Monday, September 28, 2020

The Oppenheimer Report 9/28/20

 


I watched a video the other day, taken shortly before everything changed, when none of us had any idea what was to come. This pandemic has been a wake-up call for us all, perhaps more for some than others. In our current state of emergency, I am astounded by all the zealotry surrounding the issues, on both sides. Everybody has an opinion about how to proceed, but I take my cues from health care experts. Hunters Bay Radio volunteer Chris Occhiuzzi wrote an interesting article the other day, trying to put this pandemic into perspective. In it, he suggested that the zealots, on both sides, should tone down the rhetoric. I agree. For my part, I’m trying to follow common sense directives in order to protect myself and to keep the virus from spreading to the weakest and most vulnerable in our population.

My wife Shauna reposted an article the other day on Facebook about the nature of viruses, and the gist of the article is that, 6 months later, we still don’t know all that much about COVID-19. The article is worth reading. You can take from it what you will. If what you conclude is that “Science doesn’t know” well, time will tell who has made the right decisions. I’m just as concerned and skeptical as the rest of you. What concerns me are the potential long-term effects of this virus. I do know something about chronic illness, as I am a caregiver myself, and I’d like to comment about that role.

Illness is, by its very nature, isolating and discouraging. Anyone who is living with it will likely agree. Shauna suffers from a chronic pain condition. In her twenties, she almost died after being hospitalized for two months due to a severe case of food poisoning. She had contracted Campylobacter poisoning after eating bad chicken from a fast-food restaurant chain. That dangerous bacteria, together with the powerful antibiotics needed to kill it, virtually ripped apart her digestive tract. As a result, she now has Crohn’s Disease and a myriad of related complications. I suspect that it is her compromised gut that has led to so many of her other immunity problems over the years.  Regardless of the cause, she has been very sick for a long time. In the early days of our marriage, we were more active, but we were often forced last minute to cancel our plans, for travel and social engagements. Friends and family were often disappointed with us because we were always late or unreliable. To our frustration, many of her symptoms were unable to be successfully treated by doctors. The immune system is probably the least understood function of the human body. I’ve read 5 or 6 books on the subject, and I am even more confused now than before  reading them. To those who have told us that “it’s all in your head – there’s nothing really wrong with Shauna”, I say walk a mile in our shoes and then offer your opinions. Ultimately, our decision to leave downtown Toronto,  move up north, and to build our primary residence on the site of the Taylor summer cottage was based on the need to live in a cleaner, quieter environment. We have attempted to move away from the judgment, and the obligations we could not fulfill. Everyone has an opinion about what makes us sick and what cures us. Believe me, one becomes a little less all-knowing and judgmental when chronic illness invades your life or that of someone you love.

This novel coronavirus is still relatively new, with increasingly complicated side effects, for example the long-haul syndrome. When venerated medical professionals are imploring us to be vigilant, I am inclined to believe them. That is my choice. To complicate matters further, a few years ago, Shauna was rushed to Toronto and hospitalized again after suffering a severe neurological attack, and was ultimately treated with steroids for a year. As a result of the two major attacks to her health, my wife is immunocompromised, and I live in constant fear of bringing a potentially deadly virus into our home. We have lived with chronic illness for the past 28 years. It has changed the life of the person I love the most, and it has changed our life a couple. Some of our contemporaries have begun to contend with serious illness in their own lives. As their social lives suffer, they are beginning to relate to what we have already been through and better understand what isolation feels like. Unless you’ve experienced chronic illness firsthand you might not understand the pain you could cause yourself or spread to someone else. May you never learn. I suggest you consider the possibility that ignorance is not bliss. Believe me, you want to avoid chronic illness at all costs. It is at times baffling to me that the generation before mine, often referred to as the “Greatest Generation”, made huge sacrifices  6 year during r world war, and yet in a period of only 6 months, many people these days cannot agree to make some fairly basic sacrifices in order to fight a common and deadly enemy. It seems like common sense to me. Choose to practice physical distancing, wash your hands on a regular basis, avoid large gatherings, and wear a mask when in public. Then again, these days, common sense seems to be on injured reserve. It is no wonder that those elders that are still with us are concerned and afraid.   

                        - Written by Jamie Oppenheimer ©2020 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 9/21/20

 


After almost four years of nonstop verbal diarrhea from the Orange Emperor, the spewer of poo, the prince of prevarication, I did not think that anything he could say would get a rise out of me. I stand corrected. He finally said the dumbest thing I have ever heard any human being say (so far), let alone the President of the United States. When grilled about the wildfires raging in the Western United States, and in response to a question wherein the science of climate change was referenced, his response was that “Science doesn’t know.” Those were his exact words. Disregard for a moment the fact that this jackass has the communication skills of a kindergarten student, and that what he likely meant to say was “science is incorrect”, or “scientists don’t know”, I don’t think I have ever heard even Rump say something so ignorant. Yes, the science of climate change may be inexact, but Rump’s ignorance is dangerous. I don’t want a leader who thinks that gravity is magic. Now that the Supreme Court Justice Ruth Bader Ginsberg has passed on, and may she rest in peace, I fear the repercussions of a Supreme Court Justice picked by this rocket anti-scientist. Will Roe vs. Wade be reversed? Will we reinstate public stonings, perhaps bloodletting? The political climate is changing.

Indeed, climate change is a polarizing subject. Ever since former VP Al Gore came out with the documentary “An Inconvenient Truth” that subject has been a little more in the public eye. My nephew, a meteorologist for NOAA down in Virginia does not like that movie. He believes that climate change has become far too politicized, and he questions the accuracy of the scientific predictions made to support Gore’s message. He doesn’t deny that climate change is taking place; clearly it is. His contention is that climate change is cyclical and not likely to be changed appreciably by man. We have only been keeping climate records for a relatively short time, and these cycles take place over long spans of time. Certainly, our massive generation of greenhouse gases exacerbates the problem, and absolutely, we should move away from fossil fuels.  Still, for our survival, perhaps there are more effective and economical ways to adapt to the coming changes.  A few years ago, my nephew sent me a very interesting book entitled “Cool It”, written by a Danish statistician names Bjorn Lomborg. In the book Lomborg suggests that, among other things, adjusting to the inevitable changes might be a more productive use of our energies. Lomborg believes that it is economically unfeasible and simply unrealistic to think that newly industrialized countries will jump on board to make a significant changes in the global warming trend, at least in time to make any difference. Population control and better land management might be more productive solutions. Rump would probably love this guy, but he likely hasn’t even read the Constitution, so I doubt he will read “Cool It”. He probably doesn’t even know where Denmark is.

As I mentioned in a previous report, with the help of Hidden Habitat Ecological Landscapes, we put in a proper raised garden bed and planted a wide variety of vegetables this season. Thanks again to Laura and Tyler Thomas for making that happen. Tending to a garden has been good therapy during these strange times, and those fresh vegetables and tomatoes taste great. Even if it is only a token gesture, the idea of growing something locally has been a learning experience for us. Regrettably, we did not plant until early June, but we’ve had a pretty good crop for our first year. After the recent cold snap, that season may soon be over. I’ve been tarping every night to save what I can from the nightly dips into the frost zone. Contending with the weather has been a challenge, and an important reminder of the effects of climate change on farmers. Up here it’s a short growing season, and when we have had rain these days, it’s coming in torrents. That is not helpful. My rain gauge is my little folding boat at the dock, and at least five times in the past three weeks it has rained so hard that the boat was in danger of sinking.  

I think someone should get T-shirts printed up with Rump’s bloated face on it that read “Science Doesn’t Know”, or better yet, print it all on red baseball caps.  

- Written by Jamie Oppenheimer ©2020 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

 

Tuesday, September 15, 2020

The Oppenheimer Report 9/14/20

 


It’s time for another fuzzy memory.  I told this story many years ago in another report, but it bears repeating. A few reports ago, I posted a photograph of a group of my friends, riding in my old Chris Craft Sea Skiff, and one was wearing an orange pig mask. At one point, I and some of my friends each had our own latex pig mask. They were our official party masks. Because they only covered the top half of the face, they did not interfere with one’s ability to drink beer. That was of the utmost importance in those days. Those masks unleashed our partying superpowers, and perhaps they even transformed our personalities. Anyone who has ever worn a Halloween costume knows the power of a mask.

For sheer debauchery and untoward behavior, one vacation stands out. Back in the 1980s a group of us rented a large rooftop condominium on Grand Bahama Island for a week’s vacation of nonstop partying. The eight or nine of us in this group frequently celebrated together in Buffalo, so moving the party to the Bahamas was a slam dunk. On our first day, we rented a dilapidated, 1970s mint green Cadillac the size of Nebraska, with bad suspension, balding tires, and a badly peeling dark green vinyl top. We drove that beast all over the island, stirring up mayhem and chaos. There was gambling, drinking, and of course, there was an abundance pig mask-wearing behavior. That Caddy was on its last legs when we rented it, and we were the nail in the coffin. After the first night on the town we somehow lost what was left of its decaying exhaust system. There is nothing like to sound of an unmuffled, big block V8 engine to wake the dead. Everybody knew when the pig people from Buffalo were coming, that’s for sure.

One day, we took our loud, smoking, lime green chariot on a road trip to the other side of the island. We’d heard about the fancy Jack Tarr Village resort, far removed from the froth and fray of the other side of the island, and from scofflaws like us. We wanted to see for ourselves how the other half lived, and we had every intention to behave ourselves. We planned to have one over-priced drink, maybe hang out on the beach for an hour or so, and then head home. The day did not turn out as planned.

We got off to a bad start, because our Caddy had a pre-ignition problem. When we arrived at this fancy resort, parked and shut off the car, it shuddered for a good 5 seconds, after which it let out an ear-splitting bang and emitted a huge cloud of blue smoke. That was a sign of things to come. Unfamiliar with the all-inclusive resort experience, we discovered that Jack Tarr Villagers prided themselves on their privacy. If you were not an official Jack-Tarr-Village-card-carrying guest, you were persona non grata. I can’t imagine why a quiet, exclusive, family-friendly resort, would not welcome a group of loud, young adults, four who were wearing pig masks, but regardless, we were summarily rejected. Some of us, not the designated driver, were a little intoxicated, so that rejection, by those pseudo-exclusive resort imposters, just fanned the flames. Indignant, we “pigged” the pool area, then moved on to the bar and lobby. With each rejection we became more obnoxious, until we spent the remainder of our ill-fated stay eluding security guards and photo bombing befuddled residents while they stood for carefully posed family photos. Somewhere I have a photograph of my friend Michael popping out of the bushes wearing his pig mask just as a carefully posed family portrait was being snapped. What did Groucho Marx said about country clubs? I felt like he must have been talking about us. Anyhow, we now had not only had security guards chasing us, but also angry hotel guests as well. We all scrambled back to our rusty land yacht as the gathering crowd of disgruntled people chased us. After what seemed to be an eternity, our designated driver managed to get the engine to turn over, and we beat a hasty retreat with tires squealing. In our wake, shrouded in a thick cloud of blue smoke, were the angry residents and security guards waving their arms and shaking their fists. They reminded me of the angry villagers gathering to lynch Frankenstein’s monster. I do believe that was my last visit to a Jack Tarr Village resort.

As I said, those masks were to blame, I would never have behaved that way if I wasn’t wearing a pig mask. As a final note, when our vacation was over, as instructed, we left the very tired Caddy in the airport parking lot. That very well might have been it’s last rental. By now, on top of the myriad of other mechanical failures, its rear differential was bone dry. It was smoking from the friction of an unlubricated rear axle. As we took off in our puddle jumper to Florida, we could see our legendary beast, our weary dragon in combat, possible about to catch fire in the airport parking lot, shrouded in a gathering plume of smoke. Those Caddys take a lickin’ and keep on tickin’.

- Written by Jamie Oppenheimer ©2020 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Tuesday, September 08, 2020

The Oppenheimer Report 9/7/20

 


I’ve always had a thing for campy, bad television and movies. Sometimes it drives Shauna crazy. I’m not proud of it, but I have learned to accept myself. I ask you, how can you go wrong watching any Ed Wood movie, or “Attack Of The Killer Tomatoes”? They’re going to make you laugh, and that’s a good thing. Back when I was a kid, I gravitated to the bad sitcoms. I vaguely remember watching the obscure sitcom “My Mother The Car”, which was the Edsel of sitcoms. I also watched “McHales Navy”, “Gilligan’s Island”, “Hogan’s Heroes” (of course), “Gomer Pyle, USMC”,  “My Three Sons”, “Mr. Ed”, “Batman”, “The Addams Family”, “The Munsters” and probably most of the old sitcoms you might now find on Nickalodeon or internet sites like Amazon Prime Video and Netflix. The other day, I was flipping through the thousands of videos available on Amazon Prime and watched the very first episode of “The Real McCoys”. What a time capsule revelation that was! Even as a child, I knew those shows were not intellectually stimulating, but I was entertained. Then came reality television.  

When it first emerged, reality television caught my interest because it was so strange and different. Here was an entirely new genre of terrible television which, by its very nature, highlighted the worst mankind had to offer. There didn’t seem to be anything real about it. “Survivor” and “Big Brother” were the two shows that I followed, but from time to time I’d watch anything and everything that aired. The bar just kept getting lower, (along with my IQ) and the shows kept getting worse. Reality television represented the canary in the coal mine of entertainment, but like the train wreck, I simply couldn’t look away. I remember one show which followed some guy who was roughing it “alone” in some frozen northern wasteland. At some point his snowmobile conked out, at night, when he had to walk perhaps ten miles back to his home. It was so strange watching that guy schlepping home, knowing that an entire camera crew was following him in heated trucks. After a while – and it took an embarrassingly long time - reality television lost its allure, and I gradually weaned myself from it. Well, for the most part. I still follow “Big Brother”. I find the show fascinating; it is like a televised Skinner Box.

I’m not proud of myself. This whole pandemic thing has caused me to make some even more terrible television choices. Sometimes it’s not a choice at all. Most of the time I’m too distracted and anxious to sit through a feature length movie, so oftentimes, we just have the television on in the background while we’re doing other things. I’m trying to limit myself to an hour or less of “news” per day, because that has become reality television on steroids.

Last week, I might have inadvertently watched an entire episode of the worst reality television program I have so far encountered: “Love Island.”  I was preoccupied writing something on my computer and the television was on.  I wasn’t paying attention, but then the sheer stupidity of the program reeled me in. That show might be too awful, even for me. Keep in mind, I have watched more than one episode of “Jersey Shore”, so clearly my bar is pretty low. The old addiction came back, and I’ve put a call in for RTWA (Reality TV Watchers Anonymous). I could not turn away. “Love Island” is another one of those musical chairs shows wherein young adults couple up and one by one are eliminated from “the game”.  In this case, a bunch of singles pair up in a Las Vegas villa, and the drama unfolds from there. People are required to choose a mate on day one, and then, as time goes by, they swap partners and trash talk each other. Oh the drama! Eventually, someone is deemed the odd man out and is summarily thrown off a high-rise balcony. Ok, I’m kidding about that part, but people get voted off.

 

I have no idea how dating works, Shauna found me eating scraps out of a dumpster behind Burger King and took me home, but intellectually, I might be just a notch above these lovers in the romance department. The thing that most astounded me while watching those young adults discuss their matters of the heart was their anemic communication skills. I needed subtitles to follow the dialogue. What has happened to the English language while I wasn’t paying attention?! I know I rant about this a lot, and I also know I wasn’t the king of communication when I was in my twenties, but the English language has really taken a tumble in the last decade or so.  When I watch television now or read copy in an advertisement, I feel like I am on another planet. Example: “Hey Bro did like you like, like her, or what? She was chill, right? Hyuh! Wha? Hyuh! Like, whoh, right? I know. Whuh? Yuh!” I believe that was, verbatum what I heard on “Love Island” the other night.

I’m sure most of you have judged me harshly at this point, and what can I say in my defense? I yamwhatIyam. In about one month, I’ll celebrate my 65th birthday, and I seem to have stalled in the maturity department. Nevertheless, I am slowly learning to accept and embrace my inner 12-year-old. Yuknow, that being said, like whuh, you know bro, like, it is what it is.

 Mr. Ed is beginning to sound like Shakespeare these days.  Whuhh!

- Written by Jamie Oppenheimer ©2020 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Tuesday, September 01, 2020

The Oppenheimer Report 8/31/20



When I was young “funnelators” were popular.  They are basically slingshots on steroids. We used them to launch water balloons, and they were typically made out of surgical tubing attached to a medium sized funnel or pouch for launching the water balloon. In my high school days, many a water balloon war was waged with these giant slingshots, and I’ve been on the receiving end of one of their watery projectiles. They decidedly take water balloon fights to a new level.

Jump ahead fifteen years, and I am now a young adult (I use the term “adult” loosely). One of my friends who was an avid sailor told me of a commercially available version of the legendary funnelator. Marketed as a “Winger” it was much more sophisticated than the primitive makeshift weapon I had once used. Sailors liked them because, when there was no wind during a race, water balloon wars were a popular distraction. Wingers made the delivery a lot more accurate. Of course, I immediately ordered one, and over the years I had a lot of fun with it. Together with my crew (it takes 3 to operate a Winger) we did some crazy things with it. One hot summer day, armed with my Winger and a bucket of water balloons, half-filled for maximum distance and velocity, my scofflaw friends and I motored over to Crystal Beach Amusement Park in my 1957 Chris Craft Sea Skiff, “The Ahoy Vey”, and terrorized unsuspecting amusement park attendees. It was an assault by lake. We moored about 200 yards offshore and started catapulting water balloons at the Comet roller coaster which, if you remember Crystal Beach, was located right along the shoreline. After some test shots, we became quite proficient at shooting water balloons directly over the peak of the coaster. Imagine their surprise when coaster riders reached the top of that first drop and saw a water balloon fly by just above their heads at 70+MPH. I suppose some people in the park, waiting in line to ride the Comet, were hit by these balloons. I’m sure they had no idea wherefrom those water missiles came.

There were countless incidents of lawless behavior; cocktail parties invaded, unsuspecting beach walkers attacked, bonfires destroyed. One night we performed a stealth night attack on two bonfires which were situated about 100 yards apart. We sat out in the boat in the darkness, and launched balloons at one bonfire, then on the other. As we were invisible to our victims in the darkness, the people at each bonfire thought the other participants were the attackers. We watched in delight as the two parties began to argue. No one suspected that water balloons were coming from 150 yards offshore. One night, fueled by a combination of reckless abandon and boredom, we got the bright idea to shoot balloons straight up into the air. Again, we did this on my Chris Craft utility, out on the lake, in the dark.  The surprise of not knowing where one of those balloons would land was remarkably exhilarating. Once launched, the balloon took what seemed like an eternity to come down, and it was always exciting to see how close to the boat the rogue balloons would land. It might not have been the stupidest thing I ever did on a boat, but it was close.

Speaking of fun, I have one final note in the nostalgia department. Cynthia Doolittle, one of the iconic mothers from my old neighborhood in Buffalo, passed on last week, and I miss her already. The woman was the personification of fun. I was reminiscing with her eldest son about his mom, and one of my favourite Cynthia stories involved that elder son and another friend roughhousing with the younger Doolittle brother down in the basement. The younger brother came upstairs and complained to Cynthia that he was being abused, to which she replied: “You’ve got to be tough to play with the big boys.” The Dootlittles were hands down the most entertaining family on our block. Cynthia would have approved of the Winger. - Written by Jamie Oppenheimer ©2020 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED