The Oppenheimer Report - 3/28/11

I spoke too soon about the imminence of Spring, as Toronto got smacked with a healthy dose of snow and cold last week. For me, this time of year is always the ball buster, because we have the tease of Spring and then we go back to Winter for a week or two. This is the last time I trust a groundhog. Yesterday, the Juno Awards, Canada’s answer to the Grammys, were held at the Air Canada Centre in Toronto. There is always a lot of buzz the week before the Juno’s and this being the 40th Anniversary, a lot of big names in Canadian music were in town for the event. Last Saturday I rode my bike down to Queen Street to immerse myself in the fandemonium. I thought perhaps I'd bump into Neil Young (who was honored at this year’s ceremony) or Joni Mitchell walking down the street. Disappointed by my failed attempt at stargazing I found myself wandering around in the legendary Steve‘s Music, drooling over recording equipment. I have a rather large collection of rock photographs taken in the 60s and 70s, and within that collection are quite a few photos taken of past Junos. Back when Gordan Lighfoot, Anne Murray (yuck), and the Guess Who were popular, it was a much less elaborate affair. I thought this year’s Juno Awards ceremony was quite entertaining.



Radiation has showed up in spinach and milk produced near the Fukushima Dai-ishi Nuclear Power Plant in Japan. It’s also showing up in the drinking water. I can’t help feeling that any elevated levels of radiation is a bad thing, but I know very little about this threat. Somebody on the news said we’d have to eat two pounds of the tainted spinach per day for a year to recognize any significant risk, but is that an accurate assessment of the danger, and who really knows for sure? How much radiation do North Americans unwittingly absorb talking on their cell phones? I try to use those hands free thingies whenever I can. I’m also a little skeptical of the experts in North America who say that a nuclear disaster like Fukushima can never happen here. It is sobering to note that America still has no long term plan in place to dispose of the countless tons of nuclear waste generated by her approximately 100 plants presently on line. Somehow, I have managed to ignore that all this waste is now stored on site. Yucca Mountain in Nevada was supposed to be a solution, until Obama scuttled that project, at least for the time being. Nobody wants high level nuclear waste in their backyard, but we all want the electricity. Perhaps this is why we’re so interested in the Middle East; let’s bury it in the desert. Remember the good old days when our president didn’t even know how to pronounce the word n-u-c-l-e-a-r? The other night Letterman was ranting with uncharacteristic zeal against a proposed 20 year license renewal for the aging Indian Point Nuclear Power Plant, situated on the Hudson River about 38 miles north of Manhattan. And what about all those plants in earthquake-prone California? Clearly the time has come to figure this out or come up with a viable alternative source of energy. Like the majority of other concerned Americans, I will now proceed to bury my head in the sand.



And in the Great White North … after a vote of no confidence last week in the Canadian Parliament, Prime Minister Stephen Harper and the Conservative Party may no longer at the helm of the good ship Beaver. Because they never had a majority, they never really were in control anyhow. Now, from my admittedly limited grasp of Canadian politics, and parliamentary procedure in general, there will be an election in early May, something most Canadians probably feel is a waste of money. I think this will backfire on the opposition parties who called for the no confidence vote in the first place. Right now it looks like Harper and the Conservatives might win a majority vote simply because the opposition does not appear all that capable to lead. The Liberals have had their share of troubles, and their baby-kissing leader Michael Ignatieff comes across as a bit of an a-hole. Nobody wants those separatist bastards from Bloc Quebecois or the commies from the NDP to get their paws on all the power and money. The fear is that a coalition of the other three parties will be worse for Canada than the status quo. Harper will use this fear-mongering approach that once worked so well for the elephants in the U.S. The devil you know.



And finally, Dame Elizabeth Taylor died of congestive heart failure last week at the age of 79. She was married eight times, although I’m not sure that Larry guy with the earring really counts. He was more of a rental. She kind of downsized after Richard Burton. Seriously though, the woman did a lot of good things, including her founding of the Elizabeth Taylor AIDS Foundation. Zsa Zsa, you’re next.



Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2011 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 3/15/11

I was down in Buffalo when I heard the news about the huge earthquake and resulting tsunami in Japan. Of course, as soon as I turned on the television, there were ten or twenty videos depicting the enormity of the quake and the subsequent devastation from the ten meter high wall of water it created. I heard they’re now upgrading the measurement of the quake from an 8.9 to a 9 on the Richter Scale. Yikes! One video showed a large cargo ship sitting in the middle of a street, a mile from shore. Another showed a river of cars and broken buildings flowing rapidly through a city center. The only word that comes to my mind is “incredible”. Every time I look at the pictures from one of these natural disasters, I wonder how the victims will ever recover. As of last night, there are three nuclear reactors in peril, and one that appears to be melting down as I write this. Of course this catastrophe will play into the hands of those who oppose nuclear energy, but how often does a natural disaster of this scale occur … every thousand years? Talk about Murphy’s Law! And what IS the viable alternative to feed the world’s insatiable demand for electricity? Windmills and solar panels only generate a fraction of power required. In so many of these natural disasters -- the Kobe quake back in 1995, Hurricanes Andrew and Katrina, the quake-generated tidal wave in Indonesia back in 2004, the quake in Haiti last year -- the destruction is unfathomable to me. Not being from an earthquake-prone area, I never really thought about the damage a tsunami can do until I saw the results of that quake in Indonesia, and now this latest quake in Northern Japan. Of course, whenever there is a disaster of this magnitude I, the consummate scholar, do my usual anemic and unsubstantiated internet research on the subject, this time having to do with tsunamis. While most quakes apparently occur in the Pacific, in 1929 (before or after the stock market crash?) there was a quake-generated tsunami on the east coast of North America. Though it caused nowhere near the destruction that this most recent tsunami caused, it did hammer the coast of Newfoundland with waves up to 23 feet, there were 28 casualties, and there were reports of tidal waves as far south as South Carolina. I’m guessing that a 25 foot tidal wave might do some serious damage to Manhattan, or Boston, or Washington D.C. What are the chances? Who really knows? Clearly, this is a crisis requiring international assistance. I thought to my naïve self, isn’t this what the militaries of the world should be doing; not killing men, women, and children, but fighting our common enemy, Mother Nature? She’ll kick our ass and cull the herd in the end, but it wouldn’t hurt to put up a fight. Free oil for every victim rescued. Dream on Jamie.



A moment of silence for legendary Buffalo Sabre Rick Martin, who died Sunday, apparently of a heart attack while driving his car. He was only 59. Martin, or “Ricco” as he was nicknamed when he was part of the famous “French Connection” back in the 70s, had a blistering slap shot. He wasn’t pretty to watch, as was his line mate Gilbert Perrault, but he sure could score goals. That was back in the good old days when the Sabres franchise was in its infancy, and when hardly any players wore helmets. Last Sunday night I was lucky enough to attend the Sabres home game (they beat Ottawa 6-4, but had lost to the Leafs the night before), and after the game the whole team pointed their sticks towards Martin’s number hanging from the rafters. The Sabres have a new owner, Terry Pegula, and he may be the deep pocket that will once again elevate the Sabres to be Stanley Cup contenders. We’ve come close a few times. Notice I say “we”? I am still a closet Leafs fan, don’t get me wrong, but as usual the Leafs choked again this year. They only started to get hot when it was too late to matter. They’re out for this year, but mark my words, they’re getting better and they’ve got a couple of very exciting young players. Next year if they can stay healthy, I think they‘ll make the playoffs for sure. For now, GO SABRES! O.K., so I’m a “Hockey Ho” … I’ve got to root for somebody!



My heart goes out to the people of Japan, and today I will make a contribution to the International Red Cross to assist in the relief effort. How much can one country endure?



Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2011 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 3/6/11

I watched the Oscars last week, as I do every year, and I have to say that hands down, that was the most boring, pathetic awards ceremony I can ever remember. Ann Hathaway and James Franco sucked beets as co-hosts and the whole ceremony lacked anything resembling entertainment. Even David Letterman’s legendary flop years ago was not this bad. The only highlight for me was hearing Melissa Leo, the winner of Best Supporting Actress for her role in “The Fighter”, spit out the “F” word on television. Here in wild and uncensored Canada, they didn’t bleep it out. Heavens to Betsy was I surprised! Particularly underwhelming to me were the nominees for best song. I think even Randy Newman was a little surprised that he won. Bring back Billy Crystal next year as the host or I’m switching back to reality television. Last night we rented “The Social Network” the movie  that won for Best Adapted Screenplay. I can see why Zuckerberg might have been a little offended by his portrayal, but I think Aaron Sorkin told an interesting story.
　
Far more entertaining for me this week was the well-documented Charlie Sheen meltdown. I listened to a few of his many televised interviews, and the guy looks strung out. I suppose it’s sad to watch these celebrity train wrecks, and I don’t know why I soak them up with such glee - it probably has something to do with the fact that I am mean and judgmental - but Sheen wins the Golden Coke Spoon Award. Stand back Amy Winehouse, there’s a new substance abuser in town. I especially liked the interview wherein he proclaimed that CBS should now pay him $3 Million per show because of what they “put him through”. “Two and a Half Men” will likely tank, or find a new Charlie (John Stamos is rumored to be an option) and that could reportedly cost CBS in the vicinity of $1 Billion. If he doesn’t overdose, or succumb to some other prostitute-packed misadventure, Charlie will perhaps wake up from his narcissistic coma just about in time to make the first crappy big budget flop that some opportunistic Hollywood producer throws his way. I’m guessing his TV days are numbered. I remember when David Caruso left “NYPD Blue” with a rather high opinion of his value to that show. I think it was long time before he found work again, and I think he was somewhat more contrite the second time around. To listen to Sheen, you’d think he was some kind of superhero. Coke Man, tabloid sensation and party animal. Naked, wasted, and disoriented in a restaurant bathroom with a hooker? No scandal is too humiliating for Coke Man. Talk about Hollywood hubris gone mad. The guy needs a reality check and a good therapist, or publicist, before his career is permanently over. I think most viewers will tolerate a celebrity a-hole as long as he or she produces good work, but I also think it is clear to everyone that Charlie has hit the wall. I suppose that what annoys me most about these high profile crash and burns is they remind me of all the talented underachievers I’ve ever encountered in my life, mostly from my school years, whose mediocre efforts were ten times better than anything I could ever hope to accomplish. When talented or brilliant people squander their talents, I don’t pity them, I despise them, especially when they do it so publicly.

Final note on the subject of career suicide … Ex-Christian Dior designer John Galliano got canned recently for his anti-Semitic rant in a Paris bar. Said he loves Hitler. Really, who says that? As offensive as his comments were, it’s rather hard to take a man seriously who looks like one of those bad Jack Sparrow imitators you see at a kid’s birthday party. Jew Haters of the Caribbean. And to you Oscar people who screwed up so badly this year, I’m not proud of the fact that I live my desperately mundane life in anticipation of the annual Hollywood high of the Academy Awards. Don’t disappoint me again or I’ll stop watching. That'll show you.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2011 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 2/28/11

It’s the end of February and I’m doing my best to embrace winter. Last week for the first time I took the ATV out onto the frozen lake and zoomed around a bit. I’ve seen others venture out on their snowmobiles, but I waited until I was sure it was safe. I made it as far as the middle lake, about a mile from our house, then chickened out. Even though the ice is about 18 inches thick, the middle of a frozen lake is not where I want to be, alone and calling for help. I got off my vehicle to take some video and, out of the swirling snow came the world’s oldest snowmobile heading towards me, driven by some codger twenty years my senior. Suddenly, I didn’t feel so adventuresome. As I slipped on my ass, he came putting by me and waved, slow and steady, winning the race. Get off your ass, Grasshopper.


My cousin Al is in the movie business and he sent me a few DVDs of projects in which he has been involved over the years. One of those films is a documentary called “Trumbo” and it deals with the famous and extremely gifted Hollywood screenwriter, Dalton Trumbo. Trumbo had his life and his career scuttled when he was declared a commie along with the rest of the “Hollywood Ten” by those myopic idiots known as the Committee for Un-American Activities in Washington. He and many of his colleagues were subsequently blacklisted by Hollywood and that dark stain on American history ruined many lives. The documentary is based on a play by the writer’s son, Christopher Trumbo, and among other things features various contemporary movie stars reading letters Trumbo wrote throughout his tumultuous life. What moved me most about the film, other than the exposition of the horrible wrong done to him and the others, was the fact that Dalton Trumbo was a remarkable writer. His letters to friends and family were simply incredible, and they beautifully facilitate the telling of his story. I’ve said many times in this report that I fear that communication skills are eroding in our society. Gone are the days when people actually sit down, organize their thoughts, and write a long letter. I cringe whenever I hear a news anchor say something like “It’s not that big of a deal” or use the word “appraised” when they really mean “apprised”. These days diction is fiction, and grammar is something you learn (or don’t) in 2nd grade, then disregard. My father had a good command of the English language, and he was a better than average writer. He was witty and funny, and I always loved receiving written correspondence from him. I probably aspire to improve my writing skills because of my dad. I see great, albeit not necessarily pecuniary, rewards in being able to communicate effectively. It is because of Dalton Trumbo’s exceptional ability to communicate that I found his story so interesting. The Lohans and the Sheens of today’s overindulged and often over-compensated Hollywood would have buckled under a fraction of the injustice and disgrace Dalton Trumbo endured, and over which he ultimately prevailed. BTW, how about that Charlie Sheen … quite the moron, eh?



The uprisings that have been occurring throughout the Middle East and Northern Africa are fascinating to me, but as usual I’m afraid Western journalists do not do those struggles justice. Whenever I read an article on the web, I’m interested to then read the email threads reacting to the article, sometimes written by residents of the country in question. I’m not sure these opinionated comments paint accurate picture of the issues at hand, but they do provide an alternative point of view. Egypt, Bahrain, Libya, and Tunisia are entirely different situations, and it is clear that, where the U.S. has a strategic interest in the country, the reporting is often skewed. Indeed, the more I read about the Arab World, the less I understand. I delude myself into thinking that if I get several perspectives on an issue, I might be a little closer to the truth. Not since the fall of the Berlin Wall have I seen events unfolding with such historical significance. I am more than a little curious to see how all of this will play out, to see which countries will embrace freedom and which ones will succumb to some other form of tyranny. Simply because the people get rid of one tyrant does not ensure their peace or freedom; look at Somalia. I wouldn’t be planning any sailing trips near the Gulf of Aden anytime soon. Those Somali pirates are murderous thugs, as four American sailors recently found out. I’m pretty sure of one thing: Libyan leader Muammar Gaddafi is not playing with a full deck (is it spelled with a “Q” or a “G”?) . I remember that the guy was a few spices short of a ghoulash back in the early 90’s. I watched a little of a recent TV interview with Gaddafi, and he looks like he’s tripping on acid, the drug he accused his protesters of taking. Perhaps he should switch to Ecstasy. While nobody wants Scarface running their country, this guy might be tough to oust. He’s got piles of oil money and he seems oblivious to Western reprisal. I think the only way we’ll see him disappear is if one of his own generals puts a bullet in his head, not entirely unlikely as he becomes increasingly unhinged.

Spring is just around the corner ... a groundhog told me so.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2011 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 2/21/11

Two popular leaders

Of course I watched the Grammys a week ago last Sunday night, if only to remind myself how out of touch I have become with the trends in popular music. Notable to me were the facts that over-hyped Canadian child superstar Justin Bieber didn’t win bupkiss, and Arcade Fire, a Canadian alternative rock band from Montreal, won for album of the year (The Suburbs). I’m not very familiar with that band, though I did see them perform on SNL last year. Watching their performance on the Grammys, it was difficult to see why they were deemed worthy of the award, but to play the devil’s advocate, it’s tough for me to judge any band by its performance on television. I will say that the onstage bicycle stunts and wild light show did nothing for me. Give me a pair of headphones and an hour to listen to the band without distractions and I’ll let you know what I think. It does seem to me that today’s pop musical performances are a lot more about show than they used to be, and choreography is certainly a big part of the act. Even Lady Gaga, the current queen of pop, said in a “60 Minutes” interview that she considers herself a performance artist. Big hair, flashy outfits, electronic gimmickry and other props play an increasingly important role in today’s pop. Enough with the eye candy, where is the music? It was interesting to watch this awards ceremony with my octogenarian parents-in-law, who are of the belief that nobody since Vic Damone has been capable of producing acceptable popular music. I thought maybe Eminem would turn them around, but that didn’t happen. I never thought I’d say this, but the 67 year old Mick Jagger looked pretty good in his tribute to the recently deceased Solomon Burke. Jagger might have resembled aging poultry, an apt description Letterman once used to describe himself, but he can still get the crowd rocking, and he didn’t need a lot of gyrating dancers or elaborate costumes to enhance his performance. What did we fossils do back in the dark ages of music, when it was just the band, some spot lights, and the audience … back when “wardrobe malfunction” meant Jim Morrison had once again pulled his pants down in public?




Erectile dysfunction is no laughing matter, and judging from the number of ads proposing remedies, I’m led to believe that a lot of men suffer from it. And it’s not just older men; a lot of the guys portrayed in the commercials are a lot younger than I (O.K., so maybe they‘re still old men). I am happy that there are drugs out there which facilitate sexual intimacy and address the deleterious effects of DSB (deadly sperm buildup), but some of these ads for boner pills are pretty silly. What marketing genius decided that two naked people in separate bathtubs constitutes a metaphor for the horizontal mambo? Does the bathtub equal sex, or have the bathers already had sex and now they’re just relaxing after the act? How did they get those heavy bathtubs out there to the edge of a cliff, and why aren’t they in the same bathtub? And why aren’t they smoking cigarettes, in their separate bath tubs? I have so many questions. Apparently, when you take a Cialis, the house you’re in immediately folds up and disappears, and suddenly you’re in the woods, presumably screwing like squirrels. I don’t know about you, but I want my four hour erection to be in a five star hotel room, not in the woods where my erect winkie is a dinner bell for every biting insect on the planet.



One old guy who can still “get it up” is Italian Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi, who will go to trial in April to face charges that he paid a seventeen year old woman to have sex with him. I thought France won the European award for most conspicuous horn dog politician, but there’s a new ram in town. The way the papers put it, it is a crime to pay for sex in Italy, if the girl is under eighteen. So, it’s O.K. if you DON’T pay her? If convicted, the billionaire-turned-politician could face up to fifteen years in prison. I’m not exactly sure if the bigger issue was statutory rape, or the fact that Berlusconi allegedly paid the girl to try and make the scandal go away. If he broke the law, and was dumb enough to get caught, then he should probably face the consequences. That said, in my opinion, the morality scale seems to be sliding downward; just listen to the lyrics of some of today’s rap and hip hop. As much as I hope that the big head is doing all the thinking among today‘s leaders, I fear that this is optimistic. I try to sift through the moral depravity in order to determine who is the most effective leader. Do I want the lying, closet homosexual, right wing, bible thumping hypocrite who solicits oral sex in airport bathrooms, or do I want the arrogant, lying, Big Mac-hoovering, left wing president who receives oral sex from an intern in the Oval Office? America is a democracy, and however uninformed, we the people get to chose. You know what they say: two heads are better than one. The trick is determining which two. Elliott Spitzer for president!

BTW -  Happy Family Day.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2011 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 2/14/11 Happy Valentine's Day!

I noticed in the entertainment section of the Buffalo News that there is a concert scheduled for May 28 featuring NKOTBSB. That is, The New Kids on the Block and the Back Street Boys, together. Like, could there be a more awesomer concert on the face of the earth??? I recently had the displeasure of catching a bit of this collaboration on some TV awards show, and as much as I disliked these boy bands the first time around, the dilution of their talent is exponential now that they are no longer boys/kids. I might have a slightly wider tolerance for different genres of music than the average listener, and I enjoy everything from classical to Rock to Balinese gamelan music. I even like some of the homogenized pop music that is pumped out in excess today. But those boy bands like Not-So-New Kids and the Backdoor Boys always irked me, and now that I see them resurfacing as men, doing the same bubble gum boy band stuff, I think their act is getting a little old. Literally. Even Menudo had the good sense to exchange their players once they reached a certain age! Puberty's a bitch man. Some of these guys, like Justin Timberlake and Ricky Martin, go on to re-invent themselves, and while I don’t particularly like their music, I respect their talent and their ability to grow. Fun fact: the now wildly famous actor/director/producer Mark Wahlberg was once the headliner for a 90s boy band called Marky Mark. One day he’s hawking underwear for Calvin Klein and the next he’s up for an Academy Award. But these middle-aged men singing boy band songs are ludicrous to me. Learning machine that I am, I googled “Boy Bands” and looked at some of the past representatives. According to one entry I read, The Monkees were considered to be the pioneers of Boy Band music, although technically I don’t think they qualify. According to the Wikipedia definition of a boy band - and I live and die by the information I glean from Wikipedia - in a genuine boy band, the players dance and they do not play their own instruments. Two strikes against the Monkees. They scampered about and acted zany, but I don’t ever recall seeing them actually dancing. And I think that most of them learned how to play their instruments, eventually. That Davy Jones was cute as a button, back in the 70s. These days, not so much.



Did you hear about the 1,250 Superbowl fans in Dallas who were unable to sit in their assigned seats because those seats were deemed unsafe? Oops. 400 were unable to be relocated, and I’ve got a hunch that the three times face value ticket refund that the NFL is offering will not satisfy them. Too bad, because as Superbowls go, I thought that this one was pretty good. Pittsburgh was outplayed, but they kept it interesting until the very end. Ronald Reagan would have turned 100 years old last Sunday. I watched a special on him the other day, examining his long life, and it was interesting to watch him dance around the Iran/Contra scandal. How he ever walked away from that one is beyond me. The Teflon President. What I found most interesting was the fact that today’s Republicans, desperate to sweep the Dubya years under the rug, have created a Reagan mythology that glosses over Reagan’s many shortcomings, making him out to be the Great White Hope. I don’t know much about history, except that a lot of it seems to become sanitized with time, but after Nixon, I gave up on my president-can-do-no-harm delusion. After his “Let them eat hummus” speech failed last week, Egyptian President Hosni Mubarak finally stepped down and handed the reins over to the military. This is what the people protesting in Tahrir Square wanted, but aren’t they just replacing one autocratic ruler with another one? I wouldn’t want to be a dictator right now; the peasants are getting restless. Tunisia, The Sudan, Yemen, Jordan, Egypt, and I understand now Uganda is poised for an uprising. With the blinding light of the media shining down on them, how could anything go wrong?


Final note. In the “what-part-about-the-words-public-figure-don’t-you-get?” department, congressman Craig Lee of Amherst, N.Y. (I love it when Western New York makes the national news) abruptly resigned after a suggestive photo of him surfaced on Craigslist. Too cheap to pay for sex like the rest of your cronies? In all fairness, a shirtless photo of Lee flexing his muscles in the bathroom mirror is pretty low on my scandal scale, but the guy IS a married man, he WAS flirting on the internet, he broke the golden rule of American politics: don’t be stupid; don’t get caught, AND he lied about his age. I guess he resigned because he wanted to stop the bleeding, but it wasn’t as if he showed us his “winkie” or anything. He wasn’t caught soliciting oral sex from some other guy in an airport bathroom. Now that he has resigned, I wouldn’t be surprised if CNN hires him (like they did Elliot Spitzer). I heard a song performed by Chris Brown on SNL last Saturday night that was ten times more scandalous than that photo. I’m going to go listen to my Justin Bieber album to mollify my indignation. Oy, for the love of Allah, where has purity gone?

To the many people I love, Happy Valentines Day!

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2011 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 2/7/11

Just as Punxatawny Phil, along with Canada’s own drug-addled weather groundhog “Wiarton Willie" and all the other official weather rodents out there across North America predicted an early Spring, the Northeast prepared for what was expected to be the weather event of the winter. Starting about last Saturday, Toronto began bracing for an "enormous" storm scheduled to blow through on Tuesday night and on into Wednesday. Listening to the radio on my way back up north, I heard talk that this weather bomb could end up costing Toronto taxpayers an estimated $5 Million for snow removal. There were predictions of up to two feet of snow in some areas, and commuters were being urged to stay home from work or take public transportation. Weather junkie that I am, I punched up the satellite radar for our region, frothing in anticipation of this imminent weather disaster, and I watched with quiet excitement as the front crept in towards the Muskokas. It DID look like a whopper of a storm on Doppler, but as it turned out, it was a dud in our area. My weatherman nephew explained that this storm “shot its wad” in the Midwest and lost much of its punch by the time it got to our region. Put another way, Jack Frost experienced performance anxiety. As I began this report on Wednesday afternoon, I saw some “after” photos of downtown Toronto, and it didn’t look all that bad to me. Talk about the forecaster who cried “Wolf!”. You know what we call weather like that in Buffalo? Spring.


It never ceases to amaze me how inhumane we humans can be. While I am not a PETA fanatic, I do bristle when I hear and read some of the incredible stories about cruelty to animals. My mom watches “Animal Planet” a lot, and there seem to be a lot of programs that focus on animal cruelty. Last week, in the Canadian news, there was a story about 100 healthy sled dogs destroyed near Whistler B.C., in a brutally inhumane way, simply because they were no longer needed. The story became public because the guy who killed the animals, an employee of the company that offered sled dog tours, filed for workman’s compensation. Amazingly, his request was granted. He claimed he had experienced post traumatic stress syndrome from doing “his job”. I guess he blames his employer for forcing him to kill the dogs, but how can a person in their right mind do such a thing? Regardless of the debate about whether or not the dogs should have been destroyed, what was most offensive to me was how they were killed. I realize that it is somewhat hypocritical to talk about animal cruelty when in fact much of the meat I eat is raised on factory farms in deplorable conditions for the animals. I live with the unsettling realization that indirectly, I contribute to animal cruelty every day because of the products I consume. And I don’t consider myself an animal rights activist. We do bad things to animals in the name of science, and that is hard enough to accept, but when the harm is senseless, as it was in the B.C. case, then it is really disturbing to me. Indeed, there is a brutality to Mother Nature, and the balance of nature is predicated on the concept of prey and predators. It just seems as if in the animal kingdom, man is the animal that makes other animals suffer the most. Kill for food, or to cull the herd. But try to make sure the animal does not suffer!


Earlier this week, Egyptian President HoseMe Mubarak agreed not to run in the next elections, but for the approximately 250,000 (relatively peaceful) protesters, gathered in the streets of Cairo last week, who waved shoes in the air and called for his immediate removal, this was too little too late. Pro Mubarak “thugs” were reported to be targeting the foreign press, and at least one Egyptian reporter was killed.

Last night, Green Bay beat Pittsburgh 31-25 in SuperBowl XLV. I read a funny article about the fact that Superbowls are numbered in Roman numerals. C’mon America, we’re not talking about gladiators here … it’s 45, O.K.? Up here in the Great White North, we didn’t get the great American Superbowl commercials (which, in my opinion are the best part about Superbowls); I guess I’ll have to catch them on YouTube. A river dare she....



- Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2011 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 1/31/11

The other night, I played an open mic in downtown Toronto, and afterwards I took the subway home. As I was riding in the almost empty car, with my guitar case propped up in front of me, a strange man came up and sat in the seat directly across from me. He looked bedraggled, as if he might live on the streets. His clothes were dirty and worn, his winter jacket was torn and taped up in many places, and he stared directly at me with eyes that were just a little too wide open. I don’t know why, but the crazy ones always single me out. He finally introduced himself to me, which I thought was rather odd. He said his name is Bruce, and then he pulled out what looked like an IPhone and took my picture. I remember thinking, “where does a homeless guy get an IPhone?” He said something about how musicians have a tough job, and he wanted a record of this hardworking musician (me), coming home weary after a long and thankless gig. I chuckled to myself. What a pile of crap! This guy thought I was a hard working/struggling musician, wearing my expensive Roots baseball jacket with the custom embroidery. Didn’t he know an old guy having a mid life crisis when he saw one? He must have been busting my chops. You meet some strange people on the subway in the wee hours of the morning. Just about the time I was sure he was going to lunge at me and bite me in the jugular vein or something, he simply got off at the next exit. No goodbye, nothin’. And I thought we were friends. Just another one of Toronto‘s early morning ghosts. I’m a little concerned about WHY he took a photo of me. He’s probably got a collection of the future victims he stalks, and the photos are his trophies. He’s like that serial killer Dexter on the HBO series, who collects blood samples from all his victims. Someday I will disappear but my ear will be mounted in a shadow box frame with that photo next to it, hanging on the wall of some godforsaken crevice of the Toronto subway, with a little bronze nameplate entitled “Hardworking Musician.”



Fitness guru Jack Lalanne died last week at 96. That guy was amazing; he did some crazy things on his birthday. Back in 1955, the year I was born, he swam from Alcatraz to Fisherman’s Wharf, handcuffed. That’s a really tough swim with one’s hands free. On his 70th birthday, he swam a mile towing 70 boats behind him filled with people. I remember seeing some of the video of that stunt. The way he took care of his body, I thought he would outlive the cigar-smoking George Burns or, at the very least, my father. In commemoration of his life well-lived, I watched one of Jack’s juicer infomercials the other day. What they don’t tell you about those things is that they make more noise than a jet engine. I remember watching Lalanne on television a long, long time ago, back in the Howdy Doody age of black and white television, and I remember thinking to myself even as a very little boy, “that guy is nuttier than a fruitcake.” I mean take-your-picture-on-the-subway crazy. And I remember his white dog. I wonder if he made that dog do push ups and drink carrot juice.



Finally, what is going on in Africa?! First Tunisia, then the news that Sudan may be dividing, and now Egyptians are calling for Hosni Mubarak to step down. Back when I subscribed to the now defunct National Lampoon Magazine, one of their writers referred to him as “HoseMe” Mubarak, which seems apt given his reputation for repression. This latest unrest reminds me a little of Iran when they threw out the Shah. Eventually, the 400,000+ Egyptian troops in the street, charged with taming the angry masses (62 reported dead so far) will come to terms with the fact that they’re backing the wrong horse and when, as I think he might, Mubarak finally steps down, it will be interesting to see what kind of Egypt emerges. I don’t know anything about Egyptian politics, and Egypt is a far cry from Iran, but could fundamentalism creep in? Will these events endanger Israel, and will Egypt remain an ally of the U.S.? After all, it was probably the billions in U.S. aid that allowed Mubarak to remain in power for 30 years and to rule with such an iron fist. This diplomacy and nation building business is tricky, isn’t it?



Well that’s about it, I’ve got to go to bed.  After all, we hardworking musicians need to get our rest. Here’s another subway scenario … he was a harmless, albeit eccentric TIME photographer doing a shoot on downtrodden musicians in Toronto subways, and I just happened to be the subject he chose to exploit. Am I now going to become famous like that homeless announcer guy Ted Whatshisname did? I can only dream.



Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2011 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 1/24/11

Today I want to explore the aberration in my character which compels me to remain a Toronto Maple Leafs fan. I liken it to being a cross dresser, or a serial killer, or some other pariah from society. I was a Sabres fan for thirty years before I became a Leafs fan, and that was marginally less masochistic. Still, nothing could prepare me for the heartbreak and disappointment I was destined to feel when I donned the blue and white jersey. Year after year, I keep hoping that this will be the season that the Leafs do not entirely suck. Year after year, I tell myself this or that hot rookie will be the key to unlock their Stanley Cup potential. A new coach, a trade, a new goalie … nothing seems to make a difference; it’s as if the team is cursed. Somewhere in a dark basement, there must be a deranged voodoo witch doctor, probably hired by an Ottawa or a Montreal fan, sticking pins in dolls depicting Leafs players. Year after year, sometimes by the beginning of January, it becomes painfully evident to all but the most firmly entrenched in denial that the hapless Leafs are once again swirling down the toilet drain. There is an amusing music video spoof which is less than sympathetic to Leafs fans and highlights the long standing rivalry between Montreal Canadians fans and Maple Leafs fans. It has gone viral on YouTube. A lot of Leafs fans were apparently offended, but if you’re going to root for the Leafs, you’d better be ready to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune (and criticism). The sad part about it is that, Toronto Maple Leafs fans are possibly the craziest and most enthusiastic, supportive fans in the league when their team achieves even the smallest success. Torontonians would go crazy and there would be wild parties on Yonge street if the Leafs even made it into the first round of the playoffs. I knew a waiter once who (hand) painted his entire car with the Leafs colors and emblems, and THAT is devotion/stupidity. Perhaps I’ve answered my own question. Why have I remained a Leafs fan? Because most of them are as deranged as I am.




A few weeks ago, I touched upon the censorship of Mark Twain’s words, but there’s an even more ridiculous misuse of censorship going on in Canada right now. Some of you may be familiar with the old hit single “Money for Nothing”, by the popular band Dire Straits. There’s a line in that song which includes the word “faggot”, and because someone took offense to the reference, twenty-six years after the song was released, the CBSC (Canadian Broadcasting Standards Council) in their infinite wisdom, decided the song should be banned from the airwaves. While I am not entirely against censorship in certain circumstances, I don’t know where to begin explaining why this is ridiculous to me. In the context of the song, the offending word more than likely refers to the overpaid spandex-clad poodles who headlined the ubiquitous “hair bands” of the eighties, and has more to do with arrogance than homosexuality. But the thing that really puzzles me is why it took 26 years for this to offend anyone. I know more than one gay man who loves that song - it’s a great, hooky rock tune - and somehow they got beyond the derogatory expression. Girl up, you bozos at the CBSC, and find a more worthy recipient for your red ink. My bar for censorship is a little higher, and if the words work within the context of the piece, leave them in! Mark Knopfler was not, in my opinion, making a hateful statement about homosexuals when he referred to faggots, he was making a statement about silly pop fashion. When words are meant to be hateful, and when words do cause genuine harm, then talk to me about censorship.



Final notes. Cameras are everywhere. Most of you have read or are at least familiar with  the Orwell novel “1984“, and that was the first time I remember hearing the term “Big Brother”. Long before Julie Chen was hosting a reality TV show by the same name, the concept came to be associated with hidden cameras and loss of privacy. Nobody would know who Rodney King is if someone hadn’t videotaped him getting beat up by the LAPD. A few days ago, I watched something absolutely incredible on a Toronto 24 hour news station, and it made me realize that cameras really are everywhere. There was a horrific accident on the notoriously dangerous Hwy. 401 near Toronto. A semi truck crashed through the guard rail and plowed into the lanes of oncoming traffic, and someone filmed the entire accident from an oncoming vehicle (I hope it wasn’t the driver!). He was right there when the truck blasted through the guardrail just in front of him. Thankfully no one died, but what a shocking video that was! Pretty soon, every volcanic eruption, every earthquake, every tornado, every lewd act, will have a video record. These days, one never knows when one will be filmed in public. We’re filmed in supermarkets, at ATMs, on street corners, even in our apartment buildings (the lobby channel is one of my favorites!). There was a funny video on the news the other day of some woman who, distracted while she was texting, fell into a pool of water at an indoor mall. Of course that video ended up on YouTube for all the world to see, and, understandably, the “victim” was humiliated. I think she even tried to sue the mall owners for releasing the video.



What a faggot!



Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2011 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 1/17/11

Last Saturday, I attended the Toronto Boat Show with my pal Bob and we both confirmed the fact that our aging vessels will have to suffice, because comparable new ones are prohibitively expensive. Eventually I will replace “Old Smokey,” the name I have lovingly given my 22 year-old Yamaha outboard, but when I do, it will likely cost more to replace than the boat, motor, and trailer cost me in 1989. And in the news …

As almost always happens after a mass shooting like the one that happened last week in Arizona, people who know the murderer come forward and say, “yeah, he sure seemed scary and dangerous.” All you need to do is check out Jered Loughner’s mug shot to come to the same conclusion! Ultimately Loughner was suspended from the college he attended because he displayed aberrant behavior, but one wonders how such a disturbed person fell through the cracks undetected. Once again, there are indignant cries for gun control, and while I don’t like guns, I feel the same way about gun control legislation as I do about carbon taxation; I don’t think it is very effective. It wouldn’t hurt to make it harder for people to acquire guns, especially unhinged psychopaths, but we must address the underlying culture of violence, because people in America will always be able to get guns. The same gun debate took place when Seung-Hui Cho went nuts in 2007 and murdered 32 people at Virginia Tech. One of the most interesting interviews I watched was with David Kaczynski, brother of Ted Kaczynski, The Unibomber, and the guy eventually responsible for turning his notorious brother in to authorities. He said that denial played a large part in his hesitancy to act. He’d suspected that his brother was mentally ill for a long time, but never dreamed that the illness would manifest itself as violence against others. And by the way, Ted Kaczynski killed 3 people and injured 23 others, without using a gun.

One of the discussions that filled the airwaves right after this latest tragedy happened was whether or not right wing hyperbole factored into the killer’s motivation. Does Sarah Palin’s verbal polemic and use of the controversial crosshairs symbol on her website incite unbalanced citizens to fly off the handle? My goodness, I hope that isn’t all it takes. If people start to follow that moronic Mama Grizzly, then I think guns are the least of our worries. Of course, that was CNN’s take, I imagine Fox had a different angle. The way I see it, there are simply a lot of loose canons out there, and every so often one of them goes off. My question is, WHY is America one of the most violent places in the world, and why do we have so many political assassinations or assassination attempts? I think it has something to do with societal disconnect. I think that many of us Americans have lost or are losing our sense of community. There are good Samaritans yes, but on the whole, I think we are many of us closing ourselves off from each other. I know it’s happening to me. We delude ourselves into thinking we are reaching out when we text a friend “R-U-OK?” The fact is our social skills are eroding, and we are many of us getting more and more closed off. This Loughner guy was very likely mentally ill, and I doubt anybody knows exactly why he snapped. I am suggesting that more of the sick and hopeless are getting swept under the rug, and that in a society where we become increasingly disconnected, those time bombs are going off more and more. If people are alienated, if they feel hopeless, wouldn’t it be infinitely more effective to figure out why and to take measures to remedy that societal ill than it would be to try and control the hopelessly abundant supply of guns? As with any disease, you want to get at the root, not merely address the symptoms. I heard one anti-gun politician saying that if we simply made it harder to get the bigger magazines that hold more bullets, this would mean that these crazy killers couldn’t kill as fast. Does anyone else see the absurdity, the myopic insanity of that argument? Diffuse the emotional bomb and the weapons will not be as great a threat. If it's a mental health problem, teach people how they should react if they think someone is dangerous and needs help.In an interview last week, Bill Maher, the great offender, suggested that perhaps in our attempts to cut costs, we’ve made mental health care a lower priority. Maybe we should spend more to address mental illness and less on ineffective gun reform. Meanwhile, I am glad to hear that Congresswoman Giffords has survived and is holding her own in the hospital.

Africa was in the news twice last week. First, Sudan voted in a referendum to divide the country in two with a Christian half and a Muslim half. Good luck with that. Second, Tunisians just ousted President Ben Ali, their president for the past 23 years, after a long period of growing political unrest. Now we have to worry about Tunisia too? Did anybody see the “60 Minutes” segment last night on Yemen? I think their national anthem must begin with “Swim in blood, Western Satan dogs…” What a hornet's nest that country is; it’s like an entire country populated with Jered Loughners. Maybe we could put them all in one place. I suggest the Northwest Territories.



Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2011 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 1/10/11

There was a big debate last week over the “rules” governing art, because someone in their infinite wisdom decided it was time to sanitize several of Mark Twain’s works in order not to offend young children. Rewriting Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer to eliminate the “n” word might be politically correct, but it is also absurd. Of 495 people polled in the Washington Post survey, an overwhelming 98 per cent (including me) did not think the work should be rewritten to be less offensive. As one reader suggested, and I agree, HISTORY is offensive, and we don’t learn to be better people by ignoring the things man has done wrong. This baby-on-board-protect-us-from-everything mentality really riles me. By the way, substituting the word “slave” for the other word might be equally offensive to some. The issue seems to be whether or not it is correct to make an impressionable young student read the work with so many references to that offensive word, and that is a different subject. But don’t rewrite the book!



Here’s a new way man can screw up his environment. Thousands of red winged blackbirds were discovered dead in Arkansas, and it has been suggested that the deaths might have been caused by a New Years Eve fireworks display. I guess it happened a few places around the world. Oops. I had a spooky moment in Buffalo a few weeks ago. As I walked back to the garage to get my car, I noticed many hundreds of blackbirds, mostly crows I think, perched in the trees around our house. I’ve never seen that many birds in one place before, and it reminded me of that creepy Hitchcock movie “The Birds”. I recently saw part of that movie again and, as scary as it was the first time around, the special effects from 1963 look pretty silly by today’s standards. I don’t know what kind of hairspray Tippy Hedren used, but it certainly was bird proof. Maybe those crows in Buffalo were upset about the loss of their relatives in Arkansas, kind of a million bird march. Maybe they just don’t like Mark Twain.
And elsewhere in the news this week …

If you were planning on visiting Rockhampton, Australia in the northeastern section of the continent, you might want to wait until the flood waters subside. Heavy rains have caused flood-swollen rivers in that region to rise as much as thirty feet above their normal levels, and huge parts of Queensland are underwater at present. Canada is in mourning after the Canadian Junior Men’s Hockey team completely choked in Buffalo during the gold medal round with Russia. I watched the game and my jaw hit the floor. After dominating the game in the first two periods, and commanding a three goal lead, the Canadians completely choked in the third period and lost the game 5-3. To their credit, the Russian team pulled off a stunning comeback, as they had in several of their previous games, and they absolutely deserved to win. It's not as if I’ve never seen a hockey team choke before; after all, I AM a Leafs and a Sabres fan. Still, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen an all-Canadian hockey team fall apart so completely, during a playoff game, and in front of an arena packed with Canadian fans. Once again, I think a lot of people around the world are chuckling, because Canadians so publicly pride themselves on being the best hockey players in the world. Michael Jackson’s rent-a-doctor, Dr. Conrad Murray, is presently on trial for his alleged mishandling of his high profile patient. The guy was earning $150,000 per month apparently to be Jackson’s personal drug dealer. Prosecutors claim that, when Murray discovered the unconscious Jackson, his actions were suspicious. He waited a rather long time before he called 911, and he scrambled to hide some of Jackson’s prescription medications. Nobody really knows if Jackson could have been saved, but it sure looks like his doctor(s) dropped the ball. There will likely be much debate over whether or not Murray was wrong to have administered the powerful anesthesia Propofol to Jackson. One of the paramedics called to the scene that day (June 25, 2009) testified that when he first saw Jackson’s lifeless, emaciated body, he thought he was dealing with a hospice patient. I’ve never been a huge Jackson fan, but I recently saw “This is It”, the movie which recorded those last rehearsals for the ill-fated world tour. I was amazed by how talented Jackson still was, even near the end. I can’t imagine how much better he must have been in his “Thriller” days. Chalk up another victim to the demon showbiz.


Final note. Yesterday I took my recently-turned-86 mother-in-law out on the ATV for a blast around snowy Katrine and she loved it. She’s an inspiration to those fifty-somethings (like me) among us who are beginning to complain about slowing down. I hope I’m as good a sport when and if I reach my eighties!



Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2011 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 1/3/11

Happy 2011 Gentle Readers! Miss Manners refers to her readers as “gentle readers” and this year I resolve to be more like Miss Manners. I’m sure all of you are itching to know how a whirling dervish of energy and excitement such as me spent my New Year’s Eve, so here goes. Early in the day, I picked up Shauna’s parents on my way back from Buffalo and drove them up to Jasper Bark Lodge. Early in the evening on New Year‘s Eve, we watched the Canadian Junior hockey team lose to Sweden in a shootout, prompting the consumption of my first malt beverage. I can’t catch a break with any of my hockey teams this year! My pal Bob took me to a Sabres game on my last visit to Buffalo (first NHL game I‘ve attended in years), and the Sabres came from a 0-3 deficit to tie the game up, only to lose the game 3-4. I think that in 2011, I’ll resolve to watch less hockey and more curling. We had a lovely salmon dinner at Jasper Bark Lodge, accompanied on my part by several more sparkling malt beverages, then watched the various summaries of 2010 on T.V. You can all go out and enjoy your black tie events; give me Anderson and Kathy in my jeans any day. I suppose I have attained full blown codgerdom, because I am perfectly happy to “potato out” on the couch and take in the bleachers perspective. I love to hear those best and worst summaries, and of course the notable events of the past year.



On one end of the significance scale, we had the horrendous earthquake in Haiti, which killed over 200,000 people and left more than a million homeless. Another big news story was the BP oil spill, which I believe (and hope) is the worst environmental disaster ever to befall North America. There was mention of the Republican political sweep in November, a not-so-subtle message from the voters that they‘ve changed their motto from “Yes We Can!” to “Oh NoYou Don‘t!” And then, on the other end of the significance spectrum, from the sublime to the ridiculous, there was mention of the bedbug epidemic in New York City, as well as the Madonna-like popularity of Lady Gaga. Lindsay Lohan and Charlie Sheen won the celebrity bonehead awards for bad behavior. At Midnight, I watched the ball drop in Times Square, I watched the guitar drop -- or should I say partially drop -- in Nashville; I even watched a transvestite named Sushi lowered from the second story of a building in Key West, Florida, sitting in a giant slipper. That 14 year old tradition is one of my favorites. Muslims make a pilgrimage to Mecca to walk around in a circle, and I aspire to make my pilgrimage to Key West in order to see the transvestite lowered in a slipper as the clock strikes Twelve on New Year‘s Day. It was amusing to see CNN’s John Zarrella, whom I best remember for his Florida hurricane coverage, flanked by Sushi and another wisecracking transvestites dressed up to look like Cher (and if you’ve seen Cher lately, you know that’s not much of a stretch) after the “slipper drop.” I think CNN has really locked up the gay/transgender audience. You don’t see Dick Clark fraternizing with transvestites, do you? Then again, come to think of it, who knows what Ryan Seacrest does in his spare time? There is something vaguely hermaphroditic and sexually ambiguous about Kathy Griffin and Anderson Cooper announcing the ball drop for CNN in Time’s Square. Keeps me on my toes.


As I began this report earlier in the week, the East Coast was digging out from a horrendous Christmas blizzard that dumped close to three feet of snow in parts of downstate New York, and left a lot of people celebrating their holiday in airports. We, up in the Great White North, got a lot of rain and above freezing temperatures. La Nina has so far been gentle to the Great White North, but today, as I finish writing this report on Sunday, the snow is beginning to fall again.


Finally, I have my usual unrealistic list of wishes for the New Year. I have a re-occurring pipe dream that a lot of problems would simply go away if we paid (some) teachers more and (most) lawyers less. We’d have a better educated, possibly more productive population, and less inclination to waste money on frivolous lawsuits. I’d like a public broadcast of Bernie Madoff, stripped naked and left in a large gym surrounded by all the investors he bilked, who could then unleash their hollow vengeance on him armed with high-powered paintball guns. I don’t want him to die, I simply want him badly bruised and humiliated. I believe this would be therapeutic for our nation. I’d like Israel and Palestine to finally make peace, solar-powered desalination plants dotting the coastlines of parched Third World countries, and finally, I wouldn’t mind terribly if Sarah Palin’s gun backfired. Welcome to 2011, this is your loyal, albeit dysfunctional, purveyor of the truth, ushering in year nineteen of the Oppenheimer Report. Save the whales, for last.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2011 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 12/27/10 Happy New Year!

Former Darwin Award Runner-up

Coming down the QEW the other day on my way to see Mom in Buffalo, I heard a story on the radio about some boneheads who had climbed down the Niagara Gorge in order to do mischievous things to the Maid of the Mist tour boats. Eventually, one of them had to be rescued, and the story reminded me of the idiots who used to climb challenging mountains around our hotel in Banff, then needed to be rescued when they realized they were in big trouble. I used to sit out on the balcony of our room and watch the rescue helicopters executing expensive retrievals off Rundle Mountain across the Bow Valley. I’ve done a lot of stupid things in my life, but thankfully most of them were only witnessed by my closest friends (who were equally blameworthy). And most of the stupid stuff I’ve done did not cost other people lots of money. So far, I haven’t had to explain to the policeman who saved my life why I was stupid enough to climb down the Niagara Gorge, in order to vandalize the Maid of the Mist, then to require assistance because I imperiled my life. In this the last report for 2010, I think it appropriate to once again touch on Darwin. No I’m not going to recount every one of my favorite Darwin Award candidates, those members of our society who have graciously removed themselves from the gene pool by killing themselves in some ridiculous and stupid way. I will point out that it’s one thing to accidentally jog off a steep cliff, but it’s quite another to weld jet engines to your Chevy, then launch yourself into the side of a mountain at 300 MPH. When I hear the word Darwinism, I think of survival of the fittest. Outlast, outsmart, outlive ... but out earn?

This morning, I read an article in The New York Times, my favorite leftist commie, Republican-hating, Pinko rag, and it was an “off with their heads” article about the skyrocketing compensation for the “top dogs” in our society. Some of the statistics, if in fact they are statistics, are staggering. For example, the median salary paid to a NY Yankee baseball player is $5.5 Million, or about seven times the inflation-adjusted median Yankee salary from 1990. In 1977, a CEO for a large corporation might have earned 50 times what one of his lowly workers made. Today, the highest paid CEO makes 1100 times what his workers make. Back in the 80’s during the decade of greed, Wall Street bonuses amounted to about $15,600 per person, but in 2007, just before the latest economic bubble burst, that bonus figure was more like $177,000 per person. The article goes on to suggest that this is all Ronald Reagan’s fault, but that these soaring compensations are also linked to free market economies and increased performance. A CEO is worth a lot more because he or she brings in more profits for the company and the shareholders. Is this really survival of the fittest, or have we all just gone mad? I never thought I’d be the one to suggest this, but perhaps democracy IS broken. We wonder why we’re getting so many unacceptable candidates in government, but if you can make $100 Billion inventing an internet-based social network, who wants to subject him (or her) self to the microscope of public office for a lousy couple hundred grand? Patriotism? Pthoohey! Dumb is the new leader (yeah, yeah, I know, Obama‘s smart) and while I will concede that many of the high earners in our society are better, faster, stronger, or more opportunistic than the rest of us lemmings, that does not necessarily entitle them to all of the lottery winnings. No, I’m not Robin Hood and I loathe the tail-wagging-the-dog government approach to the redistribution of wealth. What I might be suggesting is a little more flexible and reactive approach in the private sector in order to regulate executive and celebrity compensation. If you earn say $10 Million or more per year (perhaps excluding founders of companies), and your income is tied to fans or stockholders, then you are subject to periodic performance reviews, carried out by those responsible for your paycheck. Fail in any given quarter and your salary is docked, or if you really screw up, you get the boot. In Bernie Madoff’s case, your testicles are smeared with peanut butter then publicly removed by wolverines. If your movie does well, you get a piece of the action; if the movie bombs, you get your already inflated fee, but nothing else. There should be some cap on CEO salaries - and I have no idea what that should be - and bonuses should be a little more in line with reality. The more this compensation thing gets out of whack, the less vested the rest of us are in the American dream. There will always be stupid people in the world, and not all of them will be so accommodating as to remove themselves from the gene pool, but let’s not put all of them in charge of the cookie jar.

So, what does any of this have to do with Darwin? I’m not sure, but it seems as if the laws of Darwinism are not working. By all means, talent and excellence should be rewarded,  but let's not be ridiculous about it! The cream is not rising to the top, and there must be a better way to lure the truly gifted back to the table. Some of those people are delivering pizzas right now. As we usher in the infant 2011, let’s be better parents … and let’s start paying the right people something a little closer to what they’re worth.


“I rode the tiger, I rode the tiger, thought I was the talk of the town,

I rode the tiger, I rode the tiger, turns out I was just another money-grubbing clown…

I rode the tiger, I rode the tiger, I burned that candle right down,

I rode the tiger, I rode the tiger, I rode that tiger, right into the ground…



Cho:

Why is it everybody’s trying to find a way to make a million bucks?

Everybody’s rolling dice trying to grab a slice of lady luck …

I don’t need it, I don’t want a million bucks…”


I hope that 2011 brings back some of the sanity and common sense we seem to have misplaced! As I do every new year, I resolve to be a better person in general, to reduce my giant carbon footprint, and of course, to try not to say nasty things about the French. Happy New Year everyone. As Mr. Spock so wisely impored:  "Live long and prosper!"


Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 12/20/10

Just in time for the holidays, Europe is being paralyzed by the worst snowstorm in decades, severely hampering all modes of transportation. I read that in Germany, 560 flights had been cancelled as of yesterday, and ice and snow brought London’s Heathrow Airport to a near standstill on Saturday. Fun fact that I did not know: Heathrow is the world’s busiest international airport. I read about these weather disasters in other parts of the world and I chuckle. The fact is, Europe was not adequately prepared for this snow emergency, and what occurred this past weekend would probably be considered an average winter day in Buffalo, or up where we live. Even in the southern United States, if they get four inches of snow, they consider it a snow day and close up. What a bunch of wimps! Up here in the Great White North, we’ve had a few lake effect dumpings, but nothing too severe yet. We’ve only been plowed out once so far this year.


When I was a little boy in Buffalo, in the winter, Mom would bundle me up in five layers of winter clothing, topped off with leggings and a huge jacket. Preparing me for the outdoors was a major project that took fifteen or twenty minutes, and when she was finished, I had so much stuff on I couldn’t move. She’d pick me up and throw me outside for an hour or so, and I’d sit in the snow, motionless until she came to get me. This fond memory occurred to me the other day as I donned my winter gear to do some snow blowing. I am now fifty-five years old and once again, I’m wearing leggings, five layers of clothing, and my genuine pica-fur-lined trooper hat (you know, the silly ones with the flaps that fold down). I’ve come full circle; I look like that little kid I used to be, immobilized in a snow bank. Today, as I finish writing this report, the lake is completely white, and soon the ice fishing huts will begin to dot the west shore. That will be my cue to take my first cruise on the frozen lake with our new ATV. That thing is pretty good in the snow; I took it for a little high speed spin around the neighborhood last weekend and it’s a lot of fun in the snow.


With only five shopping days left until reindeer-fest 2010, I read that a lot of Christmas shoppers are avoiding the mall madness and letting their fingers do the shopping. Online shopping is up considerably, and in keeping with the 21st Century trend to disconnect from society, buyers can now avoid the holiday retail craziness by shopping in the comfort of their own home. One word of warning, as I am sure some of you have discovered with online shopping: cyberspace is the Wild West. If you’re not dealing with a known retailer, caveat emptor. We recently tried to purchase a computer online, enticed by the ridiculously discounted price. After making the purchase, we were informed that the laptop was out of stock and would not be in stock for months. They didn’t even offer a suitable alternative. Know your vendor, or pick one that is highly rated for reliability. Speaking of holiday “ugliness”, I once saw one of Santa’s disheveled “surrogates” urinating against a Toyota in a mall parking lot near Buffalo. My goodness, think of the children! Once you put on that suit, I think you have a certain responsibility to uphold the code. No drugs, no molestation, no swearing, and certainly no peeing on other people’s cars. You’d think Santa would be a little more careful about the guys he hires to help out, but you know what they say about good help. Don’t even get me started about the elves.


At a loss for what to give this holiday season? If the stores are all out of computerized book thingies, salad shooters, and robot vacuum cleaners, perhaps giving a little love and affection, which I’m sure all of you give in abundance anyhow, will suffice. Remember, Ho, Ho Ho, and don’t be “a ho”. Happy Holidays, I’ll see you in 2011!


Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 12/13/10

Last Wednesday, we lit the last candles of Chanukah, and it marked a significant anniversary. Thirty years ago last Wednesday, Mark David Chapman took John Lennon’s life in front of the Dakota in NYC. They showed a clip on the news the other night of Howard Cosell breaking the news to the world on Monday Night Football, December 9, 1980. Recently, I listened to a discussion about the meaning of the Lennon song “Imagine”. Some people said it was about anarchy, or socialism, and that it was anti-religious, and unpatriotic. To me, that song will always be a hopeful message about the possibility of peace, and it’s no surprise it is played frequently during Christmas time.

It’s not all that common that I am proud of something I wrote, or feel that it is worth repeating. Several years ago, I wrote a poem about an experience I had  around  the holidays, and I’d like to reprint it here so that any of my twelve loyal readers who missed it the first time around can read it now. In 2006, I spent most of the month of December living with my parents-in-law while my father-in-law fought to recover from a nearly fatal bout of the disease C. Difficile. I wrote about it in this blog, and some of you may even remember the poem. During the month or so that Shauna and I were living in that house, just about every major appliance and component malfunctioned and/or self destructed. The very first night Syd was in the hospital, the sewer backed up, leaving a mound of excrement and used toilet paper five feet in diameter on the laundry room floor. From there, it all went downhill. The fridge and the dishwasher died, the toilets crapped out (sorry, but that’s a fair description of what happened), the electrical service shorted out and needed to be replaced. The piece de resistance was when, during what I thought was going to be a routine service call, BOTH furnaces were declared dangerous and were “red tagged” to be shut down permanently. Both had cracked heat exchangers and were beginning to leak carbon monoxide into the house. The furnace guy was obligated to turn off the most dangerous of the two furnaces, but he reluctantly agreed to leave the other one running until we could arrange to have them both replaced. This little bit of bad news came about two weeks before Christmas, and left us scrambling desperately to replace the heating plants in the house in a big hurry. At one point, we were heating the main body of the house with four tiny electric space heaters, during one of the coldest Decembers on record. Meanwhile, my father-in-law was gravely ill, in quarantine at the hospital. I remember standing in an almost empty Home Depot one night in Toronto, there to pick up yet another replacement part for the latest thing that had broken in the house, and a Christmas song came over the loudspeaker. It was surreal, because I was so exhausted and beset by the ongoing problems in my family that I had completely forgotten that it was just days before Christmas. Looking back, it was almost funny, but at the time it was unbelievable. To follow is the poem I wrote 12/24/06 to commemorate the experience:

“The Night Before Christmas (In a Crumbling House)” …


Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house
Not an appliance malfunctioned for me or my spouse
The sewer was augured, the fridge was replaced
The dishwasher’s new in its stainless steel case
The electrical panel is expanded and new,
Now we can turn on the microwave and not blow a fuse
The fifty year-old furnaces were torn out and scrapped
Now the new ones are efficient and they don’t blow out crap
The toilets that exploded have now been removed
The new ones are perfect with less water use
The carpets are up and the floors have been sanded
The bids are all in to have the bathroom expanded
The lights have been checked, and the faucets don’t leak
Indeed all of these problems are beyond our belief
And as I lay down to sleep having written this spoof
I’m just praying that Santa doesn’t screw up our roof


Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2009 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 12/6/10

As winter creeps into the Great White North like a thief in the night, its arrival was a little less subtle in other parts of the country. Last week, Buffalo got smacked with a big winter storm and a heavy dose of lake effect snow. Where my mom lives, there was very little of the white stuff, but just south, in a narrow band, they got hammered. The storm even necessitated the closing of a stretch of the NYS Thruway. Out in Western Canada, there’s been plenty of snow already, but up here in the Great White North, we haven’t had all that much. I know it’s coming, and from time to time, I click on my Weather Channel website to check the Doppler radar, anxiously awaiting the streamers heading in from the west. I began writing this report on Saturday, and when I took Jasper out for her morning constitutional, there was a thin band of ice forming on the shores of our little lake. We’re all alone on this lake for most of the winter and it’s absolutely peaceful and beautiful right now. We’ll see how I feel come February.


Chanukah began December 1st and we lit the first candles as my father-in-law recited the prayers over the speaker phone from Toronto. I have always liked that tradition; it‘s even better when he’s in the same room. I don’t speak Hebrew, and when my father-in-law was not available on the second night, I googled “Chanukah prayers” so I could read the prayers phonetically. There is even an audio file available of a man reciting the prayers in Hebrew. Perhaps my laptop should have a bar mitzvah. Speaking of things Jewish, there was a big wildfire in Israel last week, outside Haifa in Northern Israel. My immediate reaction was that it was caused by Arabs playing with matches, but apparently that was not the case. High winds and draught conditions fueled the flames, and there were a surprising number of casualties.

Canadian actor Leslie Nielson died last week. I loved him in “Airport” and the “Naked Gun” movies, but sometimes it’s fun to watch an actor play a role that is completely the antithesis of what I’d expect him to play. There was a movie called “Nuts” starring Barbra Streisand and Richard Dreyfus, in which Nielson played a cameo, and it was entirely different than anything I had ever seen him do. The movie was about a high end prostitute, played by Streisand (a bit of a stretch), who was on trial for murdering one of her Johns. In the scene, Nielson played the John who got a little too frisky, and Streisand bores him to death with her liberal nonsense (just kidding). It must be strange for an actor to become type cast as a comic or a bad guy. For a long time, I had a lot of trouble seeing Henry Winkler as anything but “The Fonz” though he’s certainly a versatile actor in dramatic roles as well. Jack Palance used to play a lot of bad guys when I was a kid, then I saw him in the comedy “City Slickers” and he was pretty funny.

The big news last week was the WikiLeaks exposure of classified information,  likely to embarrass a lot of people worldwide and undermine various diplomatic efforts. Depending on whom you believe, WikiLeaks (which is, by the way, a website) founder Julian Assange is either a demon or an angel. Is he the “Robin Hood of Information” or just some traitor endangering our national security? Does anybody remember when Geraldo got in trouble during the second Gulf War by divulging sensitive logistics information on T.V.? I don’t know enough about Assange to judge him, but I read an article in The Toronto Star that makes him out to be pretty strange. Right now he is holed up in Britain, but he can’t hide there for very long. A lot of high ranking government types want his balls on a platter, if they catch him. One thing this WikiLeaks scandal does is to remind me how uncontrollable the internet really is. Some argue that all information should be public, and we all suspect that some governments abuse or mishandle the information they obtain. What will happen when one of these “liberators” starts working in a country like China? I’m guessing he or she will end up in the Kang Pao Chicken. Assange probably crossed the line, but in this age of information (and misinformation),what would happen if the world had no secrets? Perhaps it’s naïve to assume it would be a better place.

Merry Eighteen -Shopping-Days-To-Go. Ho Figgin’ Ho … and don’t be one (a “ho” that is).


Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 11/29/10

Though I approached Thanksgiving in Buffalo this year with some trepidation, it proved to be a wonderfully entertaining holiday. Arriving at the hotel late Wednesday night, I expected mayhem, because the night before Thanksgiving in Buffalo is typically the biggest party night of the year. Several years ago, when we stayed at the Holiday Inn up the street, there was an all night party going on in the next room, and I eventually called hotel security to break things up. I’m fairly tolerant, but I drew the line when loud, sloppy drunks repeatedly slammed into my door at 2AM. It looked as if this year might be a replay of that celebratory chaos, because The Hampton Inn, our hotel this year, is even closer to Chippewa Street, and Chippewa is Buffalo’s “party central.” When we arrived, there were scores of inebriated young “adults” in the hotel, coming and going. Although there was quite a lot of noise in the halls, the room itself was quiet, and there was no need to complain. I looked out our 4th floor window, overlooking lines of kids waiting to get into the various packed bars, and for just one brief moment, I pined for the days before I became a fuddy duddy. Then again, I can’t ever recall waiting in line to get into a bar. For me, the bar experience does not include waiting outside in the freezing rain while some cretin bouncer scrutinizes fake I.D.s. I have always avoided popular hotspots like the plague.


Thanksgiving dinner entertainment this year included my sister’s three grandchildren, and I marveled at the mess three toddlers can create in less than an hour. I am also amazed at the amount of baby stuff with which my nephews now routinely travel. It’s like they were a stage crew setting up for a rock concert, and the first floor of my mother‘s rather large house was completely filled with baby paraphernalia. Ever the family archivist, I made a point of photographing and videoing as much of the kids’ activity as I could, and they proved to be an endless source of humor. My mom was very much “with it” for the dinner and for this I am especially thankful. As one of the more rambunctious little girls teetered on the edge of a chair, Mom even had the presence of mind to warn the parents. It’s hit or miss these days, and Mom could easily have been absent through the entire event. Lewy Body Disease is extremely confounding and can really throw cold water on any family gathering. As I think back, dementia has more than once presented itself at these Oppenheimer Thanksgiving dinners, and these multi-generational family gatherings are never dull. I remember one Thanksgiving many years ago, when one of my favorite octogenarian uncles walked up to me and out of the blue, smiling proudly, implored me to “feel his butt.” He’d apparently been doing some kind of ass exercises prescribed to him by his geriatric butt coach, and was very proud of his newfound firmness. A bit embarrassed, I jokingly suggested to him that people might talk, but he then became very insistent, grabbing my hand and placing it firmly on his butt cheek. I gingerly squeezed and nodded approvingly. I’m only thankful it wasn’t an even more embarrassing appendage I was directed to grab. When in Rome.

As an added bonus to the Thanksgiving mirth, after the dinner when we returned to our hotel, there was a wedding party milling about in the lobby. Just after we walked in the door, a middle-aged man came running up to the front desk from the elevator, totally befuddled and wearing a shirt and socks, but absolutely nothing else. Somehow, he’d managed to lock himself out of his room in this compromised state and needed another room key. Personally, if I were him, I might have taken off my shirt and wrapped it around my waist, so that my bare ass was not prominently displayed to the general public in a busy hotel lobby, but that’s just me. As we waited for the elevator to go up to our room, he sheepishly came up behind us and when the elevator door opened, I sighed and said “Go ahead, we’ll take the next one.” I was tempted to make him ride up with us, or worse, to wait for the next elevator, but in the spirit of Thanksgiving, I took pity on him. As we waited for the next elevator, I looked at the bride and groom, who had just witnessed this bizarre event, and I asked, “Did I do the right thing?” to which the bride laughed and replied, “Absolutely!” The next morning, as I stumbled into the breakfast room for my complimentary powdered eggs and Tang, who was the first person I came across, sitting alone? You got it, naked man. He looked up and as soon as he saw me, he immediately looked down, like our dog Jasper after she’s been caught peeing on the floor. It was priceless. I was half tempted to walk up behind him and say something like “Psst …you can run but you can’t hide … we have photographs and we gave them to the bride and groom for their wedding album.”

All in all, a special Thanksgiving.



Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 11/22/10

I must be “retahhdid” as some of my friends in Boston would say, because I have a tendency to photograph exotic cars I see while I’m driving around in Toronto. It’s one thing to see these cars in an auto show or in a showroom, but it’s quite another to see and hear them driving around. The other day, on my way back up north, I spotted a rare Porsche Carrera GT on Avenue Road and grabbed my digital camera, which I leave locked and loaded on the passenger seat. I was drooling, and actually followed the guy for several blocks, just to watch this work of art in motion. I always wonder how someone could drive a car like that around the city; how do you ever get it out of first gear? There’s a lot of talk about prohibiting cell phone usage in cars, and of course we’re not supposed to text while we’re driving, but hey officer, nobody said anything to me about taking photographs! Then again, nobody told me not to read the newspaper while driving, but I guess that’s not a good idea either. Once, driving a friend to work in an L.A. traffic jam, I noticed the guy next to me doing just that; reading the L.A. Times in his moving vehicle.


Prince William and “commoner” Kate Middleton have announced their plans to wed, and all I can say is, it’s about time we got some fresh blood in that family. Too much inbreeding and pretty soon we’re going to start getting royals with the gray matter of that Appalachian banjo player in “Deliverence.” I’ve always thought Charles was a bit of an oaf. I will never understand how he ever could have dumped Lady Di for that troll Camilla ParkYerBowels . Of course, I have been glued to the TV set for any updates on the wedding ever since I heard the news . Ever the “Dysfunction Detective” I stand ready and waiting to report any cracks in the engagement bliss. Will they go for the cozy seclusion of Westminster Abbey or will they choose something larger, like the backyard of Buckingham Palace? Will they find true love or crash and burn in front of the entire world as did Chuck and Di? Certainly all eyes are now on these young lovers and the pressure will be enormous. What a joy it must be to be a royal! Fun fact: 750 Million viewers watched Chuck and Di marry back in 1981. I wasn’t one of them. Perhaps Elton John will rewrite another one of his songs for Will and Kate. I am frothing in anticipation.

What else happened last week ... Pat Burns, NHL legend and former coach of the Toronto Maple Leafs, died after a long battle with cancer. Two teams that Burns once coached, the Toronto Maple Leafs and the Montreal Canadians, played each other last Saturday night, and in keeping with their tendency to suck, the Leafs lost yet again. Despite having shown a hint of promise earlier in the season, they are once again in or near last place. On a happier note, the Buffalo Bills won yet another game … that’s two so far this season.

Wednesday, we head down to Buffalo for (American) Thanksgiving in Buffalo. Sadly, this might be the last one celebrated  in my Buffalo home of fifty years. I look forward to meeting a new addition to the family; my youngest nephew and his wife just had a baby boy. Once again, Thanksgiving dinner at the Oppenheimer’s will span four generations, and that alone is something for which to be thankful.


Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 11/15/10

Last weekend, my pal Bob and I resumed an annual custom which we had sidelined for about four or five years … we spent the night in Niagara Falls, Ontario. Most people  assume that we would go there for a concert or to gamble in the casino, but not Bob and me. We travel to Niagara Falls to experience the scary wax museums. We joke with our wives and friends about how we’re going to go wild and paint the town red in a full blown Bacchanalian frenzy - after all, Niagara Falls Ontario is Vegas North (well, not exactly) - but the truth is, we haven’t really done much of that sort of thing in over thirty years. We did go to the “old” casino once about five years ago on one of our visits, but it was not what I would call fun. It reminded me of a video arcade without children, or laughter. While I understand that in theory gambling in a casino is supposed to be entertaining -- and I’m sure that for some people it is -- the idea of handing over my money to someone and then not getting anything in return is, to say the least, unappealing . I’m way too cheap to part with my greenbacks when the odds are so heavily weighted in favor of the casino. Besides, having recently spent over three years surrounded by and paying building contractors, somehow I feel as if I’ve already had that experience. The fact is, I’m not much of a game player in general. No sir, I want more bang for my buck, and there were at least three or four chamber of horror wax museums just begging for our entertainment dollars.




You have to understand, Bob and I are experts on the subject of scary wax museums, and we’ve probably been to every one in Niagara Falls. There’s something about wandering around in an unlit labyrinth, not knowing when some macabre display will flash before your eyes, that spells excitement for me. Sadly, this year House of Frankenstein turned out to be the only chamber of horror worth its salt. Typically in the past, each one of those museums employed live “growlers,” as Bob and I dubbed them, whose job it is to lurk in the shadows and surprise the unsuspecting spectators. Clearly, with the downturn in the economy, there is a profound shortage of growlers, and this was disappointing. While a dusty, poorly lit exhibit of some wretched victim being eviscerated by a werewolf is o.k., in my opinion it pales in comparison to the adrenaline rush provided by a well-trained growler. The best part about the growlers is that you can mess with them. I think Bob actually tackled one during a previous visit, and we came up with all sorts of creative ways to make their job harder (for instance, responding to their attack with an air horn). This year, I was bound and determined to photograph one of them, which is no mean feat given the element of surprise and the darkness. Call it the thrill of the hunt. Of course, I forgot my camera for the visit to House of Frankenstein, and that turned out to be the only one with live entertainment.



Naturally, in between wax museums there was some imbibing, because as we all know, alcohol reinforces one’s suspension of disbelief. As well, we needed to analyze the experience while it was fresh in our minds. I’m glad we had a few beers, because each successive chamber of horror turned out to be a little bit lamer than the previous one. I insisted on retrieving my camera from the hotel room for the last two forays into hell, and of course those venues were completely growler-less. I did take a lot of pictures anyway, probably more than I would have had I been sober, and mostly of Bob giving me the finger. I interpret the old saying “you can never go home” to mean that nothing stays the same. The final insult was that, after our last overpriced “museum” visit ended, instead of being returned to the dark and eerily lit entrance, with the mysterious and creepy monster trapped inside a shaking crate beside the ticket booth, we were spit out into the salad bar at the restaurant next door. Talk about throwing a wet blanket on the terror! Perhaps my enhanced memories of past growler-filled terror chambers might have been a little exaggerated, but the truth is, it doesn’t get much better than a Saturday night in Niagara Falls, Ontario accompanied by my best friend. We cruised the garishly lit midway which is Clifton Hill, we hit a couple of bars, we did some people watching, and we laughed. Time takes no prisoners; even a couple of bozos as fortunate as Bob and I have had our share of worries and tribulations. Sometimes you just have to stop and smell the sugar waffles. As we rode the Ferris wheel that overlooks the sparkling tourist town, I looked out over the dimly lit falls in the distance, and as I listened to its distant roar, I reminded myself that life is pretty darned good.



“We’re traveling around in the circle of Life

We turn to the left until we come to the right

We’re traveling around in the circle of Life

The past is the future with a little more light…”

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED