity, Mr. Ed was sent to the glue factory. It was all over the tabloids).

As Americans celebrated Independence Day, space history was being made. The unmanned Pathfinder landed on Mars and, with the aid of a camera-equipped space buggy, we’re getting some amazing footage of  the surface of the Red Planet. No babes yet.

Switching gears, does anybody else watch Bill Maher’s “Politically Incorrect?” It’s a great show, and I watch it when I can. He always has four guests debating some recent controversial issue, and he always picks four of the most unlikely people to be in the same room together. It’s on rather late, so tape it if you can.... I think it’s a funny show. Save the whales ... for last.

The Oppenheimer Report 10/9/17

Grampy's House

Thank you to all the friends and family who wished me a Happy Birthday this past week. I especially enjoyed the several greetings wherein people sang to me. Shauna and I have worked out a harmonized version of the Happy Birthday song, and some of you have probably heard that performance, either on your voicemail or in person.

We feed Jasper, our beloved miniature schnauzer, a special frozen dog food which is available only in the States. Every six months or so, I make a dog food run down to Buffalo. Lately, my best friend Bob  picks it up in Buffalo and brings it across the border . This is very convenient for me because 1. I needn't drive across the often-congested Peace Bridge to pick it up, and deal with Canada Customs on the way back, and 2. I  then have the opportunity to spend some quality time with my best friend and his wife at their beautiful old beach house on the Lake Erie shoreline. I was planning to go down just before Shauna’s birthday in August, but she ended up in the hospital for an extended stay, and I never made it down. This weekend marked the end of Jasper’s food supply, and I could not postpone the trip any longer. Although it was a whirlwind 24 hours visit, I had a lovely time. The trip coincided with my birthday, and what a wonderful thing it was to spend some of it in what used to be my favorite place to be on Earth. Up until Shauna and I married in ’94, I'd spent every summer of my life at our beach house on Thunder Bay (Ft. Erie). Many of my happiest memories involved my residence at that beach house with my family. After forty years of family gatherings, boating, and celebrations, at a house which had been in our family since my grandfather bought it as a young man, there are many friendly ghosts surrounding me there. Twice on Saturday, Bob and I walked the length of Thunder Bay (3 bays east of Crystal Beach) to the old Oppenheimer beach house, and those walks conjured up fond memories. I vaguely remember a picnic under a towering old willow tree with the kids who lived next door, I remember searching for crayfish under rocks on the point near our house, I remember the sound of cicadas in the night, the distinctive smell of our old house, and the giant rock on which my little nephews loved to perch when they were kids. These are familiar surroundings, and no matter how much time passes, or what changes in my life, they always will be.

On Sunday morning, my birthday, I was greeted with French toast and coffee, and a familiar view of the wind-driven waters of Lake Erie. I was reminded of my charmed past. I am thankful to have had wonderful parents, I am thankful for my sister and her family, I am thankful to have (or in some cases to have had) Shauna’s wonderful family in my life, I am thankful to Shauna and her mom E.T. for all their love, I am thankful for all the good friends I have made so far. As I end this report, in the last few hours of the Canadian Thanksgiving, I am reminded how fortunate I have been to be living this charmed life. It is easy to become distracted by the omnipresence of all that is so glaringly wrong in this world. I am acutely aware of all those who have not had the benefits of my good fortune, but I also know a lot of people who are thankful, and who only have a small fraction of what I have. As well, I know a few people who will never be thankful no matter how much they have. I think I'd give up just about everything I have if I could bring that feeling of thankfulness to everyone else in the world. Regardless of our fate, we only have a short time on this earth, so let's do the best we can!

"....Summer days on Thunder Bay, cicadas in the night
Grampy's house through thunderstorms, safe and in the light
But in the ruin of this moonless night, wolves roam the dark blue sky
Forbidden, unformed, youthful dreams have turned this fool into a liar.
Haunted by my memories, the wind whispers the cost
No matter how things seem the same, time records the loss."    - from Grampy's House c 2016

  

 - Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2017 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 10/2/17

This Could Happen To You!

I think it’s time to stop watching the news! What does the preponderance of horrible news do to the human organism? So much information, and I fear we are only reporting the worst of mankind. I’ve been thinking a lot about this lately, as I watch disaster after disaster unfold on the news. People say not to dwell on the bad news, but I can't seem to ignore it. And today was a good day for bad news.

The disaster of the moment, which is presently eclipsing the tragedy of hurricane destruction in Puerto Rico, the potential for civil war in Spain, the human rights crisis in Myanmar, Donald Trump’s latest foot-in-mouth tweet, etc., involves a disturbed and heavily armed man, who last night murdered 58+ people (as of this writing) and injured over 500 more when he opened fire from the 32 floor of the Mandalay Bay Hotel in Las Vegas. He fired into a crowd of about 20,000 concert goers attending a country music festival, and this is being called the deadliest mass shooting in U.S history (to date). As I watch the 24-hour talking heads yammering on about what happened, I suspect we will learn a good deal about this latest human time bomb within a day or two; except maybe why he did it. ISIS, Shmisis, we spend so much time talking about our enemies abroad, but there are apparently plenty of homegrown enemies right here in our own backyard. 

I can’t help hearing all the bad noise coming out of the world over the past week – Trump’s ongoing public relations blunders and his never-ending war with just about anyone in the media, the most recent natural disasters all over the world and the subsequent struggles to rebuild. We were just talking about Houston and all the terrible flooding that Hurricane Harvey caused, and no sooner did that happen when Hurricane Irma was the big story, and the cameras pointed in a different direction. Then, in a short period of time there were more hurricanes, earthquakes, and fires. The latest (reported) human atrocity seems to be in Myanmar where the Buddhist majority appear to be “cleansing themselves” of their Rohingya Muslim countrymen. I find it remarkable the bad things we humans do in the name of our religions. Add to all of this the bad news from Syria, and the civil unrest in Spain, the political problems in Germany and the UK, and it’s hard to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Don’t look back lest ye turn to a pillar of salt. 

Last Thursday, we drove down to Toronto for more doctor’s appointments, and maybe it’s just me, but I felt a palpable tension as I approached the city limits. Drivers seemed more inconsiderate and aggressive, and Toronto in general seems to be becoming a more hostile city from the one I moved to 24 years ago. It’s as if  there is anxiousness in the air we breathe. As for Shauna’s health problems, there is good news and bad news. The good news is that, so far – and she has been tested for a myriad of diseases – she has tested negative for all the obvious neurological disorders. The bad news is that there has been permanent damage to the vision in her left eye. We’re hopeful that her condition will improve, but we don’t know, and we still have no idea what caused it in the first place. In the back of my head is the gnawing realization that ill health is somehow related to our environment. It seems simple enough: more love, less hate.

“Time just seems to swirl up like the leaves in a blow

So much spinning out of my control

And I want to solve the problems of this oh so troubled world

But I can’t even seem to solve my own  

The changes they are coming, this I surely know

And I’ve got find a way to ease this troubled soul

And outside, the wind begins to blow.”  (from The Wind Begins To Blow  c2002)

Tom Petty, wherever you are, I have loved your songs for over 40 years.

 - Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2017 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED