The Oppenheimer Report 10/27/10

Sorry to have once again disappointed the three of you who might actually miss my Monday pearls of wisdom, but I forgot my computer when I headed down to Buffalo last week, so the Opp Report is once again late. Dad had a very old Apple notebook, or IBook, or whatever those eggheads call them and, out of necessity I wrote a few business letters on it. I find there is a learning curve involved with using Apple products in general, and while Apple users furiously defend these computers as the best thing since electric potato peelers, I find them frustratingly un-user friendly. All I really care about in a computer is word processing, and everything from establishing how files are stored to disabling the “insert” mode becomes a three step process with an Apple. The only thing which is surprisingly similar about PCs and Macs is the unhelpfulness of the “Help” key. Admittedly no genius when it comes to computers, I have no desire to become “Apple fluent,” and do not wish to spend 45 minutes figuring out how to set the date and time on my computer.



With Halloween around the corner, I broke down last week and purchased a pumpkin at the local supermarket. I’ve been meaning to do this for the past three seasons, but the selection and price were unacceptable to me. Apparently there was a bumper crop this year and I was able to buy a large, well-shaped pumpkin for the bargain price of two bucks. What a deal … these days it costs a buck to put air in my tires at the gas station. I knew a guy in Buffalo who used to grow giant pumpkins and enter them in giant pumpkin contests. While growing a gourd which requires a forklift to be moved falls into the “get-a-life” category for me, these guys take there giant pumpkin growing very seriously. Less than twenty years ago, the record was somewhere around 400 pounds, but these days, the world record is something like 1725 pounds. To put that in perspective, a Daimler Smart car weighs 1719 pounds. I found a picture on the web of some guy paddling his giant pumpkin around in the water. If you want to find out how to grow a pumpkin the size of a small car, there are plenty of instructions available on the internet. You can’t go far wrong starting with Dill’s Giant Atlantic pumpkin seeds, available by mail order from somewhere in the Maritime Provinces. I’m going to pass on the giant pumpkin growing; I’ll settle for the two dollar store-bought variety.


When I was in college, one year we had the brilliant idea to have a pumpkin carving party in order to “rush” potential brothers and sisters at our frat (we were equal opportunity partiers). In all I think we had over thirty pumpkins, which translated into thirty candle lit jack ‘o lanterns for our big Halloween party. Our Halloween parties were legendary, with a live band and plenty of beer. With all the aspiring pyromaniacs in our midst, it’s a wonder nobody burned the house down. We had a couple of talented artists among our rushes, and I remember some of those jack ‘o lanterns were pretty darned creative. Shauna wants me to carve a picture of Jasper’s head on our pumpkin, but I think I’ll go with my usual (and much easier) crossed out eyes and phallic nose. Anyhow, Happy Halloween to one and all, and I encourage feedback from my twelve loyal readers regarding any creative costumes they encounter this year.


Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 10/18/10

After this latest industrial disaster in Kolontar, Hungary wherein an entire town was essentially rendered uninhabitable by a spill of toxic bauxite, I was not all that surprised to hear that the Hungarian government had allegedly withheld vital information about the imminent danger to residents and cleanup workers. How bizarre to see workers pouring acid into a river to neutralize the effects of the caustic bauxite. Watching the aerial video shots of the bright red spill, I was saddened, as I am sure were the rest of the viewers. Having recently experienced the almost non stop coverage to the recent BP oil spill, I thought back to some of the man made disasters I could summon up at a moment’s notice. Of course there are the Three Mile Island, and Chernobyl power nuclear plant failures. Most people remember Love Canal, although that probably would not have been a disaster had the municipality not chosen to build a residential community over a designated hazardous waste containment site. Learning machine that I am, I Googled the subject of industrial and man made disasters, and of course found a myriad of reminders that man has a less than stellar track record preserving Mother Earth.



Most people remember the Union Carbide pesticide accident in Bhophal, India. Twenty thousand died in that disaster, poisoned as they slept. In January of 2000, an Aural mining company was responsible for a cyanide spill in Romania that released 100,000 tons of cyanide into local rivers, including the Danube (which was also threatened by this latest bauxite spill). The accident was deemed the worst environmental disaster in Europe since Chernobyl, and although no human deaths were reported (of course, the long term consequences are a little more difficult to assess), the leak killed up to 80% of aquatic life in some of the affected rivers, and who knows what it did to the food chain. Probably the strangest disaster I found was the Boston Molasses Disaster of 1919, wherein a molasses tank from the Purity Distilling Company measuring fifty feet high by ninety feet wide collapsed, spilling millions of gallons of molasses through the streets of Boston. Twenty-one people died and many more were injured when an eight foot high tidal wave of molasses spread across several city blocks of Boston. What a way to go! The force of the spill lifted a train off it’s tracks, leveled buildings, and flooded several city blocks with waist deep sticky goo. The cleanup of that mess cost 87,000 man hours.



I saw my share of hazardous waste sites when I sold and leased industrial real estate in Western New York. I lived less than thirty miles from the site of the notorious Love Canal disaster, and it still astounds me that the area is once again a thriving residential community. I know of several other hazardous waste sites in Niagara Falls. One day, early in my industrial real estate career, I was driving down Buffalo Avenue, a major industrial street in Niagara Falls, in my ’67 Triumph Spitfire with the top down. It was a beautiful summer day, and suddenly I noticed twenty or thirty guys wearing gas masks and hazmat suits, sweeping a parking lot with large push brooms. There was dust billowing up into the air and I drove by it, not one hundred yards away. Why did they not close down the street while they were releasing presumably toxic dust into the air?! When I think back to all the industrial sites I visited, I wonder how much hazardous waste I was exposed to.





Sadly, our dog Tuppy passed away peacefully at the vets last Saturday morning. It was a bit of a roller coaster ride, because the vet had finally identified the proper antibiotic to use on her, and for a while it looked like she might survive. Unfortunately,  other problems became untreatable. We believe she threw a blood clot that blocked blood flow to her back end, and that was the game changer. The really tough part will be breaking it to Mom; that dog was devoted to her. The vet asked us if we want the ashes. The only pet remains on the family property at present include a small Turtle named Herman, and about one third of a rabbit named Alfie (our poodle ate the other two thirds). Both are buried in the back yard, presumably violating some city zoning ordinance. I have no desire to expand our backyard  pet cemetary, so I think we’ll opt for the clay paw print ... a fitting reminder of a good and loyal friend.



On a happier note, one recent disaster had a happy ending. All 33 of those Chilean miners, trapped for 69 days in a mine collapse, were finally freed, and miraculously, they all seemed to be in good health. One guy was so happy when he was brought up, he was running around stirring up all the elated onlookers. Kudos to the people who rescued them all safely. I like it when the media focuses on a good news story.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 10/11/10

First order of business: Happy Thanksgiving to all my Canadian readers, and Happy Columbus Day to the Yanks!


While I was down in Buffalo this last trip, I played an open mic at Nietzsche’s, a local music club in “historic” Allentown. I used to play open mics all the time but have not done so with any frequency in quite a while. Over the past few months I have resumed the practice, one because as an aspiring songwriter I’m always gauging the potential of my songs, and two because the process scares me. I have adopted the do-one-thing-that-scares-you-everyday philosophy as a program for growth and development. So far, no luck, but I persist nonetheless. This particular open mic has significance for me, because it is hosted by the guy who was there for my very first public performance, perhaps 30 years ago. I remember it like it was only yesterday. It was at a bar called Casablanca on Buffalo’s West Side. I’d finally mustered up enough courage to play on a stage, but when I got to the bar, the place was empty save for me, the bartender, and the host of the open mic. I played to a packed house of empty chairs, and I was just as nervous as if there had been an audience. In retrospect, I suppose it was better to get that first performance out of the way without an audience. I have a love hate relationship with this particular open mic host, once dubbed the king of the Buffalo open mic, because I felt as if he has a bit of a kingmaker attitude about songwriters. I played his open mic more than a dozen times over the years, and he never made even the slightest attempt to remember my name or my face. More often than not, he would bump me on the list to make room for one of his favored protégés, some hotshot who had not bothered to “wait in line” like the rest of us (there was always a sign up sheet). This would of course annoy me, especially because I usually felt I was better than the favored artist. There is, more often than not, quite a lot of ego involved in these amateur music events, and I suppose that in the early days I fell prey to my pride. It’s funny, because talent often goes hand in hand with humility. Put another way, the most talented performers I’ve watched over the years were often the least presumptuous and the most humble. I’d like to think that, the less impressed I have become with myself, the more talented I have become, but in truth, I’m afraid I still suck donkey balls as a singer/performer. It used to amuse me how some other songwriters and musicians would spend twenty minutes making sure everything was perfect for their little fifteen minute performances, when proper open mic etiquette would dictate that the performer get on (and off) as quickly as possible. Five piece bands would come in and set up an entire sound system, musicians would spend way too long tuning their guitars on stage and setting up special effects pedals, and more often than not, the performers who took the longest to set up had the least to offer.



Despite the preponderance of attitude, I really do enjoy playing and listening at open mics. If one is not so absolutely pre-occupied with one’s own performance, these open stage performances can be genuinely enjoyable for any number of reasons. The people who get up and play might be really good or really bad, but either can be entertaining. If you’ve ever attended a karaoke night at a bar, take that entertainment value and double it. Levity is a big part of the process, and I quickly learned that, where talent is lacking, a sense of humor is fundamental. I once got up in front of thirty or forty people in a bar in Buffalo and, accompanied by my Yamaha Porta-Sound keyboard,  programmed for “Samba Beat,” I played “Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weenie, Yellow Polka Dot Bikini” with a horrible Hispanic accent. Call it performance art, but it was, surprisingly, a hit among the more plastered patrons. I would venture to say that for every talented hopeful out there, there are one thousand wannabes who are anything but. It’s the reason why I’ve always enjoyed watching the tryout shows for American Idol. It never ceases to amaze me that some of these aspiring contestants think they’re good. My bar is pretty low, yet sometimes even I am amazed. As much as I think the afore-mentioned Buffalo host is a bit of jerk, I can’t imagine what it must be like to show up week after week, year after year, and to sit through some of the more abominable performances with a straight face. Then again, every so often -- and this is what makes these events worthwhile for me -- somebody blows me away with his or her talent. It doesn’t happen all that often, but I have heard some artists play, sometimes accompanied by other musicians with whom they’ve never performed, and words cannot describe the magic of those spontaneous performances. The serendipity of such moments is, for me, worth plodding through the preponderance of bad acts and the bloated egos. If there is anything I have learned in thirty years of songwriting, it is that listening, for me anyhow, is a big part of performing and creating.


Last Wednesday night I played an open mic at an Irish pub in downtown Toronto called Grace O’Malley’s. It’s hosted by a musician named Tim Hicks, who seems to draw some good local musicians and songwriters. Unlike so many open mic hosts, who routinely hog the stage to showcase their own dubious talents, Tim’s a good guy, and many of the performances at his open stage are genuinely entertaining. There’s little attitude, he and his friends play interesting covers and original tunes, he makes the extra effort to ensure the sound is acceptable, and I’ve never had to wait more than an hour to play. I’m long past aspiring to fame and fortune from my material. Now I simply want to present some of my songs as well as I possibly can, hoping someone will be listening. Superstar white rapper Eminem was on “60 Minutes” last night, talking about his humble beginnings and his creative process. When asked what he hopes to achieve from his performances, he answered: “Respect.” Amen to that.


"I AM A SHADOW ON THE COAT TAILS OF FAME

YOU’VE SEEN THE FACE BUT DON’T KNOW THE NAME.

WHY DO I FOOL MYSELF ANYWAY?

I GUESS I PLAY THE IMPOSTER’S GAME..."



Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 10/4/10

It’s time once again for New Yorkers to elect a new governor, and not that anybody cares outside of New York State, but Carl Paladino, a Buffalo real estate developer, is running as the Republican candidate against Democrat Andrew Cuomo. This race interests me, because it promises to get really ugly, and I am, as most of my readers know, a huge fan of bad behavior. Paladino is decidedly the underdog in a predominantly Democratic state, but he is not a career bureaucrat, and that may be attractive to some of the NY voters. Many New Yorkers who work and pay the lion’s share of the taxes here are fed up. Nobody expected Paladino to win the Republican nod in the primaries, but he rallied for the upstate vote and beat the incumbent. A few weeks ago, I read a blurb in the Buffalo News wherein Cuomo, who is former NYS Gov. Mario Cuomo’s son, said he would not resort to mudslinging. That self-righteous proclamation came a day after his party put out a disparaging cartoon depicting Paladino as a pig at the public trough. Paladino is no angel, and perhaps he has been an opportunist when it comes to available State money ( he leases office space to a lot of State agencies), but I laugh when I see one side indignant about the morality of the other side. To presume that either of these candidates is going to tackle the issues is ludicrous, because New York State is so mired in political quagmire that what it really needs is a giant can of Whoop Ass. Paladino might be just the S.O.B. to clean house. The fact is, Cuomo will never get into the ring with Carl Paladino, because he has too much to lose. He’ll simply run his weasel attack ads and sit back. As a Democrat in New York State, all he really needs to do is avoid making some colossal mistake and he’s probably a shoe-in. There are twice as many registered Democrats in this State as Republicans, and short of being accused of child molestation or of being a Dolphins fan, Cuomo will likely be the next governor of New York State. Having said that, I worked in the Buffalo real estate market for over twenty years, and I had some exposure to Carl Paladino. He’s a fighter. I’d be surprised if this race doesn’t turn really nasty soon, and I look forward to the unsavory and completely irrelevant volley of personal attacks. It is remotely possible that New York voters will turn on Cuomo simply because he represents the status quo. New York State is driving its businesses away right and left with mismanagement and high taxes, and I’ve always said that I rather have a businessman in office than a career bureaucrat. Paladino recently jumped on the No-Mosque-at-Ground-Zero bandwagon, and while I’m not sure I agree with that position, it is likely to win him a few voters downstate. Grab your seats and let the slander, lies, character assassination, and backstabbing begin!



Our Welsh Corgi “Tuppy” (proper name “Tuppence”) has been granted a stay of execution, and last Thursday I drove down to Buffalo to pick her up after her expensive four day visit to the vet. The vet has put her on a some special antibiotic and special renal diet food, and he is guardedly optimistic that the dog will respond to the treatment. Her sickness is kidney-related, and I doubt it helps that my mother is secretly feeding her people food at the dinner table. Tuppy had an entire pork chop the other day that Mom “accidentally” dropped on the floor. Here’s another curveball I hadn‘t anticipated: my confused mother is inadvertently killing the beloved family dog because she has forgotten the rules she herself used to enforce so strictly. Admittedly, a pork chop probably didn’t send the dog into kidney failure, but it may explain why she threw up repeatedly and became severely dehydrated. Anyhow, the dog was down for the count and the vet managed to bring her back to life. This time. Nothing wrong with the dog’s appetite … even when she could hardly lift her head that first day at the vet, she somehow managed to hoover down a full portion of whatever food was put in front of her. Because she is beginning to have some trouble with stairs, I bought a contraption which is a kind of dog harness with a handle. I can lift her up with this thing and keep her from falling down the stairs. I realize that Tuppy is probably living on borrowed time, but her therapeutic value for Mom is immeasurable, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her among the living (within reason). My friend Bob suggests that if the dog does die I have her stuffed in the sleeping position. "Don’t worry Mom, she’s just sleeping." Very nice Bob, thank you for that helpful suggestion. I will take that deeply twisted, cynical, sarcastic suggestion under advisement. Roy Rogers had Trigger stuffed; I think that's kind of an odd thing to do ... I mean maybe the family parakeet, but a horse? And where did he put it once it was stuffed, in the foyer? Just hang your hat on his hoof. I digress


Anyhow, thanks to all the dog lovers out there who have expressed their genuine concern (hear that Bob … GENUINE concern) over Tuppy’s recent tribulations. All twelve of you who may read this … remember, it’s my birthday next Friday, so be nice, for a change.



Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 9/27/10

Our internet service up here in Katrine is via a wireless cell phone device called a MiFi, put out by Bell Mobility. It works pretty well most of the time, and it is certainly faster than the dial-up service we were compelled to use for the first year we lived up here. For those of you still chained to dial-up service, you know that it is becoming increasingly unacceptable for modern data transfer. People were sending me multi-megabyte picture files via email and it took hours to download them. I used to have to download my email messages before I went to bed, because it took all night to receive them. Forget about trying to send a large file to someone else. As well, if you only have one phone line, dial up service can make it impossible for you to make or receive phone calls. This little MiFi unit is about the size of a small remote control and, since Bell added a cell tower across the lake, service has been pretty good. It’s a viable solution for rural locations that have cell service. That said, several months ago, there was a massive recall on the MiFi unit we use. Apparently, the rechargeable lithium ion batteries had a tendency to overheat and explode. Bell provided an alternative (inferior) unit until ours could be fixed, and it was a big pain in the neck which involved changing the settings on our computer, dealing with overnight delivery trucks, and I believe doing a special rain dance around the computer. About two weeks after they took back the defective unit, an allegedly new one was delivered to us. Shauna noticed that it overheated just like the old unit had, and we suspect they simply gave us our old unit back, unfixed. A few weeks ago, perhaps a month after the unit had been replaced, the thing stopped working altogether. When I took the battery out to reboot it, I noticed that it had swollen up like a balloon. In other words, it was about to explode ... the problem they intended to rectify. As I a begin writing this report, we are again without service and I am beginning to wonder about Bell. Right now, there is a terrific storm blasting across the lake, and the winds are ferocious. Our satellite just blew out, there goes the power, and the generator has just kicked on. Perhaps I should turn off the computers. And technology marches on …


That was last Tuesday. I watched that storm blow from the vantage point of our dock. Our dog Jasper was on my lap, and she let me know, in no uncertain terms, when it was time to head for shelter. Last Tuesday a band of destructive thunderstorms blew through the Muskokas and knocked out a lot of trees and power. The tail end of Hurricane Igor has just flooded parts of the Maritimes with 8 inches of rain, and today, Thursday, there were heavy rainfall warnings for our region. I only wish we’d managed to have a couple of our dead trees cut down before the bad weather moved in … I don’t really feel like cutting and moving a felled tree off our driveway. Although I own a chainsaw, and know how to use it, I prefer to let the professionals do that sort of work. I have enough trouble playing the guitar with ten digits.

Final note. When it rains it pours. I got a call the other day from one of our nurses in Buffalo that our Corgi “Tuppence” (AKA “Tuppy”), the Oppenheimer family dog, was very sick. She’s an old girl and she has a lot of age related chronic illnesses. We thought she might bounce back, but after speaking with the vet today, it doesn’t look good. It was less than a year ago that we were all joking about Tuppy the hunter, when she killed a possum in our back yard. The dog moves like a turtle, so that must have been one feeble possum. Now I must make the 4 hour journey down to Buffalo and perhaps say goodbye to our beloved pet. This will be hard enough, but I’m really concerned about what this news will do to my confused mother. For Mom, Tuppy has been a fixture in the ever shifting sands of  reality, not to mention a loyal companion who never left her side. In a rare moment of clarity, the other night Mom resigned herself to the sad fact that Tuppy “may not make it” through this latest struggle. Still, Tuppy has been a great dog, with a lot of personality. She was there all along to comfort Mom, there every morning to accept her token piece of toast from Mom’s breakfast plate. She stayed by Dad’s bedside for his final weeks, and we were all hoping that she would be there to comfort Mom until the end. I only hope Mom has the opportunity to say goodbye to her. The next 24 hours will tell.


Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 9/20/10

A belated Shana Tova to the fellow members of my tribe. As we usher in year 5771 it is once again time to reflect on the ups and downs of 5770. This past year was a roller coaster in my family. Last Friday marked the Eve of Yom Kippur, a day of atonement for the Jews, and for me it was a day spent with family. Thursday, I drove my “mekhutonim,” my parents-in-law, up north to Jasper Bark Lodge to spend a few days with us. They’ve been through a lot this past summer, and we thought they could use a break in the bucolic Great White North. Friday I took both 85 year-old parents out for a little ride on the ATV, and I think they were good sports to do that. Once an avid fisherman on this lake, my father-in-law has not been fishing in over five years. In what turned out to be a comedy of errors, I decided that my good deed for the year (I only do one per year) would be to take him out fishing before the season ended. We drove all the way to Magnetawan for big minnows, then rushed home at breakneck speed to get them in the lake before they died. Then we scrambled to find all the fishing gear, which has been stashed away since the house was built. We put hooks, spinners, and sinkers on the lines, we found the net and stringer; we were ready to roll. I thought I’d take him out in the porta-bote (my folding boat) because it will go slow enough to troll, but getting him in the boat proved to be a challenge. He somehow managed to fall into our paddle boat, which was sitting on the dock and full of rainwater. That necessitated a change of clothes. Jump ahead a half an hour, he was dry again, and I finally, with some difficulty, got him from the dock into and seated in the little boat. As I started the little outboard I heard a thump and looked back to see that he had slipped off the seat and fallen backwards onto the floor of the boat. As the motor was idling in neutral, and the boat was drifting away from the dock, there was my octogenarian father-in-law, legs up in the air, lying on his back on the floor of this little boat, with a fishing hook sticking out of his chin. Now he was bleeding, and there was sheepish grin on his face as he and I came to the humbling realization that perhaps this fishing venture was not such a good idea. I got the fishing hook out of his chin, pulled him back onto the seat and assessed the damage. Not so bad. Then I gave him my Jewish pep talk: “We’re going out dammit. I didn’t just race all the way back from Magnetewan with the world’s most expensive bait so you could wimp out on me. This was for you, I don’t even like to fish!” Finally, we did get out, and while we did not catch anything, we had a pretty good time. I made fun of him the whole time and he hurled his usual verbal abuse at me, pretty much the description of our relationship over the past seventeen years. We stayed out for about an hour, until the sun began to go down and it started to get cold. When we got back to the dock, I was able to get him out of the boat with less difficulty. As he was walking away, I noticed he had his sweatpants on backwards, but didn‘t think anything of it. I went to put the boat away, but I looked back because I heard Shauna and her mother laughing hysterically. They were leading him up the path to the house and his sweatpants had now fallen down to his ankles, but he didn’t seem to give a flying Walenda … he just kept on walking. If you don’t have a sense of humor about getting old, you might as well just curl up and die. I’ll give this to ALL my parents, they are not quitters. All in all it was a memorable fishing expedition.




Well, I finally watched an episode of “Jersey Shore”. I’m not sure why they call it that, because the episode I watched took place in S. Miami Beach. Regardless of the location, it was predictably ridiculous. This particular episode focused on the infidelities of several of the bulked up cretins within the group and oh, the drama! I’m not sure I have ever seen such stupidity exhibited on television. I sat and watched the show, incredulous and appalled. Regardless of gender, they all refer to each other as either “dog” or “bro,” and although most of the words they spoke were, I believe, from the English language, it was all Greek to me. I wonder if that language program Rosetta Stone has a file for Jersey Ghettospeak, because it is clearly a language unto its own. At one point, one of the characters was trying to figure out who wrote a suspicious note revealing the indiscretions of another. It was determined that it couldn’t have been “Snooky” because she never uses big words, like “wisely.” I too am cnfounded by big words like that. Snooky is, by the way, the girl who was recently arrested for being a “public nuisance.” Hey, don’t go buggin’ on me bro, I dint make this sh-t up. I believe that will be my last viewing of “Jersey Shore” … yo, been there, done that.



Yesterday, I took Mom and Dad Taylor out for a second troll on the lake, this time in the big boat. Again we got no bites, but there were no disasters as well, and we shared a sunset together. It’s always good to spend time with one’s family.

Carpe carp.



Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 9/13/10

Labor Day weekend, Buffalo hosted its 9th annual “Wingfest” to celebrate one of its several culinary claims to fame: the ubiquitous Buffalo chicken wing. One of the features of that dubious celebration is a chicken wing eating contest. From what I understand, there are professional “eaters” that travel the globe competing in these gluttonous events. Astoundingly, 43 year old Sonya Thomas, who weighed in at 105 lbs. won the competition by eating 181 chicken wings in 12 minutes. I am impressed and disgusted at the same time. There were twelve contestants and she even beat out 250 lb. Joey Chestnut, the pro porker famous for winning the last four Nathan’s hotdog eating contests. But 181 chicken wings, yikes! We used to go to a local bar called Gabels on Monday nights where the special was ten cent wings and three Steam Whistle splits for a buck. Twenty wings are a decent amount of wings to eat, but my record is perhaps thirty or thirty-five. Any more than that and I get really sick to my stomach. What pray tell does the ingestion of 181 deep fried chicken wings do to one’s digestive tract? On one of my recent visits to Buffalo, I went to Duff’s out on Sheridan Drive, a restaurant that many Buffalonians feel is Western New York’s chicken wing Mecca. I decided to check it out because I was in the neighborhood, and had once sold the property surrounding the restaurant. Frankly, I was not all that impressed; I thought the wings were expensive and no better than the ones I might find at twenty other Buffalo restaurants. Most visitors to Buffalo assume that Frank and Teresa’s Anchor Bar in downtown Buffalo is the best place to try Buffalo wings, because they are famous for being the home of the Buffalo chicken wing. Still, I’ll wager that most Buffalonians have some place they like better. Personally -- and this changes from time to time -- my favorite place for wings in Buffalo is La Nova Pizzaria, over on the West Side. Big, delicious, meaty wings that are incredibly messy to eat. La Nova is an institution in Buffalo, and they also make excellent pizza. La Nova is so popular in Buffalo that they will ship their pizza to homesick Buffalonians around the world. They’ve even shipped to troops in Iraq.



You may know by now I’m a reality television junkie, and I try to catch at least one episode of each new effort before it is yanked unceremoniously off the air. For me reality television is kind of a canary in the coal mine for cultural Armageddan, and I watch it with the same conflicted enthusiasm that I watch celebrities self destruct. I’ve been hearing a lot of buzz about MTV’s controversial “Jersey Shore” and finally recorded an episode or two on our fancy new PVR. I have not actually watched the show yet, but probably will soon, because I read in the paper the other day that one of the characters, Snookie, AKA Nicole Polizzi, had been arrested for being a public nuisance. In other words, they arrested her plastered ass on some Jersey beach. Welcome to the Lindsay Lohan Hall of Shame. The gist of the show is that it follows the delinquent and hedonistic exploits of a group of young Italian American “adults” on the Jersey Shore. I can see how this might be a big seller with today’s twenty-somethings, for the same reason the “Jackass” movies were such big hits. I don’t remember exactly what I was doing when I was in my early twenties, but I’m sure there was a fair bit of partying involved, and I’m sure I took pride in my own stupid exploits, and vicariously in the retarded behavior of my friends. It is, on the other hand, a bit strange to now be seeing that same behavior celebrated in a popular T.V. series. Fuddy-duddy that I have become, I do sometimes catch myself tsk-tsking and grumbling about the end of civilization. The fact is, not all "young adults” are boneheads, but there are always a few in every generation ( see Byron Brown Jr. several issues ago). Certainly alcohol is the great facilitator, and no, I’m not going to recount some of my more ridiculous past behavior for your amusement and harsh judgment. I understand the Italian American community is indignant about “Jersey Shore” but let’s face it, it ain‘t just the Italians. A few weeks ago there was a blurb in the paper about some Amish people south of Buffalo who were pulled over for DWI … IN THEIR HORSE DRAWN BUGGY. How bombed do you have to be to call attention to your inebriation in a horse drawn buggy?!



181 wings … as the Irish would say, JAYsus!



Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 9/6/10

The other day, as I was watching the attention deficit disorder news channel, a byline flashed across the screen which read something like: “ Randomized placebo tests indicate that marijuana is an effective pain reliever.” No kidding, I could have told you that. I’d like to thank Nancy Reagan and all the other boneheads from the religious right responsible for making marijuana the big bad wolf in the war against drugs. If I had a nickel for every ignoramus who buys into the “gateway drug” argument, I’d be able to buy me an influential congressman. Why not expend our limited crime fighting resources on the heroin and cocaine trade and hand out parking tickets for pot? In my opinion, smoking pot falls somewhere between spitting on the sidewalk and stealing a pack of gum on the crime spectrum. While I’m not much of a pothead anymore (it‘s the smoking part that bothers me), I am surprised that marijuana has not yet been legalized. I’ve always had a much bigger problem with alcohol abusers than potheads. Seriously, how many violent, aggressive potheads do you know? They may be forgetful, hungry, perhaps a little “out there,” but hardly a danger to themselves and others. Then there are medicinal benefits. Years ago, a co-worker of mine in Buffalo had a father who was dying of pancreatic cancer. As you probably know, that is one of the most painful cancers one can suffer, and this co-worker was at his wits end trying to find some relief for his dad. As a last resort, he asked me if I could get him some pot and, scofflaw-fraternizer-with-the-foul-underbelly-of-society that I was at the time, I got him some weed. About two days after I gave it to him, he came to me and thanked me profusely, saying his father was able to take his meds without experiencing the usual nausea, that his almost non-existent appetite had improved, and most important, smoking pot seemed to provide him with some pain relief. I think that governments should do what they do best and suck every tax dollar they can extract out of the production and control of marijuana, and leave the decision about whether or not to use the drug up to the allegedly free adult individual. Of course I don’t condone its use by kids (I was about 14 when I first tried it), but the fact is, some kids will smoke pot, just as some kids will drink. As for the health concerns, clearly marijuana has its health risks, but they pale by comparison to the deleterious effects of most of the other mind-altering drugs of choice (which are, ironically, easier to procure on the streets than pot). And while we’re on the subject of attitude adjustment, here are two other interesting stories which made print last week …




The Buffalo News ran a story last week which said that, according to a Forbes Magazine survey, Buffalo was listed as one of the top tailgating cities in the U.S.. As a diehard Buffalonian, I can attest to the fact that Bills fans are serious about their tailgate parties, and I attribute that to two things. First, Buffalo is a big drinking town anyway; it probably has more bars per capita, or at least it did when I lived there, than most other major cities in the U.S. . Secondly, the Bills have consistently sucked for the majority of their NFL career, and when loyal season’s ticket holders head out to Rich Stadium on a blustery October morning, it’s not so hard to understand that many of them choose to be anesthetized by kickoff time. I have only attended a few Bills games in my life, because I am not a (an American) football fan, but I have seen some legendary tailgate spreads at Rich Stadium. Apparently, there is one section of the Rich Stadium parking lot which is command central for the serious tailgaters. I personally know of one guy who routinely gave away gallons of rum each week in blender drinks. He had a special blender called a “Daiquiri Whacker”, driven by -- I kid you not -- a gas-powered weed whacker engine, complete with pistol grip throttle! Google it if you don’t believe the product exists. Other people bring gas grills, elaborate music systems, professional dancers ( o.k. I’m kidding about the dancers). I was rather proud to hear of Buffalo’s high ranking in the tailgate department.



The second story, gleaned from www.time.com last week, finds that heavy drinkers outlive non drinkers, and I find this hysterically funny. So much for abstinence! I’ve always secretly believed this might be true, and it probably explains why Buffalo has so many ambulating nonagenarians … perhaps it’s the booze. My dad always had a belt or two of whiskey before dinner, and he was like the Energizer Bunny up until the very end. I think it all boils down to achieving some kind of balance in your life. You can be sin-free on the surface, but if there are demons in the sub-conscious, fugetabotit. Booze is such an overt sin; no skeletons in the closet or secrets there.



As I sign off, the extreme heat and the humidity of the past week have given way to high winds and much colder temperatures. Having danced up the East Coast, Hurricane Earl, which started out as a Category 4, lost most of its punch and just soaked the Maritime Provinces as a tropical storm. As the mercury hovers around 52 degrees F. and the winds are howling, it occurs to me that this is perfect tailgate weather. Party on Garth … but remember, stay away from that evil weed. Drugs are dangerous, don’t be a dope.



Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 8/30/10

Today’s rant begins with my consternation about the seemingly random pricing of cross border postage and shipping. The other day, we ordered some exhibit pedestals from Florida for an upcoming glass show. It was going to cost $250 to send them up here to Katrine, Ontario, but if I had them sent to Buffalo, it was only $60. It’s another $190 simply for the privilege of crossing the border … what exactly are we supposed to be gaining from the NAFTA agreement? My other pet peeve is Canada Post. The mail system in Canada has become, in my opinion, a giant cluster f-ck of disorganization, as well as ridiculously expensive. How is it that it can cost just about one dollar to send a post card to the States, but only 25 cents to instantly fax a four page document there? I’m also finding that Canada Post seems to lose a lot of things I send to the U.S. Twice in the last year I have paid their exorbitant rates to send small packages to the States only to have them lost with no apparent accountability. One item I sent out was returned to me several months later, postmarked halfway around the world, with no explanation why it never got where it was supposed to go. While these were not valuable items, I expected them to get where they were going without having to re-send them. Forget about disgruntled postal workers, what about the disgruntled customers?




Reading the CNN business section online the other day, I came across an article about the five most affordable housing markets in the U.S. As soon as I saw the story, I thought to myself, “Gee, Buffalo housing is cheap, I wonder if Buffalo made the grade.” Sure enough, Buffalo, N.Y. is rated number five for most affordable housing. Of course, the example they gave was a ranch style house in Amherst, N.Y., one of the more desirable suburbs. If one is willing to move into the ever-shrinking inner city, the houses become even more affordable. When I lived in Buffalo, in rem ( i.e for back taxes) , one could purchase a habitable, inner city house for ten thousand dollars or less. Add to that the cost of a few locks and a shotgun, and it’s still a great deal. Periodically, I receive a market report from one of the local real estate companies in Buffalo, and I am constantly amazed by how inexpensive good houses are in the vicinity of my Mom and Dad’s house. A large brick home with a half acre lot and a detached garage, located in one of Buffalo’s more prestigious neighborhoods, recently sold in the city for about $400,000. In Toronto, that same home would cost seven times as much. A long time ago, when I was still working for my father selling industrial real estate, he and I sold the largest of the three Trico wiper blade plants to a Toronto developer. They couldn’t believe how inexpensive it was, and while nobody locally could see a future for this obsolete, eight storey, 700,000 square foot industrial facility, these developers jumped at the opportunity. At some considerable expense, they have since been transformed it into the Tri-Main Center. It is now a viable, profit-making multi-use industrial facility, home to many small businesses in Buffalo. Now that there is some talk about re-developing the downtown core into a high tech medical research campus, perhaps Buffalo will become a less well kept secret.



A propos to nothing, the above photograph was taken in Rose’s apartment, and I love the hat. I’m thinking of wearing it to a Shriner’s convention. Perhaps I could wear it to my next Jewish wedding as a sort of frontier yarmulke. As for the mink stoles, who decided that having a dead animal draped around one’s neck was a desirable fashion statement? Do you like my stole … I skinned it myself? Whenever I see a “coonskin” cap, I am reminded of a radio “blooper” I once heard. Advertising a mattress for a children’s bed, which included an illustration of Daniel Boone, the ad read: “Hey kids, come and see Daniel Boone in action on the bed” Yowza! I don’t want to think of Daniel Boone that way.



Happy week before Labor Day. Where did the summer go?





Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 8/23/10

Today, the topic of discussion is the stuff we leave behind. Last Thursday, I had the dubious honor of taking my Aunt Rose’s last remaining possessions out of her apartment. It took more than a month to go through all her belongings, papers, etc., and to clean out the apartment. Rose had a habit of squirreling away money in strange places, so we didn’t want to simply throw things away without going through them first. It was a little like a treasure hunt. I found one earring which may or may not have a diamond in it. Finder’s keepers. The process left my mother-in-law and Shauna emotionally exhausted, and when it came time to take out that final load, I volunteered to do it alone. I’ve done this before, that is, I’ve helped clean out the dwelling of a deceased person, and it is a strange experience. We all hold on to possessions, because they are mementos, or we think it’s valuable, or we simply forget we have it. Over time those things adds up. You never think about the person who will be charged with disposing of your belongings. That inflatable party doll way in the back of the top shelf of your closet may come back to tarnish your reputation long after you are no longer around to explain that it was just a souvenir from a college prank. Rose was not a hoarder, but she had a lot of stuff in an apartment that was less than 1500 square feet in size. We took somewhere around fifteen garbage bags full of clothes to the charity; there was china, and silverware, and old vacuum cleaners, liniment bottles, from the 1940’s. I found an old bottle of iodine that still had the price sticker on it: 29 cents. The furniture was by far the hardest to dispose of. One of her couches was so big we were going to have to cut it in half to get it in the elevator. I imagine that Rose either inherited it with the apartment, or some poor schmucks schlepped it up eight flights of stairs when she bought it. We were lucky enough to find someone moving into the building who needed a couch, and conveniently, he moved in one floor below Rose’s place. We helped him move this monstrosity down to his place, and it must have weighed a ton. There were three of us, and we were each of us somehow injured in the process of moving it down the stairs. At one point, I was pinned against the wall of the landing. The guy who was taking the couch cut his finger and dripped blood all over his clothes, and our other mover slipped on the stairs and injured his leg. We also knocked out a fluorescent light fixture, scratched the paint in the stairwell, and tore some wallpaper in the hallway. Other than that the move went quite smoothly. Rose had a lot of strange “tshaktshkes” or knick knacks she’d acquired in her almost 95 years. There was some hideous ceramic wear, some Pre-WWII Japanese souvenirs, and the piece de resistance: a 2’x5’ enamel-mosaic-mounted-on-wood depiction of a chariot race, that NOBODY in the family wanted. Mysteriously, on one of our last trips down to the car, when we forgot to lock the apartment, it was taken. Who knew that thievery could be good karma?


This move was a wake up call to all of us who let our possessions build up. I have been through this exercise many times, moving to and from boarding school, college, my parent’s house and my own house in Buffalo, and finally, into two apartments in Toronto. A lot of possessions didn’t make the cut along the way, and at the time it was hard to part with them. I still wish I had kept my bright yellow Rock ‘n Roll Babylon tee shirt, with the tongue-wagging demon on the front. I think Shauna must have made that disappear. It was my mother-in-law who learned the most from this exercise. She has for a long time denied the need to cull her basement collection of “acquisitions”, and she is now determined to spare her children the aggravation of sorting through it all after her demise. In the final analysis, what do all these things mean anyway? Of course, only we can decide what is valuable to us. The trick is to find one or two things that have meaning to you, and get rid of all the rest. Easier said than done. My mother has a big house full of lovely antiques, acquired over fifty years of marriage. Some of them were probably good investments. But I don’t really care that much about their monetary worth, and most of it will likely be disposed of in an estate sale. All I really care about, the things I’d really miss if they were destroyed, are the things that remind me of my life with my family. There is a very noisy steeple clock in our den that dates back to my earliest memories from our first house in Kenmore, N.Y., and a kitchen table that was our first dining room table. A few weeks ago, in a moment of bittersweet lucidity, Mom grumbled about the uselessness of all these possessions. It was as if she suddenly realized that “you can’t take it with you” so what’s the point. I had to remind her that the point is that, for my father, my sister, and I, these things we collected over time adorned a home, which was and still is, a lovely place to live. Alone they are just possessions, but in that house, they were each of them a valuable piece of a memory. You can’t buy or sell memories, and who is to say whether your favorite memento is a valuable Edwardian dining room buffet or a not-so-valuable,circa 1950 alligator ash tray from Florida. Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 8/16/10

Last Saturday I participated in my second annual Western New York Poker Run in Buffalo. The rain held off, the event drew around 58 boats this year, and a good time was had by all (of those whose boats ran) . There was some question as to whether or not the 3-4 foot waves would make the last leg of the run, down to Sunset Bay, a little too uncomfortable for the smaller boats, but the organizers decided to proceed as planned. Once we left the protection of the Buffalo Harbor it was a bit of a bumpy ride, but the trip was more than tolerable. The biggest problem was not the rough seas but the enormous cross chop generated by fifty-eight V-8-driven boats traveling in the same direction. Because it is the shallowest of the Great Lakes, Lake Erie can be challenging for small craft on a windy day. Waves tend to be steep and deep, and sometimes the “slop chop” conditions generated by other boaters make for a rough ride on plane. While traveling off plane is an option on a high freeboard fishing boat like mine, it is not a good way to travel in a deep-V offshore “Cigarette” style of boat. Those boats only perform well on plane. My friend Bob is an accomplished rough water operator and he piloted his twin-engine 27’ Magnum (see photo above) through the tricky chop with relative ease. Although his boat is, by offshore powerboat standards, an antique -- his boat is over 37 years old -- and while there were many larger, newer, more seaworthy boats in the run, we held our own and made it to the final destination before many of the faster boats. It’s not always about how fast your boat can run, but how fast you are capable of piloting it in rough seas. At one point, as we barreled through the chop at about 60MPH, I heard the roar of high performance V-8s coming up on our port side, and turned in time to watch three 35+foot catamaran speedboats pass us as if we were standing still. One of the larger “cats” in the run was capable of speeds approaching 150MPH. For me, this is the best part of the poker run: watching truly high performance offshore boats running fast on open water. I enjoy boat shows, but for me, there is no greater thrill than the spectacle of three or four dozen high performance speedboats barreling through the water at high speed. Add rough water to the equation and the fun doubles. The run (not a race) officially ended when we picked up the final card of our poker hand at the last checkpoint, 30 miles south of Buffalo at Sunset Bay. There we had a beer and a bite to eat, and then, as the clouds rolled in from the West, we headed back to Buffalo. The conditions for the ride back couldn‘t have been better. The southwesterly winds had died down and the combination of the smooth rolling waves and the following sea provided us with more than a few great jumps.


Celebrity fossil Zsa Zsa Gabor (93) is down for the count after complications from hip surgery. I’m guessing her cop-beating days are numbered. Former Illinois Governor Rod Blagojevich, accused of trying to sell President Obama’s vacated Senate seat in 2008, is presently waiting to hear the verdict of what has so far been a hung jury. Apparently, his attorney, in his closing statement said something to the effect of “my client is not the sharpest knife in the drawer but he’s no crook”. As Steve Martin quipped in one of his old comedy routines, two simple words, “I forgot” , can extricate one from so many tight situations. Rape, murder, fraud … I simply forgot those things were illegal, sorry. Can’t blame me for being stupid. Radio talk show host Dr. Laura Slessinger used the “N” word 11 times the other day during her call in radio talk show, in response to the comments of a female African-American caller, sparking indignation from the African American community and ultimately prompting her to make a public apology. Her contrition might have saved her job; look what happened to shock jock Don Imus after his ill-considered racist remarks. His verbal diarrhea yanked him off the throne of success faster than you can say “would you like fries with that?” I’ve listened to her show more than a few times when I’m in the car, and in my opinion Dr. Laura is a first class “bee-otch” … but I don’t think she’s a racist. Insensitive perhaps, but apparently that’s her M.O. Controversy sells radio time, and it’s sometimes a fine line when you’re pushing the envelope, trying to be edgy. I think Slessinger was unsuccessfully trying to make the point that certain derogatory words or expressions must be taken in context. Black people use the “N” word with impunity, but people will inevitably get offended when a white person uses it. These days, I hear and see a lot of things that I think cross the line, and I suppose the lesson here is more tolerance, AND more sensitivity. Considering my propensity for foot-in-mouth disease, I hope all of your are snickering to yourselves right now.


Thank goodness for fast boats!



Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 8/10/10

I like to keep up with what’s going on in my home town, and I read the Buffalo News online when I get the chance. As well, I sometimes listen to Buffalo radio stations when I can pull them in up in Toronto. Last week I was in my car and I was listening to one of those FM morning shows from Buffalo. I had to chuckle at the subject matter. It seems that the Mayor of Buffalo, Byron Brown, has a nineteen year-old son, Byron Jr., who keeps getting caught doing very (politically) embarrassing things. Not too long ago, he was caught on a video surveillance tape smashing his dad’s SUV into a couple of parked cars, which of course he was foolish enough to deny having done. A week ago last Saturday, Junior pulled another great stunt when he was caught shoplifting from a discount clothing store in N. Buffalo. On its own this is embarrassing enough, but the kid, who comes from a well off family, stole a $20 boom box and $40 worth of clothing. Of course shoplifting anything is unacceptable behavior, but he really looked silly shoplifting such cheap stuff. Go big or go home. Naturally this is a huge embarrassment for the Mayor. I don’t know how this will play out for him politically, but if I’m his public relations guy - that is, if the Mayor of Buffalo even has one - I’ve got my work cut out for me. I suppose one could go with the “hey-he’s-a-stupid-teenager” defense … lots of parents have boneheaded teenaged sons (and 19 IS the new 13), and in that sense this incident probably humanizes the mayor. Brown could use a little of that; the man is a walking sleeping pill. He has absolutely no personality and speaks in a monotone voice. On the other hand, the more judgmental among us (i.e. people like me) are likely to say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Anyhow, it’s nice to know that Buffalo has it’s very own version of Billy Carter. Perhaps Byron Jr. should come out with his own beer, like Billy Carter did. Byron Beer.



Over the years Buffalo has had some interesting mayors. Apart from the fact that most of Buffalo’s mayors did little to improve the city, Jimmy Griffin sticks out in my mind as one of the more colorful ones. An outspoken Irishman from Buffalo’s First Ward, Griffin said whatever came to his mind without much concern for the political consequences. Among other interest groups he managed to alienate, he seemed to take great pleasure in enraging Buffalo’s homosexual community. I remember once when he was on a radio talk show, a gay man called in and started to attack Griffin‘s notorious homophobic behavior. Griffin said something like “I thought ‘gay’ was a happy word … I don’t get it, what do you people DO with each other?” He was also famous for his advice to Buffalo residents after a blizzard shut the city down. He suggested everyone just buy a six pack of beer and stay at home. Clearly, the man was a genius.



In the news last week, there were devastating floods in Pakistan, wildfires in British Columbia, and a little welcome rain in Southern Ontario. Finally, and a propos to my many comments about my parents geriatric journey, I watched a “60 Minutes” story covering the very sensitive subject of end stage health care. The discussion was about the high cost of dying, and the gist of the story was that American taxpayers are paying an increasingly unrealistic amount of money to foot the government bill for end stage health care. Put another way, we are putting WAY too much of our limited health care resources towards keeping people alive long past when their life is effectively over. I know that shortly before my father passed on, my sister Jill and I did everything in our power to ensure that he was as comfortable as possible at the end of his life. He died at home, and that was what he wanted to do. He told us so. He had, and Mom has, wonderful nurses. One nurse actually took on the role of Dad’s death coach, making the process less mysterious and frightening for him. This, I have come to believe, is the best one can hope for in situations like this. Admittedly, my family had the financial resources and commitment to do this, but the sad fact remains that we as a society have lost touch with reality. We are sweeping the reality of death as a part of life under the rug, and that does neither the terminally ill or their families any good. Organizations like Hospice can help (and Hospice is not for everyone), but some of it is simply about common sense and love. At some point we must have the dialogue with the our loved one about his or her wishes. Excluding euthanasia from the discussion, give that person some control over the end of his or her life, and help make it as painless and peaceful as possible. As for me, I would rather “pull the plug” than die badly, alone in an ICU, hooked up to a respirator and IVs at $10,000 per day. It’s a tough, complicated subject, and I’ll wager the right-to-lifers want to shoot me (really, they do that). I say spend the money on education and therapy, so that more people are apprised of their options, and/or what is right for their loved ones. Modern medicine is a wonderful thing, but let's save the ones that can be saved. Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 8/2/10

The last trip to Buffalo was bittersweet. My sister and brother-in-law drove in for a few days, and we had at least one good dinner with Mom. Sadly, the Lewy Body Disease is taking its toll on her, and we can do nothing but stand by helplessly as it wreaks havoc on her mind. We’ve tried a dozen drugs to help her with her struggle and all have had unacceptable side effects. The best we can do is to keep her as comfortable as possible, and that’s no mean feat. This is a degenerative disease; she’s in bad shape now and there are times when she is aware of what is happening. I wonder how many families out there are dealing with this privately, because they can’t believe anyone else has had a similar experience. It’s a complicated, frustrating, sometimes frightening emotional roller coaster. Why do I air some of these very personal details in public? First and foremost, because I am self-absorbed, but there’s another reason. I think a lot of my peers are facing similar dilemmas, and some of us aren’t talking about it. A lot of us were well cared for by our parents, and now, as the parent becomes the child, we feel honor bound to return the favor. I’ll wager there are more books out there on the subject of child care than of geriatric parent care. I can say with some certainty that Lewy Body Disease is the most confounding and difficult challenge I have yet faced, and I never saw this coming. I simply was not prepared emotionally for this.



While I was in Buffalo, I took a bike ride around the city because Garden Walk was on. Garden Walk is a Buffalo event wherein residents with notable gardens open up their yards to curious onlookers. Some of the gardens were exceptional, but I only had time to scratch the surface. Buffalo’s rustbelt industrial reputation, as well as its sometimes horrendous weather, are notorious, but sadly, it’s a well kept secret that much of the city is in fact very beautiful. Buffalo is a city of good neighbors, and strong, healthy neighborhoods.



I’m now back in Toronto for a few days to continue helping my in-laws clean out Rose’s apartment. We’re through the worst of it but must now dispose of all the furniture. I’m guessing they’ll give it all to some charitable institution, but the trick is to find someone who will pick it up for free. Most of it is good quality, but most charities typically charge to pick up furniture donations. Go figure. The other day, Shauna found Rose’s false teeth, which Rose had misplaced shortly before she passed on. I heard that Winston Churchill’s teeth fetched over $23,000 at auction. What in heaven’s name does one do with Winston Churchill’s false teeth … put them next to the Waterford crystal in the china cabinet? Anyhow, perhaps we can include them in a garage sale, or perhaps they would be better marketed in eBay. I’ll wager there are other folks out there as twisted as I who could figure out a way to incorporate false teeth into their “collectibles” stash.



In the news, 21 people were killed and over 500 injured when a crowd swelled in the underpass leading to and from a music festival in Duisburg, Germany, called “Love Parade”. And finally, it looks like the immigration debate in the U.S. is headed for the Federal Supreme Court. If I understand correctly, the core issue is the State’s right to enforce rather strict immigration laws imposed by but not enforced by the Federal government. For instance, Arizona is now trying to enable local police officers, at their discretion, to require immigration verification from “suspects” in the course of their routine investigations. On the one hand you have the civil liberties concerns, and the potential for abuses there. On the other hand, you have newly established and potentially overburdened national health care system. I’m sure nobody will abuse that right, any more than they abuse welfare, or social security. This promises to be a heated debate. Will Texas and Arizona threaten to cede from the union? Load up the rifles Chester, yeehaw, we’re fixin’ for a fight!





Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 7/26/10

Last weekend, while I was down in Buffalo, I took a ride to Darien Lake Amusement Park with my pal Bob to pick up his daughter who was attending a Goo Goo Dolls concert there. Switchfoot was the backup band; I’m told they’re "awesome". When we arrived the Goos hadn’t even taken the stage yet, so we had some time to kill. We probably could have bought last minute tickets to the concert, but both Bob and I had seen enough of the Goo Goo Dolls in their Buffalo bar band days. While I applaud their international success, and in fact the success of any Buffalo band that makes it, I didn’t feel like paying the rather hefty fee to see them play on a big stage. I have to save my money in case Wayne Newton comes to town. Instead, Bob and I went to the amusement park, managed to convince them to let us in for free because it was so close to closing time, and took a ride on the park’s tallest roller coaster, “The Ride of Steel”. I have not been on a roller coaster ride since Crystal Beach closed near our summer place on Lake Erie. That was perhaps 20 years ago. I remember many a ride on the legendary Comet when I was a boy. When Crystal Beach closed the Comet was disassembled and sent East to a park on Lake George. I think the reason I loved the Comet so much was that it was a rickety old roller coaster. Because one was never really strapped in very well, there was a palpable sense of danger every time one rode it. I never got a ride on the older and even ricketier predecessor to the Comet, “The Cyclone”, but I understand that coaster was really scary. There’s a photo of it in one of the older bars in the South Ward of Buffalo, and it LOOKS scary. By comparison, the newer coasters are much more secure and they really lock the passengers into their seats. Anyhow, I was a little apprehensive about riding this Darien Lake coaster. I hadn’t been on a coaster in two decades and this one has a bigger first drop than the Comet had. We waited what seemed like an awfully long time for our ride, partly because they were only running one set of cars. When we were finally one ride away, some overweight man delayed everyone while he tried unsuccessfully to buckle himself in. That took about five minutes and it must have been very embarrassing for the man. The anticipation was eating me alive. When we finally got on the ride, and were climbing the first hill, I started to get a little more nervous and, to enhance that feeling, there were several  flashes of bolt lightening in the distance. The first drop was amazing, and the rest was a blur. Before I knew it, the ride was over. The above photo is one of those digital photos you can buy when you come off the ride. Because this was my first roller coaster ride in 20 years, I bought the photo. You will note that I am wearing my vintage, 1970’s Buffalo Sabres tee shirt. Look at the two guys in front of us.



Looks like the Gulf states dodged a bullet and Bonnie was not as bad as some thought she’d be. Still, any bad weather means a delay in the cleanup efforts, and the longer they wait the more likely that cap is to let go. How about those city officials in Bell California? In a city of 40,000 residents, the city manager was making something like $787,000 and the chief of police drew a salary of $480,000 … more than the head of the LAPD makes. What a bunch of crooks! Think of the pensions those people will draw. With the jobless rate at an all time high, how could these people possibly justify such high pay. Shame on the council members of Bell who would have o.k’d those salaries. A while back there was a big debate in our community of Armour Township, Ontario because the local taxpayers thought our town officials were making too much. I think our supervisor was making about $8000. I wonder how many other municipalities in California are so overpaying their people. Spaniard Alberto Contador won this year’s Tour de France. In what might be his last race, American Lance Armstrong crashed twice and was not even a contender. Lots of crazy weather. We had a couple of tornadoes here in Western N.Y. and in Chicago I heard they had 6-7 inches of rain in a very short period of time, flooding basements everywhere and severely overtaxing the city storm drains. And finally, the Plastika, a 60 foot catamaran sailboat made out of 12,500 plastic bottles is about to finish it’s 8000+ mile voyage around the world. How‘s that for a creative way to recycle?
 
 
Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report -7/19/10

I begin this week’s report with a discussion about the use of profanity in comedy, and I expect it will be a real page turner. The fact that this report is only one page long might be a problem. Sometimes I like to watch a cable show called “Penn and Teller: Bullsh#t”, and you may have seen the show, or perhaps you’ve seen their comedic magic act. Penn is the big outspoken guy and Teller is the ever silent little guy, sort of a latter day Harpo Marx. The “Bullsh#t” show is essentially Penn humorously debunking various myths, beliefs, ideologies, etc. on every subject from teen sex to UFO’s, and I think his rant is very entertaining. The problem is, Penn tends to be extremely profane, and I imagine that turns a lot of people off the show. I caught a roundtable discussion of comedians in which Penn was a participant, and he said he gets a lot of hate mail about the show. He said that he’d be perfectly willing to read it if any of the plaintiffs had actually watched the show. People pass judgment on the profanity and then fail to recognize that there is a smart, funny show at the core. Tom Smothers of the Smothers Brothers was one of the other comedians in the roundtable, and it was surprising to listen to him swearing, A LOT. There are a lot of really funny comedians who employ profanity in their act, Lenny Bruce and Richard Pryor come to mind, but somehow, hearing Tom Smothers swear is unnatural. It’s a little like Mr. Rogers starring in a porn flick. I guess I’m just as bad as the people complaining about Penn, because I’m letting my pre-existing impressions of Smothers affect my judgment about him. Profanity is creative choice, but it’s a tricky decision in comedy. When it works it really works, but when it doesn’t, it can really turn the audience off. I think Chris Rock is hilarious, and he’s frequently profane in his act. Pryor used profanity to give him that angry edge that made him so funny. I watched a Robin Williams special the other night, post heart surgery, and he was uncharacteristically profane. He’s always sworn in his act, but for some reason, in this special he was uncharacteristically profane, and nowhere near as funny to me. I think Williams is one of the most spontaneous, hilarious comedians on the planet, but the swearing  threw me off. By the way, it’s not as if I don’t swear a lot, I do. Another guy I can’t imagine relying on profanity in his act is Jerry Seinfeld. Anyhow, maybe I’m becoming a “prude”. F-ck it.


In the news, apparently BP has finally capped the 84+ day old oil spew in the Gulf, and now the big question is, will it hold? The pressure on the cap is enormous (well over 6000 PSI) and there is concern that it might rupture at some other less accessible point before the relief wells can be dug. I wonder, how could there be a less accessible point? This excavation goes down something like 17,000 feet below sea level. The fact that methane has been detected near the location of the rupture can’t be a good sign. I see that our illustrious Secretary of State Hillary Clinton has committed $7.5 Billion in American financial aid to Pakistan over next five years. Of course none of that money is not to be used for military purposes, but presumably it is to buy Pakistan’s acceptance of a U.S. presence in their country. Who do they think they are, General Motors? For that kind of money, you’d think they could throw us a bone, perhaps one belonging to Bin Bombin’. And speaking of Islam, did I understand correctly, they’re going to build an Islamic centre/ mosque blocks away from the site of Ground Zero in NYC? In a perfect world perhaps that wouldn’t be a problem, and I am aware of the fact that the overwhelming majority of Muslims are non-radical, peaceful, law-abiding citizens. Nevertheless, in light of the raw emotion associated with the World Trade Centre tragedy, that development just seems like a bad idea. President Obama just announced that he may be extending unemployment insurance benefits because so many Americans still haven‘t been able to find gainful employment. I wonder how Wall Street is doing … and how’s that almost trillion dollar bailout working for you? Spoiled actress Lindsey Lohan is going to the “big house” for a little Hollywood time out. Ninety days (she’ll probably only do 20) … big deal. Relax Lindsey, all the celebrity brats are doing it. As for her protestations that the judge who sentenced her was unfair, get real girl. Ask Sammy Davis Jr. about what’s fair; he was a Black Jew in the music industry, back in the 1950’s, and you never heard him complain. Book her Danno. Hey Linds, do your time and keep your nose clean you little twit. Finally, in the “I-can’t-believe-yet-another-professional-athlete-is-being-overpaid” department, NHL hockey star Ilya Kovalchuk just signed a 17-year contract to play for the NJ Devils. His salary … $102 Million. Beats breaking rocks een old country, eh? I wonder how much Bobby Orr got paid.

Come to think of it, I’m seeing a growing justification for the use of profanity in our society; there do seem to be an increasing number of a**holes out there!

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 7/14/10

To my twelve loyal readers, sorry once again that the report is late this week…


Still down in Toronto helping my mother and father-in-law clean out Rose’s apartment. Rose was Ethel’s last remaining sister, and I couldn’t see letting her face that trial without some help. It is very strange cleaning out the apartment where a 94 year old woman lived for the last forty years. I’m finding jars of antiseptic and cleaning products from the 1950’s as well as a lot of interesting memorabilia. Ninety-four years is a long time to collect stuff. For Shauna and Ethel, every picture and scrap of paper is a priceless memento, and so cleaning the place out is a very slow process. As expected, there is a dispute over the estate, and the greedy nephew by whom Rose felt so betrayed is scrambling around now trying to figure out how he can abscond with more than he is entitled. He isn’t interested in mementos; he’s got his eye on “the prize”. That is the furthest thing from my mother-in-law’s mind right now. The ironic part about all of this is that, near the end, Rose wanted to cut the guy out of her will entirely, and she simply didn’t have enough strength to see it through. It was Ethel and Shauna who felt that the strain of a competency dispute would be too hard on her and their focus near the end was to make her as comfortable and worry-free as possible. If they had been as interested in her money as he is, they could probably have made sure he got nothing, at Rose’s ultimate expense. Now he’s running around telling the one or two people left in the family who don’t completely despise him that my mother-in-law “poisoned” Rose and the rest of the family against him. There is a special place in hell for people like that. Be careful whom you trust.


In the news … obnoxious Yankees owner George Steinbrenner finally struck out at the ripe old age of eighty. I thought the guy was a certified lunatic, (I always loved that Seinfeld impression of him), repeatedly hiring and firing managers as he sometimes did. Still, I guess his obsession with winning and his “money talks” mentality worked, because under his reign the Yankees did pretty well. Paging through the International Herald Tribune, looking for anything amusing this week, I noticed an article on scientists in Australia who are tackling the growing problem of bovine emissions. Forget about the greenhouse gas assaults from rusty old Ford V-8’s, the real culprit in global climate change is cow burps (and farts). Anyhow, somebody has figured out a way to tweak the bovine diet in such a way as to reduce the methane emissions, and this is a great day for mankind. Thank goodness, now I don’t have to buy one of them Priuses, and I can resume my gluttonous overuse of fossil fuels. Speaking of which, rumour has it that BP is close to capping that oil spew, just in time to watch the last of the Gulf marine wildlife disappear. Congratulations you schmucks.

I knew it was the cows all along. Take that Al Gore, you tree-hugging, Tipper-divorcing, hippo. Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 7/7/10

Sorry this entry is a little late, but the past week has been pretty busy. Here’s what has transpired in my twisted little universe…


It started on July 2 when, upon arriving back from Huntsville, we received word that Shauna’s aunt, her mother’s only remaining sister, had passed away. Because we were immediate family - she had no children - what followed was a mad scramble to make funeral arrangements and to handle the various other issues involved in the disposition of her estate. On the Fourth of July, we buried her in Toronto. There were no fireworks. The good news is that this wonderful old woman is no longer in pain or suffering in any way, and in going through her effects Shauna found her will. You might recall in a recent post my rant about a bank that was denying my aunt’s directives in favour of a nephew whom she had ill-advisedly trusted with power-of-attorney. I maintain that the bank acted unprofessionally and in collusion with the nephew, and I still may lodge a formal complaint when the dust settles. We were in the process of going through the hoops of fire required to establish her general competency, and had in fact received that required confirmation from a well-respected physician, but the aunt died before her instructions could be honored. The will, which I’m not sure the nephew even knew she had a copy of (he had taken the original copy and never mentioned it to Shauna’s mom who, by the way, is designated in it as a co-executor), clearly negated much of the financial manipulation he had spun to ensure his family got the lion’s share of the estate. The matter is still in the hands of our competent attorney, but I believe this nephew would be a fool to contest that will. Were he to do so, it would trigger a forensic accounting and very likely expose, at the very least, his deplorable breach of fiduciary responsibility, and perhaps even expose him to criminal charges. Personally, I hope he does make trouble, because I know this is our best bet at making him truly pay for his greed. That said, a protracted court battle is probably not in my mother-in-law’s best interest.


I’ve heard it said that karma’s a bitch, but as I have said before, I don’t have much faith in karmic retribution. As comforting as it is to imagine this bastard returning in the next life as a dung beetle or an anal fissure, the truth is that we will likely never have the revenge served cold which many of us secretly crave. I can say with some certainty that this guy has alienated whatever immediate family he still has left, and most of them now despise him for what he did. My aunt begged us to ensure that he was not at her funeral, and he was not. I doubt he cares; because his first call was to the bank. Imagine his surprise, when he found out that all the assets were frozen.

Perhaps this is an inappropriate rant, but these reports are sometimes my therapy; my postcards from the edge. Nobody wants to think about this awful nonsense, but I’m finding out that it does happen, A LOT. If you have a loved one who is getting on in years, please make sure they have a valid and updated will, and ensure that the people appointed in that will can be trusted to carry out the wishes and intentions of the deceased. Believe me, it can solve a LOT of unforeseeable problems.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 6/28/10

6/23/10 - Headed back from Buffalo to Toronto, I must have been driving on the QEW when “big” earthquake struck, and I missed it! While the epicenter was near Ottawa, people felt it as far away as Toronto. Shauna said that she felt it in Katrine. Maybe ten years ago I felt a slight tremor from our high rise apartment, and I understand that there are some major fault lines running through this area. While this quake was a mere 5 on the Richter Scale,  the rarity of earthquakes in this area made it a notable event. I wonder what will happen to our 51 storey apartment building if a big one hits. Later on today, up in Midland Ontario (not too far from Jasper Bark Lodge), an F-2 tornado touched down and did some major damage. The G-8 Summit started up in Huntsville last Thursday, so all those would-be terrorists hiding out in the woods might have had a bit of a windy night. Don’t mess with Canada you fundamentalist jackals, you can’t handle our weather. The reason Mahmoud can’t find his rocket launcher is because it’s now in a cow pasture in Uxbridge.



6/25/10 - The reason I came back from Buffalo sooner than I might have chosen to is that today, the G-20 summit began in Toronto, and I knew I’d have trouble getting into the city  if I waited. There are police and security people everywhere, and there are protesters all over the place hoping to make their concerns known to the presumably well protected leaders. I hope they’re well-protected , because some of these protests are about the gigantic price  the Canadian taxpayer will pay for this little shindig ... about $1 Billion. Today, I rode my bicycle over to the east end to drop off some old clothes at Goodwill, and I rode right through the beginning of a big protest march. There was some guy up on his soap box screaming some anarchist nonsense, and there were phalanxes of policemen patrolling both sides of the street. As I rode further up the street there were bus  filled with standby police parked and waiting. One bus came all the way from Cape Breton Island. Are we expecting trouble?



Saturday 6/26/10 - Now I understand why there was such a huge police presence; today the protest got ugly. While the majority of the protesters were well-mannered and peaceful, there were a group of perhaps 100-150 troublemakers - the press called them anarchists, but  I think that does a disservice to anarchists - who broke store windows, pillaged, and lit several police cars on fire. It was strange to follow the local live coverage on T.V., then to look out of our apartment window and see the smoke from the burning cars. I understand these troublemakers travel from summit to summit and are well known to law enforcement agencies. I think it’s pretty stupid to light a police car on fire when you know a hundred people, including the media, are filming it. Under the circumstances, I think the police showed remarkable restraint. People were throwing bricks and rocks at them and generally, they did not seem to overreact. If something like that had happened in Buffalo, the cops would have beaten the violators to within an inch of their lives. Sunday I rollerbladed down to where the violence had occurred the day before and there were a lot of boarded up buildings.  Hope the summit was worth the price.


Final notes ... U.S. Senator Robert Byrd dies at 92 ...  Tropical Storm /Hurricane Alex may threaten the oil spill cleanup efforts in the Gulf. 70 days in, with all that oil floating around in the Gulf, think about the mess a hurricane would cause. In the World Cup, The U.S. lost to Ghana dashing their playoff hopes. Germany defeated England, and Argentina beat Mexico to advance to the next round. I’m headed back up north tomorrow, now that the dust has settled.


Earthquakes, tornadoes, riots, torrential rainfall and floods … do you think Mother Nature is making some kind of statement about the sorry state of our world? I suppose those G-20 leaders paid about as much attention to her as they did to “Jews against Zionism” protesters . Just another week in paradise!


Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 6/21/10

Dad at the beach house - August, 2002

I’m down in Buffalo for a few days to visit my mom, pay some bills, and take one glorious lap around Grand Island on my friend’s 27’ Magnum. I love that boat. When I opened up the Buffalo News last Friday morning, there, obscured by the bold print headlines about BP CEO Tim Hayword’s tongue lashing in Congress (talk about your political grandstanding), was an article about a proposed wind farm they’re talking about building in Western New York. The proposed farm would be situated 2 miles out into windy Lake Erie somewhere south of Buffalo near Hamburg, N.Y., and would be capable of producing enough electricity to power 130,000 homes. Sounds like a “no brainer,” right? Well here’s a new twist to the “not-in-my-backyard” argument: digging the foundations for these windmills will likely stir up the toxic waste that has for years been settling on the lake floor in the area. The proposed location is not far south of the sites of the former Bethlehem Steel plant and a few other dirty industries that used to dump their toxic waste into the pristine waters of Lake Erie. Now, residents of the waterfront properties south of Buffalo aren’t even supposed to relocate large rocks on the shoreline for fear of stirring up the dreaded waste; it could threaten the fish population. It stands to reason that pouring foundations for over one hundred and fifty giant windmills might stir some of that muck up as well. I also read that the power generated by these windmills will be three or four times as expensive as the power now generated by Niagara Mohawk. I’m not exactly sure why that is, perhaps because it costs a lot to build them. Alternative energy always seems to be ridiculously expensive; why is that? Still, you’ve got to love renewable energy. Maybe someday we’ll all have little wind generating plants of our own. Just like the Dutch.



In the meantime, until someone figures out how to make renewable energy a viable, large scale solution to our voracious electrical demand, nuclear power seems like a reasonable compromise to me. Nobody wants to see another Chernobyl disaster, but reactor technology and safety have come a long way since then, and there is no question that we need to do something satisfy our growing demand for electricity. Have you ever gone without it for a week? It’s darned inconvenient. In our apartment building we can't flush our toilets without electricity. We’ve now seen what one deep water drilling rig disaster can do to the environment, and this should be a bit of a shot in the arm to all the alternative energy advocates. The problem with the myth that electric cars will save the planet is that electricity doesn’t grow on trees. It is so often generated by burning fossil fuels and creating greenhouse gases. Yes, spent fuel rods from a nuclear power plant have a shelf life which probably exceeds the existence of mankind, and yes, radiation leaks are really dangerous. But lots of countries virtually rely on nuclear energy now, and it is generally a cleaner solution to burning fossil fuels. I think it’s worth the risk. Besides, we now have an oil slick the size of the Louisiana Purchase coming ashore on the Gulf coast, so fossil fuels aren’t exactly without environmental consequences either. Do we destroy the entire marine ecosystem of the Gulf coast (oops, too late, we already did) or do we irradiate twenty square hectares of Nebraska that nobody cares about? Decisions, decisions! As for the argument that nuclear power plants are easy targets for terrorist attacks, yes, I suppose they are. By the way, so are chemical plants, of which there are plenty in the U.S., and let’s not rule out the 40,000 or so offshore oil rigs presently in operation. Post 9-11, I’m afraid the delusion of national security has been somewhat comprimised.


In sports, Brazil is presently a front runner in the World Cup competition. Portugal is not far behind, and they just walloped N. Korea 7-0 (yippee!). Did any of you else see the questionable call that cost the U.S. a come-from-behind win against Slovenia last week? It stinks when the difference between winning and tying a match is determined by a referee who probably made a critical error in judgment. If anything, I think the American player was interfered with, not the other way around. I have two words for those refs: instant replay. There have been a lot of upsets so far; New Zealand tied former World Cup champions Italy yesterday, and that was a big upset. In golf, Northern Irishman Graeme McDowell won the U.S. Open yesterday at Pebble Beach, and I actually watched about half the round. I think I secretly took pleasure watching Tiger Woods hook a few into the rough. Karma’s a bitch. I still say watching golf is a little like watching the grass grow, but that was what Mom and the nurse were watching (for some inexplicable reason), so that‘s what we watched. A belated Happy Father’s Day to all my readers who are dads.





Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2010 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED