The Oppenheimer Report 11/22/21

I am woefully under-educated in my American history, and for that matter about many significant historical events that have occurred around the world. I suppose that is mostly my fault for being an attention-challenged punk in my youth, but if I had had one history teacher in high school who inspired me the way several of my English teachers did, I might have learned some invaluable lessons from my history teachers. Regrettably, much of my instruction focused on the rote learning of names and dates. None of that information had meaning to me. No history teacher that I can recall actually made those amazing stories resonate with me. Apart from the Viet Nam War, I did not live through most of it. Now, when I watch powerful movies like “The Killing Fields” about the Cambodian genocide during the Pol Pot regime, or “Schindler’s List”, or “Saving Private Ryan”, or the 50 other great films about historical events that I have seen over the years, I better understand how every human struggle indirectly impacts me.

 

To offset our steady diet of bad news on all the major news networks, Shauna and I have been watching shows on the Smithsonian Channel on TV, and most have been very interesting. The other night, we watched a show about the 333^rd Field Artillery Battalion involved in the WWII Battle of the Bulge. That battalion, comprised entirely of African American men, made a substantial and heroic contribution to the imminent defeat of the Nazis by the Allied Forces, at a time when the U.S Army segregated its soldiers on the basis of race. I’m embarrassed to say that I never knew about this, but to learn of the outstanding sacrifice those brave men made on behalf of our freedom was, to say the least, edifying. Today, I watch the disturbing videos of George Floyd slowly being murdered, or most recently, the clip of Amhaud Arborey being shot and killed by vigilantes in Georgia, and I wonder what lessons from history we have learned. Regardless of the circumstances, those men did not deserve to die.

 

When I grew up in Buffalo, NY, and the majority of inner-city residents there were African American. I had good parents who steered me away from hatred, and taught me to judge people according to their character. I realize that racism is an extremely complicated issue, and it is a mindset that cannot simply be undone. To me, hatred is hatred, clear and simple, and it corrodes the fabric of society. The only antidote to hatred is understanding and compassion. You can’t force people to choose to love over hate, but the more I watch the “worst of mankind” reporting about what is going on today, and the more I see the media lines being drawn between the left and the right, the more I think the messengers are part of the problem. Walter Cronkite reported the news, and his broadcasts were far more unbiased and worthy of historical preservation than anything I see today. The more we listen to each other’s stories, the more we learn from the mistakes we made in the past, and fathom the commonality of that struggle, the better are our chances of survival.

 

As I lament in my song “New Constitution”:

“Fettered by the lessons we don’t learn from history,

Prisoners of the way it’s always been.” 

Jamie Oppenheimer ©2021 ALLJamieOppenheimerSongwriter@gmail.com

The Oppenheimer Report from now on

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The Oppenheimer Report 5/24/21

 

Happy Victoria Day to all my Canadian friends. I celebrated this weekend by launching my little folding boat and pulling my little outboard motor out of storage. Like so many other people struggling to abide by the rules regarding the lockdown orders of our Provincial government, I am confused. I went to our local marina to find out when I can put my boat in the water, and they were unable to give me a date. They cannot legally launch boats until at least June 2^nd at the earliest, but they would pull boats out of storage and make them available to their customers. Those customers could then trail their boats to a local ramp and launch them if they chose. I was under the impression that there was no pleasure boating permitted. How the police are supposed to enforce that is beyond me, and clearly few boaters are following that order on our lake.

  

Like so many of the stay-at-home directives mandated by the powers that be, the onus is on the individual to cooperate. On the one hand I am angry when people disregard obvious protocols put in place to protect the general public, but I also realize that many are apprehensive, or confused, or just plain fed up with the rules. Thanks in part to the ever- spreading venom on social media and the fact that “the truth” in general is on injured reserve, many of us don’t appreciate or understand the severity of this pandemic. When the rules seem to change weekly, and leaders back track and change course, that breeds mistrust. The fact is, there have been too many mixed messages and when politics collides with common sense, respect for leadership suffers.

 

With over 50% of Canadian residents now having received at least their first shot, there is a light at the end of the tunnel. That said, ICUs in Manitoba are at capacity and, in some parts of that province, the crisis is apparent. Look at what has happened in India, where 3000,000 have perished and they are having trouble disposing of their dead.  Understandably, people are eager to get out and enjoy the summer. Everyone has been pent up and socially isolated for over a year long. I admit that I judge people by their behavior, sometimes unfairly. I hope we can ride this pandemic out, and while I don’t understand or agree with every decision made on my behalf, I will err on the side of precaution, simply to put less stress on the frontline workers charged with saving our lives. If you don’t think they are overwhelmed, you’re not paying attention. Go visit a packed ICU in Manitoba and see if the nurses and doctors there think this is all a hoax.

 

As summer approaches, the cottagers are back, as I expected they would be. I read angry posts everyday railing on the “citiots”, with their me first attitudes and their perceived disregard for the safety of our relatively unscathed local population. Outrage won’t fix the problem, and that rage is generally more harmful to the person feeling it. We’re gradually approaching herd immunity, and my unselfish wish is that everyone be patient and tolerant just a little longer. If anything has become apparent to me it is that many of us could use a lesson in finding the good in our fellow humans, myself included.  As for the anti-vaxers, believe whatever you chose to believe; I wish you no harm. I chose to take the calculated risk, to be vaccinated. From what I have read; it beats the alternative.     

 

I launched my little folding boat, fired up the motor and putted around by the dock for a few minutes in order to run some good gas through the engine. There was a police boat cruising around and I did not venture out into the lake for fear of being hassled. Within five minutes, I had snagged a fishing line someone must have left in the water, and spent the next fifteen minutes removing the prop and untangling the line with 2 lures still attached. Relaxing is not so easy these days, but I am thankful to be alive and living in a First World country.

 

- Written by Jamie Oppenheimer ©2021 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 4/26/21

 

Why do I save some of the seemingly useless the things I save? 

Shortly before the pandemic hit, I was writing a song entitled “A Dead Man’s Clothes”. I remember that I finished it shortly after the first lockdown. When the pandemic struck, we were concerned that ET’s caregiver, reliant on public transportation, might not feel safe or be able to travel to work every day. We weren’t sure how serious things would get, and we could not risk the very real possibility that ET would be alone with no caregiver during an extended lockdown. While ET is fiercely independent and generally capable, we insist that she continue to have some assistance in her own home. I drove down to Toronto to bring Shauna’s Mom “ET her to our house to stay until things settled down. She ended up staying with us for several months, and she was here up until the day after Shauna and I brought our new puppy Sydney home to live with us. I finished the above-mentioned song and performed it on Facebook live while ET was still up here and sitting in the room listening. I will always remember that performance. 

As I’ve said before, songs are milestones for me. I remember most of the circumstances that influenced the writing of my songs.  As the days pour into months and the months spill into years, those songs are fixed markers that remind me of my personal history. Sometimes, when I am on shaky ground, writing those songs centers me.  Yesterday, I was out of sorts, to put it mildly. Anxiousness got the better of me, and it seems that my low ebb often coincides with the arrival of a full moon. For some reason, I tend to feel the effects of a full moon a day or two before the actual event. Tonight, marks the rise of the full “pink super moon”. It seems like only yesterday that I remember learning about that pink full moon back in 2020. It was about the time I completed that song.

Why is it that I can’t discard certain mementos? In the burn basket next to our fireplace is a Buffalo street guide booklet that I must have saved 7 or 8 years ago when I was cleaning out my parents’ house to be sold. The guide was in a drawer in my father’s desk. I’ve been meaning to burn it, but every time I look at the old Buffalo ads printed in it, I end up throwing it back in the burn basket. Judging from those ads, it was likely printed in the late 50s or early 60s, at the beginning of my life in Buffalo. We sold so much of what was, for 60 years, a part of our Buffalo family home, but we did keep some furniture and mementos. I suppose that old street guide  is just one more reminder of my distant past. I just can’t find it within myself to get rid of it. Also in my father’s desk, probably dating back to the 1940s, was an old theatre program from an opera company. It had my dad’s handwriting on it. I feel the same sentimental attachment to that as I do about the guide. I’ll never know why he kept that program. While it may not make sense to others, I’ve kept it because for some reason it was meaningful to him.   

It was the death of my friend James Carroll that prompted me to write “A Dead Man’s Clothes”. The song is about what we leave behind when we die. As songwriter Jon Brooks reminds us, “…if it’s not love, we can’t take it when we go.” Shauna and I have collected so many vestiges of lives passed, so many mementos of happy times, and as we age, the collection grows. I have shirts and jackets that belonged to James, an old cowboy hat that my dad used to wear, concert tee shirts that belonged to my late brother-in-law, and a watch my mother gave me.  I walk around our house, and everywhere, there are photos and knickknacks that belonged to loved ones long gone. In our log home, built on the site of the old Taylor family cottage, we incorporated many of the windows, doors, and other architectural features from the old cottage into the construction of our new home. We even converted the old Guelph wood stove that used to heat that cottage into a wet sink for our guest bathroom. Every time I look at it or use it to wash my hands, I smile and remember the cold winter nights when we used it for warmth while we designed the new home. Who is to say what is valuable to a person, or what will be meaningful to him or her when we are gone?  That is what my song is about.

 

 

“My dad had a cowboy hat he wore out west

I kept that hat and gave away all the rest

I put it on sometimes, then I’m up on his horse

Looking down the mountain at the desert below.

 

A coat, a hat to make the memories last.

I guess I just can’t let go of the past

Watching my life pour through the hourglass

Will anyone wear my clothes, when no shadow do I cast?”

 

- Written by Jamie Oppenheimer ©2021 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 4/19/21

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The Oppenheimer Report 4/12/21

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The Oppenheimer Report 4/5/21

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The Oppenheimer Report - 3/29/21

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The Oppenheimer Report 3/22/21

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The Oppenheimer Report 3/15/21

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The Oppenheimer Report 3/8/21

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The Oppenheimer Report 3/1/21

 

There are so many unsung heroes at The Bay 88.7 and it never ceases to amaze me how many volunteers at Hunters Bay Radio selflessly devote their time and services to make this radio station run smoothly. Especially, in these days of isolation, when so many of us feel shut in and closed off from the rest of the world, it is comforting to hear the voice of a fellow volunteer on the radio. It makes me feel a little more connected. Indeed, as this pandemic continues to lock all of us out of our “normal” lives, it is often those small connections that might make that small difference to keep us from losing our minds. Of course, there is the skeleton crew of over-worked and underpaid staff who keep the lights on, led by our inimitable and vastly under-compensated Managing Director, Jeff Carter. As well, there are about 60 unpaid volunteers who do everything from answer phones on Bingo night to host talk and music shows throughout the week, design and post show graphics on Facebook, etc. Shauna calls it our “88.7 FMily”. This week, I’d like to show my appreciation for one of our more under-recognized and hardest working volunteer talk radio hosts.

 

Every weekday morning, after the 10 O’clock news, Hunters Bay Radio features a segment called Tech 5, hosted by my octogenarian friend Ben Harrison. The segment typically runs about 5 minutes and covers a wide spectrum of interesting subjects, from space exploration to the latest development in artificial intelligence, or even the origins of a holiday tradition. No matter whether the subject is the puzzling migration of the “polar vortex”, or the science of flatulence, Ben always has something informative and interesting to impart. Shauna and I have been listening to Ben’s daily musings for 5 years now, and in this household, everything stops when Tech 5 comes on. The last guy who so regularly captured my attention was Andy Rooney on his “60 Minutes” segment, and Andy was only on once a week. Because I have the attention span of a 3-month-old puppy (shout out Leni, the recent addition to the Nickalls family), it is notable that I follow any show that consistently.

 

Perhaps the thing I appreciate most about Tech 5 is the amount of preparation it takes to put a segment like that together. I write this one-page report weekly, and if I am discussing something that requires research, I might spend hours looking for what I need. Then, I might spend another hour trying to condense and communicate that information clearly in my report. When I produce a LYRICAL WORKERS show, especially one dealing with a new songwriter, I often spend hours reading up on the subject, simply to talk about it for thirty seconds.  Ben does that every weekday, often siting the many sources of his research, and then delivers his condensed, 5ish-minutes segment with the professionalism of a seasoned anchorman.  I appreciate the amount of effort it takes to produce one of these shows.  

By the way, Ben also regularly announces the afternoon news and his voice can be heard in various radio commercials advertising our local sponsors.

 

This morning on Tech 5, Ben was discussing the factors which affect our memory. Well into the third trimester of my life, memory is a sore subject with me. I have grown to respect those of my elders who exercise their brains and exhibit a healthy thirst for knowledge. I see the results of that love for learning in the intelligence of my wife Shauna’s 96 year-old mom “E.T.” and I hear it every weekday morning in the broadcast of Tech 5 by Ben Harrison. Thanks Ben, for being one of the unsung heroes here at The Bay 88.7 FM. Keep entertaining the masses and know that you are appreciated!  Written by Jamie

Oppenheimer ©2021 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 2/22/21

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The Oppenheimer Report 2/15/21

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The Oppenheimer Report 2/8/21

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The Oppenheimer Report 2/1/21

I don’t know about you, but it seems to me that time is passing much faster these days. It seems as if I was just watching the Macy’s Day Thanksgiving parade, and now, it’s February. Bell had their mental health fundraiser last week, with the intention of raising money to promote the awareness of mental illness. Right now, I’m reading Dr. Sanjay Gupta’s book about the factors that exacerbate dementia. In the book, he strongly suggests that, along with attention to diet and exercise, an active social life is crucial to staving off cognitive impairment. How do we do that when we’re all being told to self-isolate. Right now, connecting with others is more important than ever.

Every Monday, I am reminded of that movie, “Groundhog Day” wherein Bill Murray’s character relives the exact same sequence of events day after day. My weeks have become a blur, largely punctuated by my activities on behalf of Hunters Bay Radio, and the shows I produce. Last week, I remember writing my Oppenheimer Report about cartoons, playing Super Jackpot Radio Bingo, having dinner, and going to bed. The next thing I know, it’s Thursday, and I’m airing Lyrical Workers. Then, it’s Sunday, and I’m producing ET’s Martini Music show. The sun has now set 7 times and here I am back to another Monday, writing yet another report. I am beginning to realize how traumatized by hopelessness I have become by the last 4 years. They've taken a toll on my sense of wellbeing.

I suppose I’ve been in a state of denial, which is now evaporating as hope once again creeps in. It all got real during ex-President Rump's reign. While that little Swedish girl was presciently warning us about the consequences of our apathy towards Mother Earth, and the latest mass shooting reminded me that there are a lot of sick people out there, I was so busy learning to embrace the latest abbreviated form of communication on my computer or phone, that I simply ignored the inhumanity. The irony is, there has been a complete breakdown in communication as communication becomes more widespread. I know human decency exists; I feel it every time I speak to a friend.

Remember the good old days, when everyone was more concerned about existential crises like climate change? Now, who will be paying attention if Florida sinks into the ocean as the polar ice caps melt? OK, maybe the people in Florida will. I heard a remarkable “statistic” the other night on the news with reference to the increased severity of fall hurricanes. I heard that more rain fell in Houston, Texas during Hurricane Harvey back in 2017 than flows over Niagara Falls in a year. Yikes! The universe has thrown mankind a real curveball, reminding us that we are ALL vulnerable to the laws of nature. That reality in turn affects our mental health. I am not immune, and I’m definitely feeling it this week. Thankfully, I have Shauna with whom to share my isolation. Time to make another “are-you-ok?” call to a friend, for my own sake, that is. I need to remind myself that we are not alone in all of this.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer ©2021 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 1/25/21

 

The other day, my cousin Harry Lehman III sent me an old photograph. The post was addressed “to the residents of Frostbite Falls”. That made me smile, because while growing up, my favourite cartoon characters were Rocky and Bullwinkle. I’ll come back to them in a minute. If you were anything like me, you watched a lot of cartoons when you were younger. What were your favourites? I watched them all, and still do on occasion. The fact is, I never really grew up. To this day, I still cannot resist watching a Bugs Bunny or Roadrunner cartoon. I despised that cocky Roadrunner, and I always identified with Wile E. Coyote. By the way, remember how Wile E. was always receiving packages from ACME? It occurs to me that he might have been the first Amazon customer. Remember Foghorn Leghorn, the outspoken rooster? I loved his zingers, “Ah say, Ah say, that boy is about as sharp as a bowling ball!” While I gravitated to the Warner Bros. animations, I also watched a lot of Hanna Barbera cartoons. Yogi Bear, Huckleberry Hound, The Flintstones, The Jetsons (which was essentially The Flintstones set in the future), Scooby-Doo (who bears some resemblance to Astro from the Jetsons); all those cartoons were on my preferred playlist.

Does anybody remember Clutch Cargo, his pal Spinner, and his trusty Dachshund Paddlefoot? I used to watch “Clutch Cargo”, although it was perhaps the worst animation ever to air on national television. I also used to watch Felix The Cat, usually when it aired on The Commander Tom Show, broadcast on WKBW (Channel 7) in Buffalo. It was not until recently that I learned how old that cartoon is. A few years ago, I was looking for a file photo of an old Macy’s Day Parade for a Thanksgiving report, and I found the very old photograph of a giant Felix The Cat parade balloon. Upon further investigation, I learned that Felix The Cat was created in 1919. I had no idea Felix was that old. The old Disney cartoons evoke my earliest memories. Everybody is familiar with Mickey Mouse, but do you remember his predecessor, Oswald The Lucky Rabbit? I do, vaguely.

As I said above, my all-time favourite cartoon is “The Adventures Of Rocky And Bullwinkle”. Developed by Alex Andersen, the show evolved from a pilot project that never aired. It was entitled, “The Frostbite Falls Revue”. Then, in collaboration with producer Jay Ward, the more famous and successful cartoon was born. Clearly, Andersen and Ward had children AND adults in mind when they created that show. Largely due to the genius of head writer Bill Scott, the cartoon series was destined to be a hit for many decades to come. I still love watching episodes when I can find them on TV. While the series only ran from 1959 to 1964, it has lived on in reruns. I adore the quirky characters. Fun facts: Bullwinkle was first known simply as “Canadian Moose” in the original Frostbite Falls pilot, and the name Bullwinkle was derived from a car dealership in Berkeley, California called Bullwinkel Motors. The associated cartoons: “Dudley Do-Right”, “Mr. Peabody’s Improbable History”, and of course, “Fractured Fairy Tales” were all wonderful as well. I particularly enjoyed the stuffy narration. I think it is very possible that the “adult” cartoons that are so popular today, shows like “The Simpsons” and “South Park”, drew their inspiration, at least in part, from the sarcasm and intelligence, the zany zen if you will, of "Moose and Squirrel". Ah, the good old days. I miss them, sometimes.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer ©2021 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 1/18/21

Evie Miller R.I.P

To live in the Near North, in all its bucolic splendor, is truly a blessing. It is one that I take less and less for granted these days. This morning I woke up, and as I do almost every day, I sat and ate my raison bran, contemplating the stark peace and beauty of our empty frozen lake. I took a series of deep breaths and reminded myself to take in the moment;  to pay attention to what is surrounding me.

I was talking to one of my musician friends yesterday, who has been clean and sober now for over a year, and she spoke of the peaks and troughs. We compared notes on our respective roller coaster rides, and we agreed that it is a day by day challenge. Not long ago, when I had everything at my fingertips, and I wanted for nothing, I was restless. Now, alone with my thoughts with nowhere to go, I sometimes get a tiny glimpse of perspective.  Anxiousness and stress have so corroded my quality of life, and it has been my focus on “information” that facilitated the decline. It’s a struggle for me to avoid looking at a screen, any screen. I’m so hard-wired to plug myself in to the tragedy of the day, the latest abysmal failure of mankind to let love reign. My first inclination every morning is to check my email, or my text messages, or to see who acknowledged my latest brain fart on Facebook. I, like so many others, jones for that narcissistic shot of self-affirmation.  

I have been trying to wean myself from all of that, but especially in lockdown, it’s hard. Shauna tells me she wants to be informed, to be apprised of the latest air pocket plunge in the human condition, but everywhere my screens forbode disaster. Chicken Littles are crying from every soapbox. If it isn’t Wolf Blitzer or Tucker Carlson spinning from their opposing political corners, it’s reports of another setback in the vaccine rollout, or further evidence that Mother Nature will soon have the last laugh. Today on TECH 5, one of my favorite segments on Hunter Bay Radio, octogenarian host Ben Harrison read a humourous poem about isolation. While it might be hard to believe that the subject could be humourous, the crazier it gets out there, the more inclined I am to search for humour in the commonality of our experience. This whole crazy mess we’re all in is a mind game, and in those rare moments when I get that a glimmer of perspective, I pause long enough to wonder if this wasn’t some kind of cosmic payback for all the times I’ve taken normalcy for granted. Shame on me. 

Last Saturday, I got a call from Bob Miller, one of my oldest and dearest friends from Buffalo, to inform me that his mom Eveyln had passed. While this was no great surprise, she was well into her 90s and had been declining for some time, I was saddened to hear the news. Evie was a dear friend, and the last surviving parent from my old neighbourhood in Buffalo. Her passing was also a subtle reminder to me of how fast 60+ years have passed. Her brother was the famous playwright, A.R. Gurney, author of “The Dining Room”, and Pulitzer Prize nominated “Love Letters”. Evie was a voracious reader, an intellectual, a lover of art, a good storyteller, and like all the Chapin Parkway moms I admired, she had a great sense of humour. Like my father’s, her humour was high brow and dry. I’ve had a good life so far, but it hasn’t all been bunnies and gumdrops. Nobody gets out of this dumpster fire alive, but I take great solace in the people who have shared my history, my experience. Whether your life has been hard or easy, the only thing that gives it meaning is the people with whom you share it.

Today, after writing this report, I’m going to kiss my wife, play with my crazy puppy, and read a little more of Sanjay Gupta’s new book about brain health. One thing I’m going to avoid at all costs is any more talking head nonsense about right wing, nutball, wannabe mercenaries, marinated in their skewed information about the status quo. I can’t sort out all of this chaos, and I certainly can’t fix everything that is broken. Still, I take solace in all the souls that know me and have ridden the roller coaster with me. Evie Miller, may you rest in peace. You, along with dozens of other positive role models, have in your own special way mentored me in love. Your may be gone, but I will always remember you, and your lessons live on.

The Oppenheimer Report 1/11/21

 

I’ve never been an American football fan by any stretch of the imagination, and in fact I’ve lost interest in all professional sports in the past 30 years. I used to be an avid Buffalo Sabres fan, and my family held seasons tickets for the Sabres home games from the time the franchise was formed in 1970. I was  there in the early 70s when they lost their first Stanly Cup playoffs to the Broad Street Bullies of Philadelphia. During one of those playoff games at Buffalo Memorial Auditorium, I watched Sabres center Jim Lorentz swat a bat out of the air with his stick in a pea soup fog. Sadly for its fans, The City of Good Neighbors rarely (if ever) makes the headlines as the champions. I used to follow the Bills, just because I was shamed into it by my Bills fan friends, but the Bills always broke our hearts. The last time the Bills came close to a Superbowl ring was in ’91, when Scott Norwood notoriously kicked a field goal wide right at the very end of a nail biter, and the Bills lost to the NY Giants by one measly point. You could hear the entire city groan; it was like watching Bambi’s mother die. The morning after that heartbreaking Sunday, there was a cartoon circulating the fax network throughout Buffalo, depicting Scott Norwood standing at a urinal and peeing wide right. The Bills would go on to make it the Superbowl for the next three consecutive years, but that Giants game was as closest they ever came to victory.  My late brother-in-law Jordan used to tease me. If someone failed at something, Jordan would say, “They’re as useless as the Bills in January.” Jump ahead to 2021, and the Buffalo Bills are making a bit of a comeback. They just won their first home playoff game in 25 years. Of course, the year they get hot is the year the sky is falling in America. I doubt people are as focused on pro sports as they once were. I’m happy the team is having a good year, and I’d like to see them do well, because I love the city where I grew up. Buffalo fans are among the hardiest in the country, and as a former Buffalonian, I take great pride in hearing that one of our teams did well.

Regarding what happened last week in the United States, I am of course saddened, but hardly surprised. Shauna and I were watching the certification of the electoral votes last Wednesday when it all went south. House Republicans threw their collective hail Mary pass to deny reality, and never in my life had I been so ashamed of the government of my homeland. That is a very low bar to set, given the events of the past 4 years. Written when Pumpkinhead was elected, my song “New Constitution” now seems eerily prescient. An alarming number of Republicans drank the Kool-Aid, on board to defy the U.S. Constitution in a futile effort to overrule the will of the American people. They are acting like spoiled children who did not get their way. It was bad enough watching that nonsense, but then to see an angry mob of wannabe-Vikings storm the Capital building, egged on by the now Twitter-banned, hate-filled leader of the insurrection, was the final straw. Enough is enough. Please put that sociopathic demagogue out of my misery! He is a bad man, a traitor in fact. Impeach him, again, and may he one day know the corrosive humiliation of history’s unbridled scorn.

America was built on the foundation of hope. I fear that foundation is cracking, but it has not yet collapsed. I hope my country can find its soul, for everybody’s sake. History has proven that it can. Nobody knows the future for sure. As for the Bills, they may not make Superbowl this year, but as long as they keep playing the game, there is still a hope and a prayer they will get it right and win.

- Written by Jamie Oppenheimer ©2021 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 1/4/21

 

 

Our 2021 got off to a bumpy start. We are not big New Year’s Eve celebrators. Typically, we stay home, fix a good dinner, and watch the televised ball drop in NYC, half asleep on the couch. We used to watch Dick Clarke’s Rockin’ New Years Eve show, but when Ryan Seabreeze took over, I lost interest. Now we watch the CNN version. Essentially, that consists of 3 hours of vacuous banter by Anderson Cooper and Andy Cohen. In case you missed it, they downed shots of tequila on the hour, then proceeded to giggle like kindergarten students making poopy jokes. Walter Cronkite must be turning over in his grave. I switched over to Seabreeze for a moment, when the schoolboys went to a commercial break, and was gobsmacked to hear what passes for pop music these days. Ugh. Finally, the ball dropped, and 2020 was officially over. We were proud of ourselves for having stayed awake for this momentous event.

 

Of course, the new year began with the traditional kiss with my wife. Immediately thereafter, we noticed that our little gremlin pup Sydney was acting strangely. She was chasing her tail, and, upon further investigation, we discovered that she had a “hanger” coming out of her butt. Of all the Miniature Schnauzers that have been a part of our family, Sydney is the worst for picking up and eating things she shouldn’t. When that item involves string or hair, we get hangers. In the past 7 months I’ve fished dozens of foreign objects out of our puppy’s mouth, including, but not limited to paper clips, rubber bands, pencils, slippers, socks, underwear, my guitar tuner; in short, anything that happens to drop on the floor. And she is fast. If I drop something and don’t snag it in less than 4 seconds, she’s got it and off she goes. She picks my pockets and is very fond of Kleenex. When she steals one, she then proudly scampers off, shaking it like it’s a dead animal. Short story long, after the first kiss of the year, 2021 began with me on my knees, fishing Kleenex out of our dog’s butt. It was like one of those never-ending scarf tricks that magicians perform. I have a friend whose Lab once swallowed an entire wiffle ball bat. She showed me the X-ray. How does a dog do that? I’d like to think Sydney will outgrow this Kleenex fixation, but I’m concerned. I know some people who live up here with a Newfoundland puppy, and the dog already weighs well over 100 Lbs. They have my sympathy. MUCH bigger hangers.

 

Anyhow, Happy New Year to my now thirteen loyal readers. There has been much speculation about what the future holds in store for all of us. If you consult one news source or another, you’ll get two completely different answers.  As I said in my last report of 2020, I made a habit of lampooning current events in my early years. Lately, I wouldn’t know where to start. The United States has become one big televised championship wrestling event.  When I began to write this report in 1992, I was cockier, and thought I knew right from wrong. I’m so turned around these days, and I’m just getting more and more confused.

 

While I am genuinely hopeful and confident that life will be better in the coming year, I know it all hinges on how we behave as human beings. A friend from Hunters Bay Radio once told me that he felt social media was the bane of mankind. The fact is, we don’t need to believe everything we read; that’s our choice. Somehow, social media has spawned a tornado of excrement so massive that no one knows how to break free. When someone points to an innocent man and publicly declares that the man is a child molester, it might be patently untrue, but the damage is done as soon as the accusation is made. We might think we don’t judge people unfairly, but it happens every day. The way “information” spreads these days, unfair judgment spreads like wildfire. Fear and hatred are as old as the hills, and right now, those two human characteristics are the enemy, not some self-absorbed, hamburger-hoovering troll with a combover.  

 

I think a lot of people expect 2021 to miraculously reverse the downward spiral of mankind, but I suspect it’s going to take more than a vaccine and a change of leadership. I don’t make New Year’s resolutions anymore. I take it day by day, but my ritual every morning is to down a shot of organic apple cider vinegar and make a toast to life, with the hope I can do more good than harm, to myself and others.  I do have an unselfish wish for mankind. Let’s get our act together, shall we? We are better than this.

 

Happy New Year everyone. May you feel less anxiety and maybe even some genuine contentment in the coming year. Sydney …NO! Don’t eat THAT!! Sorry, gotta go.

 

- Written by Jamie Oppenheimer ©2021 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED