The Oppenheimer Report 2/25/19

Pile Up on Hwy 400 today S. of  Barrie

Last night, as the 60-70 KPH polar winds pummeled our windows, and I watched the glass flex in and out with each gust, and as the horizontal snow marched across the lake like a phalanx of white warriors, I watched a pair of pigeons (whom we’ve named Pigeorge and Pigina) cling desperately to a log end next to our bedroom turret window. Normally I would squirt these defecating devils with our high-powered anti-pigeon water cannon, but last night I just didn’t have the heart. Besides, the window was frozen shut. Pigina looked at me with a kind of “WTF! We-moved-up-here-from-Toronto-for-THIS?” look on her face and we had a moment. If they didn’t poop all over everything and wake us up in the morning with their insufferable cooing, I wouldn’t mind them so much. They seem to be smart and, as I’ve said many times, live and let live ...away from the house, preferably.

Last night, I had a chance to test out our latest high-tech device. To accompany the solar panels we recently installed for supplemental power, we just bought a Tesla lithium ion “Powerwall” backup battery, which can be used in a power outage, or as an alternative power source during peak hours, when electricity is most expensive. I can control how the battery is used with an app on my phone. Knowing that we were in for a wind storm last night, I had it set to full backup, and last night, when the power went off for a short while, the battery kicked in. I could monitor its discharge on my phone. While solar power does not come close to meeting all our electrical needs, it will be increasingly valuable as our electrical costs here in the Almaguin Highlands go from exorbitant to outrageous. We’ve had a propane-powered generator since we built this house, and with the frequent power outages we have up here, it has been invaluable. Still, I’d rather save the propane for heating needs. I have great respect for the guys who drive propane trucks. We live at the bottom of a long drive, and in the winter delivery can be difficult. Perhaps someday soon battery technology will improve to the point where we can better utilize the solar panels we now have.  

As the wind whistled and wailed, and the tornados of snow swirled up outside, Shauna and I sat hunkered down in our bedroom, watching the Oscars with the usual half-interest of two people who probably won’t see most the nominated movies for a long time. I used to watch more movies, but my enthusiasm (and attention span) has waned, and these days, my movie experience tends to be a random selection of whatever is available on the movie channel. I feel the same way about popular movies that I do about popular music, namely that creativity these days seems to be on injured reserve. It’s there, it’s just not given any weight. We  recently watched the award winner from 2018 wherein the woman falls in love with the fish man. Fantasy, and the remakes of old movies (how many A Star Is Born remakes are we up to now?) seem to be the big sellers these days, which does not bode well for the future of storytelling or creativity. I enjoy a good, creative fantasy as much as the next man, but it was refreshing to see a movie like Green Book win the Oscar for Best Movie. Some will argue it was the safe and sanitized choice, and that Spike Lee’s Black Klansman was a better movie. I’m just happy it wasn’t a Marvel Comic remake. I may even take the rubber band off and rent Bohemian Rhapsody or Green Book, or Black Klansman on pay-per-view. It’s just hard when there’s so much good reality television from which to choose.

-       Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2019 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 2/18/19

I watched a story on the news the other night about a Melville, Saskatchewan man who wanted to order “ASSMAN” vanity plates for his car, because his name is David Assman (a German name, pronounced Ausman). Apparently, the Saskatchewan Motor Vehicles Dept. didn’t think that was a good idea, and Assman’s request was rejected. Not to be denied, Assman took matters into his own hands, and he painted an exact replica of an official Saskatchewan license plate, including the prohibited copy, on the tailgate of his truck (see above photo). As amusing, and I think particularly Canadian, as this story is, it is especially interesting to Shauna and me. Here is why.

When Shauna’s brother Jordan was gravely ill in 2000, we were out in Banff, and got the call to come home ASAP. We of course headed home immediately after we got the news, and the drive was memorable. Jordan had a great sense of humour, and he was a huge fan of Dave Letterman. During one month in 1995, Letterman had had a running joke involving a guy from Neudorf, Saskatchewan, named Dick Assman, who as it turns out was the third cousin of the above-mentioned David Assman. The jokes of course revolved around the guy’s name, and Letterman inserted Assman jokes into his monologue every night for an entire month. The whole thing culminated in a personal appearance by Dick Assman on The Late Show With David Letterman, which I remember watching. Singer Tony Orlando wrote a song for him. Like so many other subjects of David Letterman’s comedy, Dick Assman became an instant celebrity for 15 minutes. On our sad and stressful drive home to Toronto, Shauna and I thought it would be funny, five years after the Letterman appearance, to visit the gas station where Assman worked in Saskatchewan. It wasn’t far off the highway, and we thought perhaps we could meet this Dick Assman guy and get an autograph to present to Jordan. When we passed through Regina, we located the gas station and stopped in. As luck would have it, Dick was on his day off, and we didn’t have the opportunity to meet him. We did buy a couple of “Dick Assmania” tee shirts, which were sold at the station. We’ve still got them.

We didn’t make it home in time to see Jordan before he passed, but as I said, the trip home was memorable, and I really feel as if his spirit was was with us. There was a terrific lightning storm that lit up the prairie sky for most of the last thirty miles into Winnipeg, and Shauna was videotaping it because it was so spectacular. As the omnipresent horizontal bolts of lightning flashed all around us, Shauna suddenly screamed “I just saw Jordan dancing around in the clouds!” She swore she saw his image in the upper left corner of the video screen. The image was not there upon replay, but to her he was there, plain as day. When we arrived in Winnipeg and walked into our hotel room, we were greeted by all sorts of electrical anomalies. Clocks were flashing 5:16 A.M. the exact time of his death, a smoke alarm went off, and there were other signs as well. When we called home later that morning, we found out Jordan had passed, somewhere between 5 to 5:30 A.M. and it all made sense. He would have loved that we visited Dick Assman’s gas station, and perhaps he came to Shauna as an apparition in the sky to let her know he was all right. Shauna said he looked happy. We later learned that at least one of his close friends had seen the same image. When we arrived at our apartment in Toronto, all the digital clocks were blinking 5:16 A.M., again, the exact time Jordan had died. On this Family Day, I am reminded of  these strange and mysterious things, and of the night Shauna saw Jordan’s soul leaving his body. I wrote a song about the experience. Hug the ones you love, and hold them close. Regardless of whom you consider family, they are the most important people you will know in your life. Cherish your family.  I cherish mine.

JORDAN

LAST NIGHT WE DROVE INTO WINNIPEG

AND THERE WAS LIGHTNING IN THE SKY

AND I KNEW THAT YOU WOULD SOON BE GONE

BY A FEELING I HAD INSIDE

I NEVER THOUGHT I WAS AFRAID TO DIE

BUT IN A DREAM I SAW IT IN YOUR EYES

YOU WERE SO ALONE AND WHERE WAS I

AS YOU DRIFTED OFF TO THE OTHER SIDE?

WE PRIDE OURSELVES ON OUR DIGNITY

BUT WHERE IS OUR COURAGE ON THE JUDGEMENT DAY?

JORDAN I SAW YOUR BRAVERY

I WISH IT WASN’T SO, BUT WE ALL LEAVE SOME DAY

JORDAN YOU LEFT TOO SOON

IN REGINA WE BOUGHT THOSE TEE SHIRTS

AND IT GAVE US BOTH A LAUGH

AS WE TRAVEL THESE ROADS YOU’RE EVERYWHERE

YOUR HUMOR WILL EVER LAST

SOME PEOPLE SAY THEY SAW YOU

YOU WERE DANCING IN THE CLOUDS

AND WHO KNOWS WHERE THE ILLUSION ENDS

WHEN THE SPIRIT CRIES OUT LOUD

AND I WROTE YOUR NAME ON A MOUNTAIN TOP

I WROTE YOUR NAME IN STONES

NOW I’M DRIVING ALL NIGHT THROUGH THE POURING RAIN

SO WE CAN SAY GOODBYE AT HOME

OH JORDAN WE ALL LEAVE SOME DAY

JORDAN YOU LEFT TOO SOON

JORDAN THERE WAS SOMETHING ABOUT YOU MAN

THAT WORDS CANNOT DESCRIBE

                         YOU KNEW YOU COULD ALWAYS MAKE ME LAUGH

THERE WAS MISCHIEF IN YOUR EYES

SO SEND ME A MESSAGE

THROUGH YOUR SPECIAL LINES

JUST GIVE ME A SIGN THAT YOU’RE ALL RIGHT

SO I CAN FIND SOME PEACE OF MIND

CHO:REPEAT

WRITTEN BY JAMIE OPPENHEIMER

2000

The Oppenheimer Report - 2/11/19

Below is an Oppenheimer Report I wrote back in 1996, which I posted as one of the very first blog entries on this page when I began presenting it as a blog in 2006 …

The Oppenheimer Report 3/3/96…

More Fluff. At two this morning, while in a semi-comatose state, I was flipping around the dial for some golden nugget of late night television to watch, when I was rewarded with an episode from original TV series “Lost in Space.” Have you ever watched that show? Before it was banished to the catacombs of really late night T.V., I used to watch “Lost in Space” a lot. Yeah, yeah, I know, get a life, but I specialize in bad TV, and I’ve got to tell you, this is good stuff!

Last night’s episode was, predictable, like the plots of “Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea,” wherein Kowalski always gets turned into a sea monster, but never gets killed off, because they need his character for the next show. Dr. Smith, who is a character on “Lost In Space”, and is a total jerk in every episode, once again endangers the whole family, this time by giving away one of their thrusters (no, not June Lockhart) to some bad guy who used to play Otis the drunk on “Andy of Mayberry,” (yes I watched that too) but in this episode was playing a careless miner who, in the process of digging for cosmonium (which comes in a little bottle and looks like a urine sample, but which is really the essence of life as we know it), causes the planet to become unstable and to disintegrate. It was so funny I had tears streaming down my eyes.

Whoever dreamed this show up deserves ... well, something. I haven’t enjoyed T.V. this much in years. The family space ship looks like an overturned Tupperware dog dish - what happened anyway, did they let the robot drive?  The costumes are 1950's ski attire, and the robot, who, by the way, is my favorite actor in the series,  is a moody, wise-cracking, reconditioned gravity feed furnace, with all terrain bulldozer treads for feet, a goofy big flat lightbulb for a head, flailing pool vacuum  hoses for arms,  who sounds like the guy who used to announce for Letterman,  and who yells, “WARNING! WARNING!” a lot. The family pet is a moon chimp with furry antennae that look a little like they were ripped off a giraffe. Instead of making normal chimp noises, this thing bloops like a pot of thick chili turned up too high on the stove. They must have had a stunt chimp too, because in one scene, when the ground begins to shake, that ape is literally catapulted off the set. I wish I had taped it, because, one second it was there, and the next, all I saw was an antenna and an arm at the other end of the screen. Let me tell you, that stunt monkey earned its bananas ...  I’d rather have Jackie Chan’s job. And I think that chimp was Bubbles’ mother (you’ve probably read about her torrid affair with Cheetah), which would explain a lot of things.

The evil Dr. Zachary Smith is a truly complex character. A stowaway and unwanted guest aboard the big upside-down dog dish, he flits about with Will (the little boy), and the robot, pining incessantly for Earth. The writers have chosen to make him an effeminate coward, which must have been how the writers in the early 70's viewed homosexuals: evil, selfish, and cowardly. Of course, to complete the stereotype, we have three women who are total fluff heads; pretty, but too stupid and frail to handle the heavy equipment and fun-to-drive moon vehicles. Presumably, they do their hair a lot, because it is always exactly the same in each show. A critical aside: I thought June Lockhart’s hair was a lot better on “Lassie”.

What ever happened to the cast of “Lost in Space”... are they still out there? Maybe they can find that $460+million satellite NASA just lost. Maybe they’ve just faded into obscurity. Perhaps they’re selling maps to the stars’ houses. Heavy sigh.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer ©1996 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2019 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 2/4/19

Gravenhurst today

While we were still living in Toronto, and shortly before we began construction of our log home, we were going through a stressful time. We were on the phone for hours with contractors and the log home company supplying our logs, and we were also embarking on the long journey involving the geriatric care of our parents. Shauna called me into our office one day, because she wanted to show me a website promoting meditative music. I was skeptical, but I conceded that we needed to find a little peace in our lives. The theory, as best I can remember, was that certain frequencies of sound have healing effects on the brain, conducive to meditation. I bought one of the CDs online, and they are in fact very relaxing.

The other night, I was in a particularly bad way. Usually, around the middle of February - and I’m early this year - when I have seen far too little of the sun, I’m ready to go into “Shining” mode. The other day that groundhog predicted an early spring, but I say ptoohey! Those weather rodents don’t know nuthin’ about forecasting the weather. And by the way, where the hell did that tradition originate? Oh, let’s ask the giant rat. And that Wiarton Willie, Ontario’s albino version of Punxatawny Phil, well, don’t get me started on him. I think he’s a crack addict. Have you seen his teeth? I digress. I was looking through music files on my computer, noticed my Jonathon Goldman “Healing Sounds” file, and realized I’d forgotten I had it. I put the headphones on, listened to it for about five minutes, and it really helped. The music is more of a repeated chant, with strange harmonic sounds inserted during the breaks. Whatever it is, it calmed me down, slowed down my heart rate, and practically erased any anxiety I was feeling. All I need now is a seasonal affective disorder (SAD) light, and some homemade soup, and my winter SOS kit will be complete.

Many decades ago, when I was in high school, some of my more enlightened classmates were practicing transcendental meditation, and at the time I didn’t know what all the fuss was about. I now get it. A friend of mine has been practicing the art of mindfulness, and he assures me that the breathing exercises and meditation involved in practicing mindfulness has calmed him down. The other night, there was a story on the news about elders who are using meditation as an alternative to the laundry list of medications doctors prescribe to calm anxiety and address a myriad of age-related illnesses. The mind can be a remarkable healer, so a holistic approach to stress relief just makes common sense. That said, there isn’t much of that going around these days. I melt down about once a month. My propensity to negatively process the too-much-information world we live in, coupled with my increasingly futile tape loop of why-can’t-things-be-the-way-they-used-to-be, is making me a little bit nuts. Chill, Jamie.

For me at least, it’s becoming harder and harder to focus. There’s so much out there, competing for my attention. At times that becomes worrisome. I keep getting drawn into the social media vortex; I keep soaking up the omnipresent and negative news. Even though I consciously try to bury my head in the sand with distractions, the problems around me, that I feel powerless to fix, are never far from the surface. As I suspect others do, I get discouraged about the apparent moral nosedive of human nature; kindness and love seem to be on the decline. Listening to this meditative music, while practicing the act of breathing rhythmically is simple and calming. In as little as five minutes time, everything looks a little more hopeful. Now, the challenge is to make a routine of this practice.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2019 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED