The Oppenheimer Report 8/18/08

First of all, I need to acknowledge Shauna's 50th birthday, which took place last Thursday. Because of the insanity which has characterized our life over the past year (actually, the past three years), we chose a simple but meaningful celebration with immediate family. I think it was the right call, and I'm pretty sure Shauna had a good time.

Soul singer Isaac Hayes passed away last week at the age of 65. He penned a lot of good songs, and he was a definitive musical influence in the genre of soul music. In my opinion, the theme from “Shaft” was not one of his greatest efforts, but that is perhaps his most recognizable song. I have a great live recording of Hayes playing the Sands in Vegas, which I inherited from my late brother-in-law Jordan. I don’t think it added anything to the news story of Hayes’ demise to point out that he was found “collapsed next to his treadmill”. When I think of Isaac Hayes, I picture him donned in his badass chains and leather; I don’t want to picture one of the world’s coolest musicians, sprawled out on the carpet wearing some polyester gym suit, clutching a bottle of Gatorade. Indeed, there is no dignity in death, but I feel the reporting of a celebrity’s demise should be limited to that which killed him or her. Keep it brief and leave it to family and friends (or the National Enquirer) to reveal the details. Of course, there are exceptions to that rule. If, for instance, the celebrity is someone we collectively can’t stand, and his or her death was bizarre, then I want the details. If the once notorious Joey Buttafuoco should be squished into a pulpy mass of pureed fat and mangled organs by an auto wrecking machine, under questionable circumstances (read mob hit), by all means, give me the gory details. Comedian Bernie Mac also passed away last week, and he was only 52.

The Beijing Summer Olympics started a little over a week ago, and last week, I was so pre-occupied with a story about my own personal appearance, that I neglected to mention how impressed I was with the opening ceremonies. They were simply spectacular. This is a truly momentous event … China is being opened up – with obvious monitoring – for the world to see. Eager to eradicate the ominous specter of tank mashings in Tiananmen Square, and the reports of repressive censorship and human rights violations, China has a massive public relations opportunity to present herself as “just like the rest of us.” We all want to reassure ourselves that the world’s biggest economic force, and most formidable trading partner, is just as addicted to Big Macs and Chevys as the rest of us. Don’t we in the Western world secretly crave cultural homogeneity? Of course, Canada’s CBC covers the entire event, not just in bits and pieces like NBC. I particularly enjoyed hearing the Chinese national anthem … I think it’s entitled “March of the Volunteers”. Perhaps they should revise that title to include the adjective “mandatory”. Does anyone else wonder how a repressive communist country as strong as China, with as much economic influence as China has on the rest of the world, deals with the influences of the ever-expanding “free world”? Do westerners now become more repressive (some would argue we are already), or does China bend? At some point, a tsunami of information and free world permissiveness will wash over that country, and then perhaps the levee will break. I only hope it doesn’t result in a world war. Perhaps there will be no more world wars. Future conflicts may focus on economic hegemonies. When GM is swallowed up by some Chinese conglomerate, then it may be time to brush up on your Mandarin. Moo Shu Big Macs anyone?

Finally, I heard that there’s a new handbook being handed out to Catholic priests which outlines appropriate and inappropriate physical contact with children. I wonder if there is a handbook instructing the violators on how to undo the emotional devastation they cause when they abuse their young victims. Pats on the rump, bear hugs and kisses are among the examples of inappropriate behavior. Oh yes, sodomy is in there somewhere as well. Is it possible that a grown man does not understand that sodomizing a child is inappropriate behavior? I don’t think the handbook is going to stop the sodomizers … perhaps fear of castration might be a more effective deterrent.

Last note, a propos to nothing, if I have an aversion to snakes, does this mean I have a reptile dysfunction?

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2008 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 8/11/08

This has been a summer of significant change, and in keeping with that theme, the other day I shaved off the beard I have worn for the past ten or more years. I grew it one summer out in Banff, and I’ve had it ever since. People do all sorts of things to change their appearance; they change their hair style, or wear different clothing, fix their crooked teeth, buy a Ferrari. Change of appearance can be healthy, if only to mix things up a bit. Nothing is irreversible, right? Well, maybe a botched nose job. I never used to consider myself particularly vain, but of late I have been looking at myself a lot in the mirror, literally and figuratively. It’s strange how I could have looked at my face for all these years, and somehow have ignored my aging. When I grew the beard, it came in salt and pepper grey; I suppose that should have been a red flag. I have found that, from about thirty-five on, denial has been my constant companion. I bask in the embellished memories of my ill-spent youth, I have the emotional maturity of a sixteen year-old, and somehow, I have managed to ignore the old man staring back at me in the mirror for the past ten or more years. One day, about a week ago, that old man who looked back at me in the mirror looked like “Festus” from Gunsmoke, and that was a sobering, existential moment. I came to the abrupt realization that I am about twenty years older than I feel, and I no longer wanted to look any older than I have to. Shauna and her parents preferred me with a beard, but my parents have always hated it. Because I was going down to visit them a few weeks ago, I figured I’d use that as an excuse to finally present myself clean-shaven.

I suppose that one of the reasons I kept the beard for so long is that I am lazy. It is much easier to trim a beard twice a week than it is to shave daily. As well, having endured years of severe adolescent acne, I now have what my skin doctor euphemistically referred to as the “rugged look.” The rugged look makes shaving more of a challenge. I didn’t really think things through before I made this abrupt decision, and I suddenly realized that, after ten years, I no longer owned an electric shaver. Manual shaving on a regular basis is out of the question, because I do not enjoy walking around with bloody pieces of Kleenex stuck to my face. In ten years, I’ve probably gone through three electric beard trimmers, but haven’t owned a new electric shaver in perhaps twenty years. I did some reconnaissance at Shoppers Humongous Drug Store to investigate my electric shaver options, and experienced sticker shock. Any of their acceptable options were over one hundred-fifty bucks. Thank goodness for Wal-Mart, where I was able to procure a perfectly adequate floating head rechargeable shaver for just under sixty bucks.

Final notes on this momentous event. For some reason, which probably has something to do with narcissism, I presumed other people who know me would notice the change, but the reaction of peripheral friends and acquaintances was resoundingly apathetic. I assumed that this radical change in my appearance would elicit responses ranging from shock to awe, but no. Some people remarked that I had cut my hair. One person thought I had shaved off my mustache. Someone else noticed that I had gone bald. About fifteen years ago I did in fact go bald. Anyhow, I shaved my beard, the earth is still revolving on its axis, and the universe appears to be in tact. I wonder if anyone would notice if I pierced my nose with a fish hook and dyed what’s left of my hair green and yellow. Clearly a “Mohawk” is not an option.
Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2008 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 8/4/08

I don’t know if it was the high humidity and strange weather, or if there was something in the air, but last week was high stress and full of negative energy. Even the dog was nuts. It seems as if, now that we are coming down to the fit and finish stage of the house, very little is going as planned. Last Thursday, amidst frantic phone calls to rectify an incorrect materials order, and the discovery that all our pine flooring was randomly oversized, throwing off a carefully designed plank pattern, and a myriad of other disheartening surprises, scheduling conflicts, unexpected delays, etc., we got a call from our landlord in Burk’s Falls to let us know that August was our last month in this rented bungalow, because he’s decided to put it up for sale. We counted on being up here until our house was completed, and had been moving things up to this rental house over the summer. I sure don’t want to be carting everything back to the apartment in Toronto, only to have to bring it up again. After some begging and pleading, I may have convinced the landlord to allow us stay a little longer, by agreeing to let him show the house as he needs to. Still, if he cannot sell the house and secures a longer term tenant, we’re history with thirty days notice. To add to the stress, Shauna has some mysterious infection which was not eradicated by a first course of anti-biotic medicine, and she has been down for the count for about two weeks. We spoke to the doctor the other day, and may need to go back for another prescription. At present, we are a bit conflobbulated.

Always, after a week such as the one we just had, it is a good idea to pause, take a deep breath, remove ourselves from the immediacy of whatever minor problems we are addressing, and to remind ourselves how truly blessed we are and have been. None of these petty aggravations amount to a hill of beans; no one important to us is in the hospital, we have not lost our life savings in a flood, or a hurricane, or a tornado, we are not mourning the loss of the majority of our family in some senseless terrorist act, and we have both been raised in a loving and supportive family environment. In other words, we’re in the top 1 percentile of the luckiest people in the world.

I frequently listen to CBC radio talk shows when I’m in the basement workshop refinishing windows, dying hemp rope for wall trim, or one of the other creative projects I am doing in my spare time. The other day, there was a show dealing with the pursuit of and the myths surrounding happiness. Generally speaking, it seems clear that happiness has less to do with one’s circumstances than with one’s capability to adjust one’s attitude. An African man, who had endured unspeakable atrocities in his homeland and was now living in Montreal, had an amazingly upbeat perspective on his life. Alternatively, celebrities and people with “everything to live for” frequently self-destruct. The myth that fame and fortune are the benchmarks of happiness has historically proven to be untrue, but what does make us happy? Prozac? LSD? Dr. Phil? With all the figurative snake oil advertised out there, clearly there a lot of unhappy people in the world. In that CBC radio show I mentioned, it was proposed that North Americans are more materialistic than any other group. Will a Corvette make me happy … or a big log home on a lake? I know they won't, and I also know what will. Try and live my life un-intrusively. Don’t hurt anyone, and especially anyone I love. Be honest, with myself and with those around me. Periodically indulge in a random act of kindness to a stranger. Stay connected with the people and the world around me (something I have been woefully under-achieving of late). Learn to laugh at myself and life’s folly. Don’t take myself too seriously. Be charitable: to give love and wealth is more gratifying than to receive them. These are the bits of advice on happiness I have gleaned over my 52 years. Learning to practice them is another story. You can call it happiness, or contentment, or balance, or whatever label you choose. The fact remains; no one else can make it happen. I only hope I can learn to “walk the walk” before I leave this earth. I don't want to come back in the next life as fish bait. Karma's a bitch. At this very moment, I feel contentment, and it’s better than any intoxicant I’ve ever ingested. I wrote a song a while ago about this moment, and I called “Scrapbook”. The last verse and chorus are as follows:

“We’re at the table sipping coffee, silence fills the room/ Out on the lake we hear the calling of a distant loon/ And when our life turns difficult, as it will someday soon/ I’ll open up my scrapbook to this sunny afternoon … cho: Because I just want this moment to survive all our life/Something to hold on to every day of our life/ Carry us through all the trying times/ Capture the contentment, in the scrapbook of my mind..”

May we all find peace of mind and happiness in this life. I'm working on it!

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2008 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 7/28/08

Last Friday, I was down in Toronto to pick up the door hardware for the new house, and I decided to stay in town for the weekend. I figured that, while I was down in Toronto anyhow, I could visit Shauna’s parents and also drive down to Buffalo to see mine. As well, our good friend Bobby Cameron was in from Edmonton to perform in Toronto’s Beaches Jazz Festival, and I couldn’t pass up a chance to see him play again. I’d never been to the Beaches Jazz Festival before, and it was a blast. Basically, this is a huge series of street concerts, going on up and down Queen Street East, starting at Woodbine Ave.. Participating bands played everything from jazz and big band, to rock and R&B. Bobby was at the far end of the venue and, as I slowly made my way down the packed street to see his performance, I had the opportunity to check out many of the other bands. Some were average “weekend warrior” bar bands, but some of the bands were absolutely incredible. One Latin group really impressed me. When I finally made my way to Bobby’s spot, I was not disappointed. He had attracted a respectable audience, and I love seeing the newly converted as they catch Bobby’s act for the first time. He’s such an unusual and talented guitar player – very percussive – that he demands your attention. Anyhow, that was a lot of fun.

Further to last week’s discussion about songwriting, I decided to look up some song lyrics on the internet. There are some songs which I’ve been humming for thirty or forty years now, and I’ve never known the actual lyrics. I didn’t used to care, but since I began writing songs, around 1981, I’ve paid more attention to lyrics. Sometimes, to help me with my songwriting, I’ll learn a song I like, and this helps me with phrasing, alliteration, and creative expression in general. I used to play a lot of open mics, and in the early years I played some ridiculous cover tunes. One of them -- and I actually downloaded this song the other day -- was “Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini”. If you can perform a song like that in public, that is pretty much the acid test for one’s ability to jump off the figurative entertainment cliff. If you want to be an entertainer (which I’ve found I don’t) you must learn to embrace your humility. Anyhow, there are song lyrics I’ve never really understood, and so I looked them up. For instance there is a pop song by the new wave group The Vapors, called “Turning Japanese” and there is one line in that song I’ve never understood: “… Everyone avoids me like a (blank) lone ranger” .. I always thought the blank word was “cyclone”, which made no sense. In fact the adjective is “psyched” … which doesn’t make much more sense. In truth, there are lots of lyrics which don’t make sense to me … “If there’s a bustle in your hedge grove, don’t be alarmed now/ It’s just a spring clean for the May Queen …” What in heaven's name does that line from Led Zeppelin’s “Stairway to Heaven” mean? And don’t get me started on the Beatles. I like a lot of what the Beatles have written, but what the heck does “She came in through the bathroom window, protected by a silver spoon” mean? That line really bustles my hedge grove, if you know what I mean. Lyrics often take a back seat to the melody, and I used to be only interested in a song’s melodic hook. Now, the actual lyrics are more important to me.

When Bobby’s set was over on Friday night, I joined him for a few beers with some of his band mates, as well as a few other friends in the music industry. After a few beers I asked everyone to name their all time favorite song. They could not do it. I couldn’t do it either, because I have at least fifty favorite songs. There have been so many great songs written over time. “White Room”, “Mr. Bojangles”, “Tempted”, “I Will Follow”, “The Last Time I Saw Richard”, “Cold,Cold,Cold”, “13 Questions”, “Send in the Clowns”, “Tits and Ass”, “Danny’s Song”, “Everyday”, “Worn Out and Confused” ... these are a few of my widely diverse favorites. The funny thing is, most of the songs I like the best were never big hits. I wonder if my song “Swamp Queen” will ever get the recognition it deserves. Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2008 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 7/21/08

Of late, we have been starting out our day with a little music to accompany our breakfast coffee. When we lived in Toronto, mornings were always filled with the CNN disaster-du-jour, or the traffic report on City TV. Somehow, those sources of information are not quite as satisfying, and whereas they may seem germane to life in the big city, music is a generally more acceptable and uplifting alternative, especially in the bucolic calm of Mayberry-like Burk’s Falls. Rush hour in this town consists of a brief flurry of traffic just before the liquor store closes.

This morning, our musical selection was a female vocalist from Toronto by the name of Liberty Silver. Many years ago, Shauna and I heard her sing live at a small basement club in Yorkville, and we both fell in love with her pitch-perfect voice. Fame is ever-elusive and, to my knowledge, Liberty never hit the big time. Perhaps she never sought fame, but I am constantly amazed by the fact that, in the music industry, the spotlight so frequently shines on the wrong performers. How some vodka-hawking clown like Puff Doggie Daddy, or whatever his name is, can occupy a seat in the “made guy” category of the music mafia is beyond me, but there you have it. Fame and talent often travel in different universes, possibly commingling from time to time in the cosmic stew of cyberspace. I digress … one of the songs Liberty Silver covers is an old blues tune you’ve probably heard entitled “Ain’t Nobody’s Business”. Because I am a student of the craft of songwriting, I am interested to know who wrote or composed a popular song. I always assumed that “Ain’t Nobody’s Business” was penned by one of the more famous songwriters … Cole Porter or Ira Gershwin. I punched up the title on Google and found out that in fact the song was written by Porter Grainger and Everett Robbins. I never heard of either of those men, but Grainger used to be singer Bessie Smith’s accompianist. I’m guessing that, back in the 1920’s when the song was written, those two gentlemen made about as much money on that song as Puff Doggie spends on shoelaces in a week, and yet the song endures. It will likely continue to do so long after Doggie Daddy and his “art” have been awarded the anonymity they deserve. Further to the subject of songwriters …

In my blog-ography I give a “shout out” to Mars Bonfire for writing the hugely popular rock anthem “Born to be Wild”. I had for most of my rock-adoring life assumed that Steppenwolf lead man John Kay (born Joachim Fritz Krauledat) had written that hit, and it wasn’t until I saw the sheet music for the song that I discovered that Mars Bonfire was in fact the writer. Learning machine that I am, I then visited the self-proclaimed official Steppenwolf website to find out more. As it turns out, Mars Bonfire was a pen name for Dennis Edmonton, a former member of the band Sparrow, the original band from which Steppenwolf evolved. Are you losing interest yet? Co-incidentally, Dennis’ brother, Jerry Edmonton, was a co-founder of Steppenwolf. What I found most interesting about the Edmontons is that they were raised not too far from Toronto. John Kay was born in Germany, but had lived in Toronto for much of his early life. I lived in the city where the founder of Steppenwolf spent his formative years, and NEAR the home of the guy who penned one of the best rock anthems ever written! I stand on hallowed ground … Awesome dude …I am not worthy. Now you know more than you ever cared to about the band Steppenwolf, but my point - and I do have one - is that one song can launch a career. Singers and/or bands make songs famous, but someone had to WRITE the song in the first place. I don’t believe that most songwriters get the credit they deserve. Does anybody even know who John Prine was? Among other sings, he wrote “Angel from Montgomery”, one of my favorites. Did you know Leon Russell (pictured above) wrote the ever-popular “Masquerade”? Ever hear of Harry Warren? I wonder what the estate of Harry Warren earns in song royalties, as compared to say that chimp-loving hermaphrodite Michael Jackson … I’ll take a wild guess and say “not as much.”

Mars Bonfire … what a great pen name. Maybe I need a pen name … Felix Supernova … Alonzo Brushfire … Cormac Tsunami? Got any suggestions?


Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2008 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 7/14/08

At present, our little building project is being held hostage by a delinquent plumber who, for almost three weeks, has been promising to finish some of his plumbing work so that bathroom floors can be laid. Many of the contractors up here in cottage country are extremely busy in the summer season, and I can understand that our plumber might have taken on more work than he can handle. What bothers me most, other than the fact that this man is costing us time and money, is that on at least five occasions, he has broken a promise to perform his duties.

This has turned out to be a very strange summer in many respects. Up here in Burk’s Falls it has been a wet one, which has caused some problems on our job site. There is a mountain of clay left over from the basement excavation last May, and it needed to be off-loaded last week in order to make way for the excavation of the septic system. The builder bought a small building lot nearby which required fill. His reasoning was that, given the skyrocketing cost of diesel fuel, it made sense to buy a piece of land close to the job site which needed to be filled anyhow. He can improve the land and then sell it as a suitable building lot. Win win, right? The problem was that, when he started filling the lot with the clay from our site, the clay was so wet from all the rain that the bulldozer had difficulty spreading it. I watched some of that work and it was a wonder the dozer didn’t sink. I never really thought about it before, but soft ground is definitely a consideration when operating heavy machinery. It’s always something.

Not-So-Big Bertha hit Bermuda, reminding us that it is once again hurricane season in the Atlantic. I wonder if there will be another whopper like the storm that walloped New Orleans. One of the points made in that Lomborg book “Cool it” was that exponential population growth is making weather-related destruction more prevalent. Municipalities and especially developers don’t always pay close enough attention to the potentials for flooding and hurricane damage when deciding where and how development can occur. In their infinite wisdom, the town fathers of Burk’s Falls O.K.’d a bridge replacement over the Magnetawan River, a river, which opens into our lake. The trouble is, they built the bridge a bit lower instead of higher than the old one. With the heavy Spring runoff from all the snow last winter, the high water made it impossible for many boaters to pass under the new bridge and to access our lake. Oops. I went to the Doe Lake Association meeting a week or so ago, and the residents are, quite understandably upset by the oversight. Unfortunately, I doubt that their unanimous vote to demand that the bridge be raised two feet is going to have much influence on the Town Board.

The phone just rang. The plumber has decided to grace us with his presence, and it seems there is a problem with the stainless steel tubs. Three weeks ago would have been a better time to find this out, but so it goes.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2008 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 6-25-08

Comedian George Carlin died earlier this week and, for well over forty years, he was one of my favorite stand-up comics. Notorious for his famous “7 Words” routine, which tackles the sensitive issue of censorship, Carlin had a gift for pointing out the foolishness of censoring swear words. That “7 Words” routine got him in a lot of trouble, and I don’t really understand why. He could make us laugh at all of our bizarre circumlocutions, our euphemisms, our spin, our jive. In doing so, he laid bare the hypocrisy and/or ridiculousness of censorship. Arguably, some forms of censorship are advisable, but Carlin felt that society had gone too far in curbing free speech, and he used irony and sarcasm to poke fun at those who would protect us from ourselves. Indeed, he was the nemesis of the Moral Majority, and he and Jerry Falwell must be having a wonderful time debating the issues of free speech in heaven.

I’m reading a book right now entitled “Get Smarter” by Seymour Schulich. A friend handed it to me the other day, I think she was trying to give me a subtle hint. I assumed that this was another one of the eight million self-help books out there, but, as it turns out, the book is quite entertaining. Mr. Schulich, a self-proclaimed gazillionaire, spells out his advice for success in amusing and simple terms. I am a big fan of both amusing and simple. Much of his advice involves things I’ve heard before, and seems to be in synch with the Warren Buffet “less is more;” philosophy. Buffet, one of the wealthiest men, or perhaps the wealthiest man in America, doesn’t live in a palace, he doesn’t fly in a private jet, and he is in most ways not an extravagant man. Schulich speaks about the pitfalls of power, and two of the big ones are ego and drugs. He talks about the benefits of what he calls reciprocity; the give and take if the business world. Shauna employs the theory of reciprocity in every facet of her business dealings. Shulich tells a funny (allegedly true) story about Buffet going to a place of ill-repute in Nevada (maybe the Chicken Ranch … where “The customer always comes first”), and, while he was having a drink at the bar, one of the call girls came up to him and said “For $200 I’ll do anything you want me to”. Buffet looked up from his drink and said: Good … come over and paint my house”. Hee hee.

While Zimbabwe weathers her human rights violations, election scandals, and political storms; while the Midwest braces for more rain, and the Mississippi River continues to rise, busting levees and flooding communities (it’s rained almost every day in June up here in Burk’s Falls); while the “I” word (inflation) spreads across the global economic community, fueled by the high price of oil and the fallout from extensive real estate foreclosures, and while the Democrats and the Republicans mobilize for the big U.S. presidential election, Shauna and I are reaching the end of the decision-making phase of our log home project. Last week, we picked out most of our appliances and, after several modifications, including to the re-positioning of one fireplace, we have done about all we can to design this house. While much remains to be done, and while the pace seems at times to be excruciatingly slow, the house is, in our estimation beautiful and almost exactly what we’d envisioned. Thank you Thornton Group! Yesterday, I went over to the site to take pictures of the progress and, really for the first time, I could picture the finished product. They’ve begun to stain the lake side of the house now, and it is coming alive. They just started the stone work on one of the two fireplaces (which was reclaimed from the old cottage). As well, much of the interior wall covering is now up, and soon they will install the interior windows. I have refinished nine windows, salvaged from the old cottage and, like the reclaimed fireplace, we hope they will be a subtle reminder of the old incorporated into the new. Everybody asks the same question: “When will the house be finished?” We don’t know, but we know one thing. I’m sure the builder is as eager as we are for it to be completed. I know it will all be worth it in the end.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2008 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 6/10/08

Dad’s 98th birthday was a good time, and certainly for his kids. We did not go out to dinner, as Dad had hoped we would. He was not feeling energetic enough to do so. Instead, we had a delicious Italian dinner (Buffalo has great Italian food) at home. Most importantly, his wife and his kids were with him, in the house he’s lived in for almost half a century. I think he liked the digital picture frame I gave him although, like so many of these electronic gadgets, it is a bit user unfriendly. Its design is such that navigating the photos and changing settings is much harder than it should be, certainly for an old man. Still, it offers him a slide show of his long life so far; offering him some visual perspective when perhaps his perspective is eroding.

Shauna and I have been spending a lot of time in this little bungalow, making phone calls for Shauna’s business, dealing with insurance companies and banks, talking to our contractors, etc. There hasn’t been a lot of “down time”, and by the time the day is done, after a late dinner, we both retreat to our respective low aerobic activities. In Shauna’s case that might consist of surfing for music on the web or speaking on the telephone to one of her friends. For me, diversion usually consists of a beer, a bad movie, a glance at the newspaper, and/or a few hours of writing. Unfortunately, I have by now seen almost every crappy movie available on HBO, and I rarely watch network television (all my favorite, outrageously trashy reality programs are in reruns); therefore, I have begun to get my jollies traveling on the information highway. I’m not talking about surfing the Net, I’m talking about traveling to distant places. I have become a Google Earth explorer.

For those of you unfamiliar with Google Earth, it is a free service offered by the ever-expanding monster which is Google, and it offers the user the opportunity to employ satellite technology in order to view from above remote parts of the globe. I am told there are similar services offered by Microsoft as well. I simply go to the Google Earth site, where I am asked where I’d like to fly today. I can punch in “Athens, Greece” and with the tap of a key, I am flown to the Parthenon, and from there I can pan out or zoom in to points of interest around the country. I can fly over Palm Springs, California, or zoom in on my parent’s house in Buffalo, view the warehouse of our log supplier in Kamloops, B.C., check out the Sahara Desert … all with the touch of a key. Granted, the satellite imagery might not be as clear as what the CIA has to offer, but in many cases it is very good. Floating over the Aegean Sea, I can get a bird’s eye view of the island of Naxos, where I spent a couple of carefree days in the summer of ‘77, eating and drinking at waterfront café’s, sleeping on the beach, and observing Europe’s elite from a distance. At the time, I was probably worrying about how I would make $13.50 last for three days. In retrospect, those were some of the idyllic moments in my life, which are indelibly imprinted in my long term memory. Funny how certain pleasant memories become enhanced with time.

The other day, a thunderstorm rolled through Burk’s Falls, and for just a moment, the wind blew like a hurricane. Shauna and I thought that the house was going to blow apart. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but when Jasper and I went out for our evening constitutional, I noticed that there were tree branches and lawn furniture strewn about up and down the street. Someone’s T.V. antenna tower had blown over as well. In just a moment, so much can change. I wrote a song about change, three years ago, appropriately entitled “The Wind Begins to Blow”. The last verse reads: “…And time just seems to scatter 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 …cho: And the changes they are coming, this I surely know/ And outside, the wind begins to blow”. I’m watching the world change from Google Earth.
-Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2008 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 6/2/08

Last week, Shauna and I intended to spend our 14th wedding anniversary dining in our new log home. We thought it would be romantic to watch the sun set over the lake through the picture windows of our unfinished house. Absent the creature comforts of a finished (or even started) kitchen, we intended to “rough it”, ordering take-out from a better-than-average local restaurant. Unfortunately, things did not turn out as planned. I was to pick up food from a restaurant about fifteen minutes away, and we were going to take everything over to our unfinished house, and improvise for our dining room furniture. First of all, we got a late start, then, the restaurant screwed up our order, and finally, several other delays made our intended plan an ill-fated mission. Instead, we enjoyed a lovely dinner, by the romantic blue light of our television. In past years, we have celebrated our anniversary, decked out in our finest formal attire, dining at prestigious establishments in Banff, including the Banff Springs Hotel, and the Rimrock. In the past year, I believe I have put on a tie twice, and of late, almost without exception, I look like a something the cat dragged in. Perhaps this is the beginning of “phase two” of our marriage, wherein complacency and compromise (lack of hygiene?) become more common. I suppose that, after fourteen years of marriage, the lesson to be learned is that it is not how or where one spends one’s anniversary, but with whom. Shauna, if you read this, I still love you as much as the day we wed, probably more. I’ll never forget our 10th … we spent it at the remote and exclusive Mt. Assiniboine Lodge in the Canadian Rockies. From the roller coaster-like helicopter ride in (those mountain winds can really blow a little helicopter around) to the spectacular food and the wonderful mountain hikes, that was a weekend we will always remember. Shauna and I even wrote a song about it. We rarely collaborate in our songwriting efforts, and it is fitting that we wrote a pretty good song together, to commemorate our 10th.

For some reason, over the past several weeks, I have become more unusually pre-occupied with the past. Maybe it’s because my dad’s birthday is on Wednesday, and I feel strange about how little I’ve seen him of late. I don’t often buy him gifts, but this year, I bought him one of those electronic picture frames into which one can load over one hundred digital photographs. I loaded it with old family photographs dating back to the early 1900’s. There are snapshots of Dad as a child, sepia-toned photos of his sister, of his mom and dad, pictures of my sister’s wedding in 1971, pictures of my sister Joanne, who died when she was 13, photographs from family gatherings passed, friends and family still alive and long gone, pictures of grandchildren. Soon, there will be great grandchildren to photograph. Watching those snapshots flash by in 3 second intervals is a sobering reminder of the relentless march of time.

I don’t know where the last 14 years went; so much in our lives has changed. I still remember when I first met Shauna, and I recall listening to a Paco De Lucia tape in her car after our first dinner together. I remember what she was wearing and, even stranger for me, I recall what I was wearing. I remember many of the other details of that first date. I don’t really need a photograph to spark my memories of the important events in my life, but I suppose they help. There are so many snapshots, capturing so many moments, which have taken on more meaning with the passage of time. There are photos of my ill-spent youth, of friends with whom I’ve lost touch, of parties and family gatherings, of beloved pets. If I close my eyes, I can imagine that sepia-toned photograph of my paternal grandfather – the man I never met – come to life in the color of reality. I remember the day I wed Shauna, and I remember a sunny afternoon in Palm Springs, back when I was four or five, laughing as I rode on my father’s shoulders into the deep end of a pool. I’ve now been married for fourteen years, and my father will turn 98 on Wednesday. Happy Birthday Dad, we’re both in the deep end now.
- Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2008 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report

Today is a reality check. Last week, Tuesday the 13th was a very strange day up here in Armour Township. It was as if the Grim Reaper came for a brief visit and randomly plucked two residents from the earth. First, the father of the designer who works in our builder’s office died suddenly that morning as he was about to go to work. Then, last Tuesday at the end of the day, as I was preparing our dinner, all of a sudden, I noticed a lot of cars pulling up to the house across the street. Within minutes there was an ambulance and a lot of people running around back and forth, and a lot of (presumably) first responders going into and out of the house. Then a police car showed up. From their body English, I could see the mother who lived in the apartment looking visibly upset, holding her head, pacing back and forth, crying. I saw children hugging the mother, and finally, I saw paramedics wheel a man out of the house on a gurney, pumping his chest as they rushed him to the ambulance. He was the ex husband, and he simply keeled over. I understand he later died in the hospital.

Last week, I watched the video and reports from Burma of the Mayanmar typhoon disaster which has so far claimed around 100,000 lives and left countless others homeless and in peril of dying. I saw coverage about that big earthquake in China that killed so many thousands of victims and caused so much destruction. Closer to home, I heard about the tornadoes in the Midwest which had cut a deadly swath through so many communities. As de-sensitized as I have become to the human tragedy, watching so much of it unfold before me on television, somehow, watching the paramedics pumping that man’s chest really stabbed me in the heart.

Hillary is down for the count. She has that Al Gore never-say-die attitude. Put a bullet in the ol’ Winchester (figuratively speaking); time to put that old grey mare (in a pant suit) out of our misery. By the way, congratulations Hillary, you won most of the blue collar vote in West Virginia. You may even, if you can claw Obama’s numbers back a little and turn a few not-so-super delegates, have a cold chance in hell of winning the Democratic nod. So then what? Your party is divided, and you will go down in history as the candidate deemed so pre-occupied with her own lust for power, that she inadvertently hobbled her party’s chances of winning what should have been a shoe-in for the Democratic nominee. I can’t wait to see how this one plays out. Now she flip flops and wants the votes in Florida and Michigan to count, because now those votes might work in her favor?! Atta girl.

Our little Jasper turned three last Sunday and we rented “Shrek” at her request. She loves Shrek. She also loves the old Benji-like dog across the street and I believe wants to have a tryst with him. She has a thing for older men. Iron Man made $150Million in its first few weeks. Dimitri Medevev is Putin’s new stooge in Russia, and the Penguins are in the Stanley Cup Finals. Too bad Canada lost that nail biter to the Russians, but they gave it the old college try. One penalty in overtime cost them the game. Not much progress on the house this past week; everyone was sick, including Shauna and I.
Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2008 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 5/12/08

My friend Bob bought me an IPod Touch portable music device last year as a gift, and I can’t believe how much I use that thing. It is now my main source of music and I have stored about 10 gigs of my musical collection on it. The great thing about it is that I can move from one location to another, and take a good deal of my record collection with me. For those of you unfamiliar with the amount of music 10 gigs represents, I have well over three hundred albums on that little machine, and it is about the size of a deck of cards. Yes, I concede, I have reluctantly shaken hands with the Great Satan which is downloadable music.

One of the great things about digital technology, and one of the things I thought I’d never embrace, is the ability to go online and shop for single songs and out-of-print albums. No longer am I forced to buy an entire album in order to buy the song I want; almost any song I desire is available through ITunes for the nominal fee of 99 cents. I’ve been having a ball, racking my brain for all the esoteric pop hits I’d love to add to my collection. Take for instance “Lil’ Red Riding Hood” by Sam the Sham and the Pharos, or “All Right Now” by the 70’s band Free … or “The Purple People Eater” by Sheb Wooley. Indeed there are some strange pop songs in my collection, but each one of those songs conjures up a memory from my distant past, and I cherish those memories. In many cases, the bands were “one hit wonders”, and I have no interest in listening to their other songs. I believe back in the 60’s, songwriter Jerry Jeff Walker (the guy who wrote “Mr. Bojangles”) was in a band called Circus Maximus for a nanosecond. Despite its obviously botched studio recording, there is a song on that album entitled “The Wind” which I have always loved. I’ve had a scratchy tape-recorded analog copy of the song for twenty-five years, but the other day I was able to download a clean copy of the song from ITunes. The rest of the Circus Maximus album (I’m guessing they only put out the one album) is absolutely awful, but “The Wind” is a haunting, rambling, jazz-influenced piece that has always moved me with its beautiful melody. I can remember listening to a guy named Jim Santella back in the late Sixties on Buffalo’s only real FM alternative music radio station, and he used to play that song a lot. I have at least one hundred pop songs in mind that I’d love to add to my collection. As an amateur songwriter myself, I try to extract what it is about these songs that hooked me, hoping one day to incorporate some of that musical magnetism into one of my songs.

Time to go. Today, we will hopefully put in our slate order, and we have plumbing issues with which to deal as well. Let’s see, what might get me in the mood … think I’ll put on “Spill the Wine” by Eric Burden and War … there are two versions of the song, but the best copy was produced with War. And, by the way, the Cisco Kid was not a friend of mine.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2008 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 5/6/08

Notes from the past month …
4/15/08 - I was watching my new favorite reality television program tonight – CNN’s “Little Polygamist on the Prairie” – and I must give CNN credit. As members of the Democratic Party gnaw off their own limbs to extricate themselves from their own rhetorical excrement, CNN has chosen to cover the bigger story: some Americans live in sin. This Mormon scandal dealing with the FLDS sect in Texas has shone a spotlight on all those fornicating polygamists. Is it religious persecution, or is it a felony … and what about the children?! Egads! Look for the spinoffs: “Desperate Sister Housewives”, “Cheaper by the Village”, and “Swapping Multiple Wives”.

4/28/08 – Up here in the Great White North, the recent warm weather caused the Magnetawan River to overflow her banks, flooding much of the surrounding land. The water level on Little Doe Lake (where our house is being built) rose several feet and the subsequent movement of ice in the lake took out our retractable dock. Indeed Nature can be a mother, just ask the residents of New Brunswick, who were recently plagued by devastating floods. Luckily, our new home is on high ground, but there has been significant water erosion and damage in the near vicinity. To rub salt into the wound, as Shauna and I returned from Toronto last Wednesday, we encountered a whiteout snowstorm on Hwy 11 north of Gravenhurst. I thought April Fool’s Day was at the beginning of the month.

5/5/08 – Watching “Market Call” this morning as we got ready to drive over to the construction site, I noticed a little blurb in the lower right corner of that too-much-news-to-digest channel, and it read “4000 killed in typhoon, 3000 more missing”. I didn’t catch the location, but it’s somewhere in Burma.Yikes! By the end of the day, the death toll was up to 20,000. That little tragedy probably won’t even make the front page of the papers in America, but I guarantee you this … if Reverend Wright puts forth any more of his creative opinions on racial division in America, we will hear about those ad nauseam.

Our house is progressing, slowly but surely, and many of the major decisions have now been made. We passed the one year point a week or two ago, but I’m not disappointed or surprised that the house has taken longer than anticipated to construct. As a custom build, this house has provided many surprises along the way, but we feel that the builder has been more than cooperative and successful in achieving the vision of our (largely Shauna’s) design. There were several last minute alterations to the floor plan which, of course, gives any builder fits. In all cases, we’ve made alterations before frame walls were constructed, and, while mildly inconvenient, our changes have been relatively minor. In the original plan, there was an entire log truss which was to be covered by a frame wall, and that seemed absurd. We went to great pains to reveal as much log as we could in this house, keeping in mind that wiring and plumbing must be hidden in some kind of frame structure. Our objective has always been to show as much of the architectural beauty of the log structure as possible. To that end, I think we have succeeded. Pictures cannot adequately describe the emotional lift we feel every time we walk into this house. It offers lake views from almost any vantage point, it captures the western lodge look we so strove to achieve, and it may very well be the best built house in the entire area. There is absolutely no drywall in this house. It has always seemed odd to Shauna and me that so many round log homes incorporate drywall, because, not only does that look incongruous, but when the building shrinks, as all log houses invariably do, the walls separate from the log, leaving clearly visible gaps. While this problem can be addressed with moldings, after the movement has occurred, we felt it was much less apparent when wood wall coverings are used. While there may be a thing or two we’d have changed in the original conception of the house, I don’t think either of us are the least bit disappointed in the way our home is shaping up. Quite the contrary, we are delighted that so much has turned out exactly as we had hoped.

If Shauna ever lets me near the computer, I’ll resume my duties as your twisted correspondent. As of today, there are still plenty of loose ends to be tied up and, in many cases, our mode of communication is email. Thank heavens for high speed … when we move in to the new house, we’ll be back to the molasses of dial up.
Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2008 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 4/16/08

Dear Readers ... I wrote the following entry a few weeks ago, and never got around to posting it. I hope to be back to my weekly blogs in a few weeks. Fairly soon, all decisions regarding the new house will be out of our hands, and hopefully we can resume something resembling a normal life. Thanks for reading! Jamie

4/1/08 - Happy April Fools Day! For my part, I called up the drug dealers across the street and told them they’d won a refrigerator. You should have seen them outside in the frigid air (play on words) waiting for their appliance in their tee shirts. Hee hee.

Recently, I saw a funny commercial advertising some cell phone company. In it, a guy was walking down the feminine napkin aisle of a store, looking appropriately puzzled, holding his cell phone (with video capability) up to the selections, so that his wife, on the other end of the line, could make her decidedly personal choice. I wonder how many husbands really do this for their wives. I do, because I adore my wife, and because, out of necessity, I do most of the shopping for our family.

The other day, I was in the above-mentioned and much-reviled-by-men aisle of a supermarket in Huntsville, without the benefits of video capability on my cell phone, and found myself in a similar situation. Shauna wanted to try some new product for which she’d received a sample, and she tried to describe the package to me over the phone. The problem is that, if you’ve ever been in the no man’s land of feminine napkins, you know that the possibilities are mind-numbing. There I stood in front of a veritable mountain range of different brands, so stacked as to look like the same product … but noooo! Each one is subtly different. In the “Always” brand alone, there must have been twenty different options from which to choose. There I was, in that supermarket, looking for that which Shauna had requested, and I became distracted by the Always panty liner selections. I began reading off the various characteristics of those panty liners, out loud, into my cell phone, in front of puzzled passers-by, and finally, it got so ridiculous, that Shauna and I both broke into hysterical laughter. Would we prefer the Always, Super Maxi Thin panty liners in short, medium, long, or how-the-heck-big-IS-your-crotch-lady? Do we want the fresh-scented (as opposed to what …rotting Autumn leaves … garlic breath?), unscented, or fumigated … Dri-Weave (as opposed to swampy and porous??) … Comfort Plus Security? No thanks, I’ll settle for the uncomfortable, regular “you-snooze-you-lose”, take your chances ones which, by the way, WILL leak, probably while you’re in your car on a major thoroughfare, in between rest stops? Do you want to feel like the cold refreshing blast of a mountain wind, dancing through our hair, or the gentle whisper of a summer-fresh breeze? What schmuck gets paid to dream up this hyperbolic nonsense? And then there are different shapes. There is even a thong panty liner, which begs the obvious question, WHY for heaven’s sake, would you wear a thong if you require a panty liner??!!! In what universe are you residing, if you think this could be even remotely sexy. I wonder if Monica Lewinsky wore thong panty liners when she had her little trysts with Bill. I think not! There is of course the trusty “regular” style, and my favorite: the extra honking, humungous, covers the most real estate, and looks-like-a-giant-quilted-manhole cover, panty liner, for the serious leaker. If I were a woman, I would not be caught dead at the checkout counter with something like that. I’d get my presumably much smaller husband to buy them for me . Those puppies look like they are designed to hold a litre of Coke. My feeling is that, if you need a panty liner that is THAT heavy duty, it’s time to consider adult diapers, because you, my friend, are in denial. I had some helpful suggestions for Always … limit the choices, and change your packaging. Don’t make the “Always Hemorrhoids” look exactly like the “Always Incontinent”, which in turn looks like the Always “Menapusal”. I find myself plagued with more questions than answers. How does a woman choose … panty liners, tampons, napkins, diapers … corks? Final observation: Why is it that the more disgusting the function of a product, the more deceiving is the packaging? Panty liners are designed to soak up urine, blood, and heaven knows what else. Would not the colors red and brown be more appropriate signature colors; pink with daisies and hummingbirds is somewhat misleading.

Anyhow, I may insist that Shauna come with me the next time, purchase a six month supply of whatever product she so desires, and NEVER be faced with this humiliating dilemma again. Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2008 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report Oldie (1/20/96)

Well I’ll tell you, I was shocked when I heard “Chimp Boy” and Donut Man’s daughter are finally going to make it legal.... it’s splitsville after twenty-two months of marital bliss. Who’d a thunk! Why, they just made a music video together ... what more definitive proclamation of everlasting love could there be??

The lawyers will fight like wolverines over who gets the iron lung and the amusement rides. I heard Lisa Marie is about to receive a $300 million delayed inheritance from her daddy’s estate, so, if I were her, which, admittedly, I am not, I would cut bait and send that hermaphrodite back to trolling the schoolyards. Don’t be greedy Lisa, your gender is still definable. Quit while you’re ahead!

This whole thing is going to rock Bubbles. That ape was already cruisin’ for a crash before this happened. I wouldn’t be surprised if this divorce pushes the world’s most famous flower chimp over the edge. She (it is a “she” right? it’s so hard to tell in that family) just got out of the Cheetah Clinic for Recovering Showbiz Chimps... following that much-publicized cocaine binge at Johnny Depp’s Viper Club .... did you read about that? Bubbles and Melanie Griffith were caught by the LAPD, coked out of their gourds, and speeding down Sunset Blvd. in Bubbles’ Shelby Cobra at 123 MPH. Luckily, there was a riot curfew, and no one else was on the streets that night. Bubbles even tried to bribe the cop. Welcome to the Pee Wee Herman Hall of Fame, hair butt, take your place next to Hugh Grant.

What else is news? Comedian George Burns turned 100 last week. He looks pretty good, it must be the cigars.

Someone conducted a poll last week and found that 74% of Americans surveyed felt Hillary Clinton lied in her Whitewater testimony. O.K. .... next subject. I put this in the category of “cheating on your income taxes” . If I want “War and Peace”, I’ll read the book. You media guys...can’t you find something a little juicier around which to circle? Tell me Bill was a former Grand Wizard of the KKK and maybe I’ll divert my attention from the stack of Geraldo shows I’ve taped, but haven’t yet watched. I am much more interested in whether or not that mud-wrestling transvestite clergyman reconciles with his alcoholic child-molesting father... inquiring minds want to know. Also, I hear that in 1996, there will be a Geraldo special on Jimmy Hoffa. You guessed it, they’re going to excavate Meadowlands “In Search of Hoffa’s Remains”... eight hours of unedited suspense. I’m taping that for sure. Let’s give Geraldo a hand for being on the cutting edge of journalistic experimentation. Maybe we should even give him a foot, he’s earned it.

Speaking of dismemberment, the O.J. jurors are making the rounds. I saw three of them on Larry King Live the other night, promoting their new book tour. Given what they now know, they say they might have arrived at a different verdict. Why have we not heard anything from the dog lately? Where is the dog? Did you know that O.J. is producing the dog’s video ... “Stinky’s Story” .... so, not only will he rake in the rubles on his own “I-Didn’t-Do-It” video, but now he can play the “dog card” too. Face it, O.J.’s played all of us. I feel so dirty ... but I will buy it .... I buy all of it .... regularly.
Written by Jamie Oppenheimer ©1996 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 3/17/08

Friends and readers …

Throughout this building process, many people, including Shauna and I, have joked about the project being hard on our marriage.“ If the marriage survives, we’ll end up with a beautiful home”, I have quipped more than once. The truth is, Shauna has been a wonderful partner in all of this, and we continue to share a unique vision for this dream home which is now more than half completed. But we both realize that it is now “crunch time”, when we will need to be even more focused on completing this home as we’d imagined it to be. If I value my marriage, which I do, then I must basically give up anything unrelated to the house indefinitely. Much as I love to write this report weekly, I find we are too busy and distracted now for me to indulge in this selfish writing exercise. For the next several weeks, I’ll be playing some of my favorite reruns; reports that 99 per cent of you have never read. Remember, I’ve written over 600 of these things since 1992. For any of you who do read the report, I thank you for indulging me, and hope you will still be tuning in to my miscellaneous grumblings for years to come. Without further ado, here’s an oldie but goodie …

The Oppenheimer Report 6/6/99 –

We have a movie dilemma tonight ... I want to watch Attack of the Killer Shrews, but my wife wants to watch “Night of the Twisters.” Tough call. I’ve been flipping back and forth between the two movies and I have to say, the killer shrew movie looks pretty good. I came in late, but it seems these four guys and one woman are stranded on this island which is inhabited by a bunch of giant mutant shrew things with poisonous saliva and mambo hooked canines that are about three times as long as their pointy snouts. They used to be tiny like mice but, as so often happens in these movies, someone screwed up in the laboratory, and before you know it, you’ve got giant mutant flesh-eating rodents surrounding your island, multiplying like rabbits. Oops. As if this isn’t enough plot to chew on, there is even a romantic sub-plot thrown in, for comic relief. The killer tornado movie would be OK, but it’s on the Family Network. For me, this is the kiss of death. How can I expect to see a cow flung into a light standard at three hundred miles per hour and sliced in half, or any of the other bizarre violence caused by tornadoes, on a network which regularly shows Dean Jones movies and reruns of Lassie. Lassie would never let a cow die like that. On MY score card it=s tornado movie - 0, shrew movie - 1. Of course, my wife will make the shrew movie unwatchable with her cries of disgust and disapproval, so I guess we’re watching the stupid, sanitized, Mickey Mouse tornado movie.

Writer Joe Bob Briggs has (or had) a show called “Joe Bob Briggs Drive-In Theater” in which he airs crappy movies, such as the afore-mentioned shrew flick, and he always begins each movie with a discussion about why that movie got the Joe Bob thumbs up or down. He had a rating system which essentially took two variables into consideration: breast count and body count. The number of naked breasts and/or dead bodies logged in a movie is directly proportional to Joe Bob’s enthusiasm about that movie. Obviously Joe Bob’s Drive-in Theater had more of a guy following than a girl following. I love crappy movies, but to achieve the Jim Bob Oppenheimer seal of approval, the movie cannot just be bad; it must be atrocious.

One of my all time favorite crappy movies is a movie I saw years ago with my friend Bob. It’s called “Night of the Zombies”, and let’s face it, any movie with the word “zombie” in the title can’t be all bad. It began almost immediately with someone chowing down on someone else’s arm, and went downhill from there. Absolutely no attempt was made to establish any kind of a plot, theme, or even temporal continuity. This film did not pretend to be “about” anything; it was simply a film of people tearing the flesh off other people’s bodies and eating it. What was particularly bizarre about this monumentally awful film was that, dubbed in at completely inappropriate moments, were 1-2 minute clips of nature scenes. One minute we were watching some screaming victim with a baseball bat, beating off a blood-soaked zombie who was trying to eat his leg, and then suddenly, we’re watching a flock of Canadian geese flying out of a marsh. This went on throughout the movie, and seriously eroded the continuity of the film. Marlin Perkins might have enjoyed it, but for Jim Bob the film critic, this flaw knocked a perfect “ten” down to a dubious “eight.” Anyhow, I’ve got to go now, this tornado movie is picking up ... an old lady was just flung two hundred yards into a stack of hay. There haven’t been any naked breasts, and only one person has died so far, but I’ll take what I can get. It’s certainly no shrew movie.
- Jamie Oppenheimer

The Oppenheimer Report 3/5/08

Our dog Jasper has been acting rather strangely of late. I’m not sure whether her actions are merely a cry for attention, or whether they indicate some latent creative talent she is trying desperately to communicate. Several times over the past few weeks she has uncharacteristically peed on the rug, and each of these “accidents” has been uniquely artistic. Her last urination perfectly replicated the head of a schnauzer and the accident before that clearly depicted a map of Italy. If there is another “mistake” and it turns out to be in the shape of say, Rodin’s “The Thinker” or some other such famous work of art, then I will know we have a genius for a pet. Perhaps her carpets will hang in the Louvre some day. I can dream, can’t I? If in fact this behavior is a cry for more attention, well, nice try girlie, but three walks per day and fifteen minutes of play time is all you’re going to get. Deal with it.

This week’s report is late for a reason; my laptop hard drive crashed and we scrambled madly to recover the data quickly, as all our house building information is on this computer. Thankfully, Zura, our computer wizard, was able to recover both the data and the hard drive. It was a sickening feeling I felt as I turned my computer on the other day, to a blue screen displaying a bunch of technical gobbledygook about hives and memory dumping. This, I have discovered, was not a good thing, and basically indicated that my hard drive was lunchmeat. I do back up most of my data files, but I was two weeks behind when this happened, and much has transpired over the past two weeks. It is apparently a bit more difficult to back up the actual emails and internet information we have amassed over the past year. All the hardware settings, etc. can be saved, but someone with more expertise than I have is required to plug them all back in properly. There is probably some simple program that will dump a mirror of everything onto another drive, but I’m not sure how to use it. As I have said many times before, I have absolutely no interest in fiddling with computers; I merely want to use them, without the myriad of problems I seem to face on a regular basis.

How ‘bout them primaries? Defying the predictions of the all- knowing media, Hillary has clawed her way back, kicking and fighting all the way. The Democratic nominee could very likely be determined by super delegates. Will it be that Al Gore becomes the tie breaker in the Obama/Clinton standoff? Yikes … how ironical! Hey, don’t laugh at MY English … last night I heard political correspondent Candy Crowley utter these words: “It’s not that big OF a deal.” My Canadian wife has been asking me questions about our American electoral system, and I feel like an ignoramus. Why, for instance, do some states caucus and others use primary elections … why do states like Texas employ both? Why do Democrats use super delegates but the GOP’s do not? I can’t explain any of this to her, or why the electoral college is fairer method of determining a winner than is the popular vote. I understand how it is supposed to work, but I doubt the founding fathers expected presidential elections to be determined by the Supreme Court, as happened when Gore lost to Bush. There is something strange about losing an election when one wins the popular vote. This Democratic primary race is beginning to look as if it will dredge up the same ugly questions. Perhaps we should draw straws … you know, give Ralph Nader a better chance. I’m going out to the pet store now to see if I can find an apple core hat for my dog the artist.
Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2008 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 2/25/08

The other day, I made my first purchase from EBay. I bought a clock with a face depicting an Al Capp (creator of the L’il Abner comic strip) illustration from an old Wildroot Hair Cream ad. Wildroot was my maternal grandfather’s company, and I thought it might be interesting to have this memento, albeit a cheap modern knockoff off the real thing. A long time ago, when Al Capp was hired by my grandfather to illustrate for Wildroot ads, Mr. Capp drew two L’il Abner pen and ink sketches for Grampy, dedicated to my two sisters Jill and Joanne. One depicts Mammy Yoakum, and the other is a sketch of L’il Abner. Those two drawings hung in my parents’ house for years, until one day, during a high school party my sister threw, the one entitled “Jill’s Mammy Yoakum” was stolen, probably as a stupid prank. Although it probably has much more sentimental value to us than monetary value to someone else, I doubt we’ll ever recover that sketch. I still have the “Joanne’s L’il Abner” sketch, and because it is dedicated to my deceased sister, it has great value to me.

As we build this new home up north, it occurs to me how much I have collected so far in my short life. While I am fortunate to have so much “stuff”, these days, I find that I’m looking for ways to simplify my life a bit. I once berated my mother for throwing out my entire model car collection in one of her cleaning frenzies. In fact, had she not done so, I’d probably still be agonizing over where to store all that plastic junk. These days, I am a little more selective about the mementoes I retain. When Shauna’s brother passed away many years ago, we were charged with the task of cleaning out his condo down in Florida. That sad exercise made me realize how true is the old adage, “You can’t take it with you”. What are we to do with the plastic drink cups saved from past Miami Dolphins SuperBowl? Somewhere in our larder there sits an unopened box of “Flutie Flakes” … presumably retained for its unique value to a cereal box collector. I used to collect very old postcards of Buffalo and Crystal Beach. I now have so many now that I can’t put them all in albums. The good news is that they have essentially quadrupled in value over the past fifteen years, but so what … I’ll never sell them. Now I’ve shaken hands with the Great eBay Satan, and I’m hooked. The other day, I found myself perusing 3,000 options for antique copper bowls. We’re looking for one to serve as the sink for a vanity we are designing. Maybe I can trade someone for a Miami Dolphins Superbowl beer cup. One thing is for sure … I’m not giving up that L’il Abner sketch.
Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2008 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 2/18/08

A week ago last Saturday, I drove down to nearby Kearney, Ontario to attend my first dogsled race. Our builder is one of the coordinators of the race, an annual event in Kearney, and I thought I’d show my support. This is in fact an international race, and, to my surprise, there is actually a Jamaican dog sled team. I laughed when I heard about the Olympic bobsled team, and now I find they have a dogsled racing team. Training must be a challenge. What’s next, curling? The promoters of the race put out a little magazine with information about the race, and one of the sponsor ads had a photo of Husky, muzzle up, and baying. The caption read: “Don’t worry, be yappy!”

I arrived in Kearney on Saturday afternoon, just in time for the 4km purebred race. As I walked up to the community center, command central, it became apparent that this dogsled race was no small event. There were lots of people, kennel trucks parked everywhere, the omnipresent sound of dogs yapping, and mushers were busy hitching their teams to sleds for the upcoming race. Our general contractor, Wayne Thornton greeted me, showed me around the grounds, and then walked me as far as the starting line so I could get a clear view of the teams as they took off. Teams were staggered in two minute intervals, and I was able to stand several yards away from the mushers as they raced by. As the course essentially began and ended at the same narrow starting line, there were some close calls as mushers heading out had to be alert to the avoid collisions with the mushers heading in. Steering a team of dogs is a bit more complicated than steering a car, and much of that is achieved through verbal commands. In addition to the dogsled races, there were other events as well. Out on a nearby lake, the local fire department demonstrated the rescue procedure for a victim who had fallen through the ice. There was a wood carver shaping a bear with a chain saw out of a cedar log (our bears are nicer!). There was live music, plenty of food and drink, and I was able to indulge in MY favorite pastime: people watching. Mushers are a colorful bunch and I had a great time. I’d like to attend the Kearney dogsled races next year as well, hopefully with Shauna in tow.

Work on the house seems to be progressing well, despite the horrendous weather conditions. The last section of the roof deck was laid last Friday, shortly after the insulators finished blowing spray foam in between the 10 inch structural JSI’s which separate our ceiling from our roof deck. We hope that this week, weather-permitting, the roofers will finish installing the steel roof. As of this writing, the wind is blowing strong, and the roads are glare ice. Our lighting designer, James Solecki, was on site all last week as well, drilling holes and installing pot light cans for the 200+ pot lights which will in large part light our home. Because dark wood stain apparently eats light, and our house is stained dark, proper lighting is essential. I have respect for people who can properly light a challenging space; it’s harder than it may look. As I have said all along, a custom design is difficult to picture in two dimensions. Many of our decisions have necessarily been made on the fly as the house is built. Even with the aid of three dimensional design software, which our builder has thankfully provided, and which has been extremely helpful in modifying our floor plan before construction, it is hard to really visualize the space until the logs are up. So far, I am not disappointed, and that is due, in large part, to Shauna’s perseverance. I burned out long ago, and my job at present is to ensure that she doesn’t end up in a padded cell, mumbling gibberish about pedestal sinks.

We’re in the home stretch now, and that is when things begin to get really crazy. Plumbing fixtures are the latest investigation which continues to confound us. There are simply too many choices for everything. Internet companies like Fixture Warehouse, and Faucets.com offer thousands of options for everything form showers to kitchen faucets. I used to laugh at those haughty designers on HGTV, throwing hissy fits about incompatible bathroom fixtures, and now we find ourselves immersed in this bizarre trivia. Rockstar Obama is building momentum, some mentally ill gunman killed five students at Northern Illinois University, there was an explosion killing eighty victims in Afghanistan, Vlad Putin wants to restart the Cold War … meanwhile, Shauna and I are embroiled in a much more serious debate: traditional vs. modern for the bathroom faucets? Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2008 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 1/29/08

When we embarked on this journey towards the completion of our log home, over two years ago, Shauna did her usual copious research and investigated dozens of log home options. The process made us a little apprehensive, because the more we read and researched, the more questions we had. There have been volumes written on the subject of log home construction, with thousands of caveats and horror stories. Our very first glimmer of hope came from a salesman named Dave Schemenauer from Neville Log Homes in Kamloops, British Columbia. I remember the day Shauna first spoke to him on the phone, and the enthusiasm with which she recounted to me his helpful and educational explanation of what we could expect to experience during the construction of our log home. It was his capable assistance that sold us on a Neville Log Home, and we have never been sorry about our choice. He has been a constant source of information and guidance throughout the process, and much of what he forewarned us came to pass. Round log packages vary from manufacturer to manufacturer, and in some cases, what differentiates one company from another is the level of customer service. Long after we had paid for our log package (about a year after we started talking to Dave), when he could have legitimately told us to “move on”, he remained available to us, patiently addressing our many concerns, always willing to offer his two cents worth for the custom log home he’d helped us to design. Indicative of his personal touch, Dave even took the 2 1/2 hour drive up from Toronto last autumn to make a personal inspection of our unfinished house, while he was in Toronto for a home show. In short, Dave Schemenauer has been and continues to be a good friend to Shauna and me.

Several weeks ago – before Christmas I believe – we got a call from Dave to inform us that a package would be arriving by Greyhound bus “sometime soon”. He was rather mysterious about what the package contained, but implied that it was bigger than a bread box. After some delays, Dave called us last week and told us it would arrive soon, which it did. Shauna and I picked it up in Huntsville last Tuesday. It came in the form of two, somewhat cylindrical 75 Lb. cardboard packages which stood about 4 feet high. When we got them home, and unwrapped them, it turned out that Dave’s gift to us was two upright bears carved out of (I believe) Western Red Cedar, and there was a third item as well: a sign which reads “Welcome to Jasper Bark Lodge”. The bears are sign posts (see photo above). Needless to say, Shauna and I were amazed and delighted by the gift. When we called him to thank him for his generosity, he asked us to give him a call when we’d named them.

The timing of these bears is propitious. Yesterday, the final valley log was placed and the last portion of our roof is well along the way to being covered. Weather permitting (hah!), our house should be completely covered by this time next week. As well, yesterday, the roofer and his crew arrived and began installing the steel roof. As of today, much has been accomplished and that metal roof looks great. We are learning that, where construction is concerned, there are sometimes long periods wherein it seems as if little is accomplished, then, two days later, everything is different. This log home project is suddenly beginning to look like a house, and a beautiful one at that. Hold your horses Jamie … we still have the windows to install, the fireplaces to build, more stone to lay on the turrets, interior walls to frame and side, the kitchen and bathrooms to install, the floor to lay, the plumbing and HVAC to install, a LOT of staining to do, etc. etc. This build has been a real roller coaster ride, but for the first time, we can see a light at the end of the tunnel. Thanks, as always, to the Thornton Group, for being the fantastic builders they are, and thank you, Dave Schemenauer, for your consistent generosity. Our bears, “Shem” & “Nauer” may be welcoming guests to the Jasper Bark Lodge sooner rather than later.
Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2008 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 1/21/08

Did you ever see that journal spoof on the Internet wherein the naive resident, new to an area which received massive amounts of snow, began his entries reveling in the bucolic beauty of his winter wonderland? Gradually, he became more and more negative with each successive day of snowfall, and by about the fourth week, he was cursing the snow as he became increasingly (and I love this expression) shack whacky. A few weeks ago, I was joking about how I was ardently resisting the temptation to buy a snow blower. For the past few days, we have been getting dumped upon up here in the lovely community of Burk’s Falls. Last Friday, we awoke to a foot of the white stuff and, no problem, I dug us out. Saturday, the same thing happened, and again, no problem. No sooner did I finish that vigorous 30 minutes of shoveling, when we received a third dumping. I’m still O.K. with this, and will likely grudgingly continue my manual snow removal routine throughout this winter, if only to reinforce how lovely it will be to have a snow blower next year.

As a tease, I bought a copy of the local “Buy and Sell” swap sheet the other day, and looked into various exotic snow removal options. I can buy a slightly used 1953 Ford tractor that “runs good” for only $1800. All I need to do is buy a plow for the front. Another option is to buy a beater truck with a V-8 and a snowplow attachment. The problem with those rigs is that I wouldn’t know how warn out the truck is … a little sawdust goes a long way to disguising a bad transmission. My favorite option is a 4 wheel drive ATV with a snow blower attachment. The great part about that option is that I can use the ATV as a (fun to use) utility vehicle during the summer months as well. Glenn, our great building project supervisor and my resident expert on all things mechanical, assures me that I need one with at least a 400 cc motor. I’m thinking 700 ccs would be better. That way, I could plow snow at 40 MPH, or pull my car out of a ditch.

Actor Heath Ledger, perhaps most famous for his leading role in the controversial movie “Brokeback Mountain” (homosexual cowboys? - who knew?), is dead at 28. I’m guessing it wasn’t the Ambien. In U.S. Politics, Hillary and Rock Star Obama got into a cat fight at the last Democratic debate in South Carolina. As I predicted months ago, when it seemed as if George Bush would drive even the most ardent Republicans over to the donkeys, the Democrats seem to exhibit an irrepressible tendency for self-destruction. Yesterday’s debate confirmed that theory, and it is ironic that John Edwards, the candidate with a cold chance in h-ll of being nominated, appeared to have taken the high road as the two front-runners gnawed each other to political death. The Toronto Maple Leafs fired their GM, John Ferguson, and being cautiously optimistic, as are all Leafs fans, I hope that the new guy will point the Leafs in the right direction. Hey guys, just get us into the playoffs for a change. Finally, our great carpenters are working on the last of four “valley logs” for the roof structure, meaning that, perhaps within a week to ten days, the house will be completely covered from above. Most of the casement windows have been repaired or replaced, and are nearby being stained, and exterior doors are on order. The house won’t be finished any time soon, but perhaps in the near future, we will be able to camp out on the floor! Gotta go now, Shauna and I are about to have what I’m sure will be a 3-hour discussion about how random we want our random-width, random-length pine floor planks to be.
Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2008 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 1/14/08

During the winter, I like to ice skate. When we were living in Toronto, I skated on the outdoor rink next to City Hall, and that was fun. In general, I prefer to skate on outdoor rinks, but up here in Burk’s Falls, there is an indoor arena within walking distance of our rental home. Open skating is free, and I try to get over there once a week. These days, my exercise consists mainly of walking the dog, and walking into town to pick up the newspaper. Ice skating is a better way to burn some calories. Yesterday, I went over for my weekly skate, and there was a sign out in front of the arena advertising that the Burk’s Falls Winterfest was taking place inside. I’m always up for an adventure, so I went inside. I was greeted by one of the members of the Town council, asking me for two bucks; a small price to pay in order to attend this entertainment bonanza. For my money, I received a “Pete the Bear” admission pin. Pete used to be a Burk’s Falls mascot, before he succumbed to the evils of drugs and rock ‘n roll. There were a lot of people in the arena, but most of them were milling about eating french fries and hotdogs. I put on my ear buds, cranked up the Pink Floyd, and began my rigorous 20 minute workout on the ice. The few skaters that were on the ice were tiny tots on double runners, moms, dads, and a small gang of reckless ten year-olds. I find that latter group particularly challenging, because their actions are so unpredictable. I skated for a while, dodging adolescent obstacles and weaving around the slower skaters. I was quite proud of myself because, not to be immodest, I felt I was a much better skater than most of the ten year-olds out there. When I was about ready to take my last lap, I noticed that one of the mothers was handing out gift bags to various kids, prizes I suppose for winning a race or something. I thought that was nice. As I was getting ready to skate off the ice, I heard someone behind me calling “Sir … hello! … sir! …” and it was one of the mothers, chasing after me with a gift bag in her hand. I took off my earphones, and she said to me, and I quote: “We’re giving out a prize to the youngest and oldest person out on the ice today, and we’ve decided you’re the oldest.” I thought perhaps I was going to win a prize for being a good skater, but it was because I was, in their estimation, the oldest skater out there. I didn’t know exactly how to feel about that – it appeared to me as if some of the other people out on the ice might have been older than I, but I politely, if reluctantly, accepted the gift. I guess it’s official: I’m old.

Months ago, I mentioned that I’d finally had a proper demo made of one of my songs. That song is “Strange Holiday” and if you’re interested, you can click on the “Jamie’s Songs” link on this blog site and check it out on MySpace Music. The song is performed by my friend Bobby Cameron, and I hope you’ll give it a listen; Bobby’s got a great voice, and boy, can he play the guitar. He’s also a good songwriter in his own right, and I feel honored that he agreed to cover one of my tunes. I’m not sure you’ll find my songs on ITunes anytime soon, but one never knows.

It never ceases to amaze me how ridiculous the news media can be when it comes to covering just about anything. Last week, I listened to much of the drivel about the “washed up” careers of several primary candidates in the States, and my question is this: how can someone decide that a candidate is washed up after only two primaries? So far, almost all the experts have been dead wrong in their predictions, and the only refreshing part about that is the fact that the voters have proven that, regardless of what the overtly manipulative media try to put forth, voters seem to be voting their conscience, for better or for worse. Obama and Clinton have turned into a bit of a horse race, which I never saw coming. Perhaps a dark horse will emerge as the next president of the United States. How does President Kucinich sound to you? Now that I am an unofficial member of AARP, I wonder who the “fossil-friendly” candidates are. Oldest person on the ice…jeesh!

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 1/7/08

We watched some of the coverage of the Iowa caucuses last week, as well as the New Hampshire debates (Republican and Democratic). It’s amazing what one will watch when there is a writer’s strike on. I wonder what David Letterman offered his writers in order to bring them back. Though I do not know what the issues are in this latest strike, I am glad that people are made to recognize how important a writer’s contribution is, not only to television, but to movies, and music. So often, I think the front line performers receive the lion’s share of the credit.

In desperate need of some levity, the other night, I tried to name all of the cartoon characters I remember from my youth, dating back to the very old Looney Tunes. The trigger for this exercise was listening to an old blues song which featured a Hammond organ. That reminded me of the theme from an old cartoon I used to watch called “Q.T. Hush”. Q.T. Hush and his sidekick Shamus were animated K-9 versions of Sherlock Holmes and his companion Watson. Does anybody remember “Clutch Cargo”, perhaps the most poorly animated popular cartoon in history? My hands down favorite cartoon characters are the creations of Jay Ward, Alex Anderson, and Bill Ward: Rocky the Flying Squirrel (a.k.a Rocket J. Squirrel) and Bullwinkle J. Moose, and to this day, I still love watching those cartoons. Remember Shermon and Mr. Peabody, the Wayback Machine, Fractured Fairy Tales, Boris Badenov, Natasha Fatale, Fearless Leader? In the Town of Banff, many of the streets are named after animals, and there is actually an intersection of Moose and Squirrel. I always thought it would be fun to live at that corner. Let’s see how many other cartoon characters I can summon up (in no particular order) : Huckleberry Hound, Augie Doggie, Doggie Daddy, Quickdraw McGraw, Baba Looey, Foghorn Leghorn, Felix the Cat, Master Cylinder, The Jetsons (George, Mary, Judy, Elmo, Rosie, Astro, Mr. Spacely), The Flintstones (Fred, Wilma, Barney, Betty, Pebbles, Bam Bam, Dino), Porky Pig, Bugs Bunny, Donald Duck, Goofy, Pluto, Yosemite Sam, Elmer Fudd, Daffy Duck, Mickey and Minnie Mouse, Tom and Jerry, Wile E. Coyote, Road Runner, Tweedy Bird, Sylvester the Cat, Pepe Le Pew, Space Ghost, Jonny Quest, Dr. Benton Quest, Hadji, Bandit, Race Bannon, Beanie and Cecil, Casper the Friendly Ghost, Scooby-Doo, Shaggy, Huey, Dewey, & Louie, Underdog, Yogi Bear, BooBoo Bear, Top Cat, Droopy Dog, Hong Kong Phooey, George of the Jungle, Magilla Gorilla, Chip and Dale, Alvin and the Chipmunks, Baby Huey, Woody Woodpecker, Speedy Gonzales, The Tasmanian Devil, Dudley DoRight, Horse, Nell, Snidely Whiplash, Inspector Fenwick (Nell’s dad), Mr. Magoo … and that’s off the top of my head. I’m sure I’ve forgotten plenty of good ones. Cartoons played an important part in my twisted development, and I still enjoy watching them today. Jasper does too; sometimes, we all watch Saturday morning cartoons together. She has developed my fondness for Moose and Squirrel.

Fun Facts: Walter Lantz, creator of Woody the Woodpecker, penned his first cartoon character, Dinky Doodle, back in 1924. Frostbite Falls, home of Rocky and Bullwinkle, was based on the Town of International Falls, Minnesota, located near the Canadian border. International Falls was once called “The Icebox of America.” “The Frostbite Falls Review” was the predecessor to the Rocky and Bullwinkle Show, and included many characters later cut from the roster. Google “Hanna Barbera” or “Looney Tunes” or “Rocky and Bullwinkle” if you too wish to take a trip down cartoon memory lane. If you ask me, it beats evaluating the increasingly irresponsible attack ads influencing the upcoming primaries.
- Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2007 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED