The Oppenheimer Report 8/29/11

I woke up last Saturday morning, eagerly awaiting footage of the ravages of Hurricane Irene, which was crawling up the Eastern Seaboard, only to find that it had made landfall on the North Caroline coast as a Category One. After listening to Chad Meyers on CNN frothing at the bit and crying “The sky is falling,” and then listening to Mayor Bloomberg’s press conferences in NYC, I was expecting the worse. Spoke to my nephew the weather guy, who works in Virginia, and he was not all that impressed by the hype Irene was getting. Certainly she was a big storm, I believe something like 800 miles wide, but as my nephew pointed out, sometimes the big, slow moving ones aren’t the most dangerous. The infamous Hurricane Andrew, which so devastated southern Florida in 1992, was smaller in size but much more powerful in force. Of course all hurricanes are dangerous and destructive, and certainly this storm was no exception. Excessive rain was a major factor, and who knew Vermont would get hammered with flash floods? I figured most of the flooding would be coastal but it seems that flash flooding inland was a big problem as well. Here’s a fun fact: with all the precipitation from Irene, 23 inches of rain have now fallen in Philadelphia in the past month. I like NJ Governor Chris Christie: “Get the hell off the shore!” Seems like a no nonsense guy, and apparently he’s getting NJ back on financial track. Maybe he should run for president. As I finish this report on Monday night, I just heard on the news that around 5 Million people are without power. Prattsville, NY looked like it was completely underwater.

Whenever there’s a hurricane, I am always astounded by the locals who chose to ride it out. The people in Key West are notorious for their stubborn refusal to evacuate. If ever there comes a serious storm surge, those people will be toast. There were reports that some Philadelphia streets were flooded up to the to tops of street signs. One remark about casualties. I do not discount the severity of this storm, and as of this evening, the death toll from Irene is up to 25. I was reading the NY Times the other day, and buried on the back page was a story about a recent mosque bombing, I think in Iraq, and about the same number of people were killed. And that happens a lot over there.

What else … Visionary Apple CEO Steve Jobs stepped down last week, citing health issues, and Tim Cook will take over the reins. Japan is spitting out Prime Ministers like watermelon seeds. Former Finance Minister Yoshihiko Noda is the new guy in town and I think he’s number five or six in as many years. Before Irene trumped it, the big story was the “liberation” of Libya. As another oppressive dictator is chased out, one wonders what the new leaders will be like. I doubt they could be much worse. Gaddafi has fled to Algeria, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he receives a lethal dose of lead poisoning someday soon. By the way how DO you spell his name; I've seen it spelled 4 different ways? Notorious polygamist and convicted sex offender, Warren “The Prophet” Jeffs is in a coma, on injured reserve in a Texas hospital. That’s what he gets for going on a hunger strike. Megrahi, that much-despised Lockerbie bomber is in a coma. Good riddance to him. Syrian despot Assad is killing his countrymen at an alarming rate (about 2200 so far) as the world looks on, and I’m guessing he’s heading for the same hotel in Algeria where Gaddafi’s staying. Canadian NDP party leader Jack Layton died, rather suddenly, last week. After three decades of public service, Layton played an important role recently in thwarting the attempted Liberal coup of Stephen Harper’s Conservative government. Apparently he was a standup guy and well respected by many Canadians.

Today was the sixth anniversary of Hurricane Katrina. Goodnight Irene.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2011 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Back to Katrine 8/23/11

I am sitting in my childhood home in Buffalo, about to leave for to return to Katrine. Shauna left with Jasper the other day. Furniture has been spoken for, clothes have been given away, lawyers, accountants, funeral directors, appraisers, house sitters etc. have all done or will do their respective duties. While there are many loose ends to attend to, for now we have done what we were expected to do, and now I need to go back to my wife and my dog for a little R&R. Rattling around alone in this big old house is chipping away at me. I look forward to motoring out into the lake in my little boat and saying my spiritual goodbyes to the past.

The other night I had a disturbing experience while out walking Jasper near the house in Buffalo, and it reminded me how important it is to be thankful for my health and good fortune. As I rounded a corner returning to our house, I watched a bicyclist lose control and fall hard on the street right in front of me. She was clearly badly injured and as luck would have it, an off duty Erie County Sheriff was nearby when it happened. Shaken up,  I watched as the ambulance took her away, and reminded myself that not everyone is fortunate enough to live a full and healthy life. It is important to remind myself of this from time to time.

For all of you who attended the service or wrote a note, thank you. I should be back to my usual loquacious,complaining, annoying, irreverent self  in a few weeks. Hopefully, if you have followed this blog in the past, you will continue to do so.

Jamie

My Eulogy for Mom- Temple Beth Zion, August 12, 2011

You will have to forgive me if my thoughts are a bit mixed up today, because that’s how I feel, mixed up. I’ve written and re-written this eulogy over and over in the past few days and I simply don’t know how to convey to you how much my mother meant to us. This much I know: I’m writing this at 3am and I have hit the wall. No matter how long we have with our parents, it’s always a shock when they go, and while I knew Mom’s passing was probably a blessing, that her time had come, I think I was in denial. Though she hadn’t been herself for quite some time, her love, her strength, and her influence on me were so profound that I simply could not bear to face the inevitability of her demise. I am still her little boy.

When Jill and I met Rabbi Pokras the other day, we had a good talk, and he reminded me that this should be my attempt to honor my mother. I cannot do that by listing her many accomplishments in the community, though they were impressive, or by listing the things she loved, though they were many. Most or all of you knew her, and this would be preaching to the choir.

I’ve been so pre-occupied with the past 5 years of my parents' health care and the various complications inherent in their growing old that I have lost sight of one fundamental truth: both my Mom and Dad lived a long and mostly wonderful life together, full of travel, horseback riding, a vigorous social life, and a remarkable ability to find the humor in almost everything.  Dad was the humorist but Mom was quite funny too.

I arrived in Buffalo Sunday night and Mom passed away the next day. In a flash of life, last Monday afternoon, my childhood home became simply a house again. For all of my 54 years, every plate, every stick of furniture, every cooking utensil, every picture on the wall, was part of that wonderful home, lovingly picked by my Mom to make our lives beautiful. As a child and a teenager, for the most part, I took all that for granted, and I took my Mom for granted as well. It wasn’t until I was a young adult that I began to appreciate my extreme good fortune. I always felt safe in that house, and that house was all Mom‘s vision. Those walls that surrounded us lived with all the humor, joy, heartbreak, love, and passion that not every family is fortunate enough to experience. Mom and Dad had established that cocoon of security, filled with guidance and patience and all the indescribable traits that made them special parents. It was a place where celebrations were warm and filled with laughter. But those walls are simply walls now, and without the people who made them breathe, they too have lost their life. As I said, this morning I hit the wall, and I cried and cried.

I was looking through one of Mom’s old yearbooks and in the description under her senior picture, she was described as diminutive but strong. She might have been little but she was one tough lady, and everyone from the gardener to her banker, to the many members of the community with whom she worked so hard, knew not to underestimate her. Even through the ongoing challenges of her struggle with Lewy Body Disease, Mom showed courage, grace, and humor. All of her nurses loved her and told us stories of her wit and her generous, unselfish nature. It is telling that during the challenging last years of her life, she managed to let her good nature peek through the sometimes thick veil of dementia. Courage under fire, that was my Mom.

When I was a little boy, maybe five or six, I was with Mom in Ward’s Pharmacy, around the corner from our house on Chapin, and I tried to steal a box of crayons. Unschooled as I was in the finer points of criminal behavior, I stole something much too large to conceal - if I recall, it was one of the jumbo boxes of 72, complete with the built-in sharpener, and Mom caught me before the owner of the store could. She took me by the hand, led me up to the counter, and made me confess my crime to the manager. She told me to apologize and ask for his forgiveness or else he might send me to jail. I was mortified, but I learned an important lesson about consequences that day. Therein began Mom’s lifelong campaign to steer me in the right direction. I say without hesitation that was an uphill climb. Grace, honor, humor, and dignity are not things which I embraced, but my Mom and Dad led by example, in subtle, gentle, and understated ways. While I might have been a slow learner, I had plenty of lessons, and got the message, loud and clear. Jill and I were both instilled with a strong sense of right and wrong, and through our parents’ upbringing, we knew we had an obligation to give back.

Many of you knew my Mom well, and you are familiar with her contributions to the community, to hospitals, schools, and other institutions. You may know she loved all things to do with horses, and that in general, she had a profound interest in and love for her dogs and all animals in general, she created many beautiful needlepoint canvases, and many spectacular floral gardens. You may know that she had impeccable taste in fashion … but did you know that she was artistic? She rarely spoke of that fact, but as a young woman, she was an accomplished artist, and earned her living in Manhattan as an illustrator in the fashion industry. Her creativity was infectious and her artistic side had a profound influence on me. Somehow, without pushing, she managed to encourage my love of music, writing, and photography. Mom didn’t care what we did as long as we grew and learned. Again, it was that unselfish, unforced guidance that made me respect my parents the most.

This past week, living at 140 Chapin Pkwy, the house in which Jill and I grew up, those memories, captured in the volumes of old photos through which we have pored, have overwhelmed me. The family put together some pictures on a bulletin board which you can see at the reception to follow, and I think those particular pictures best depict a life well lived … certainly better that I could ever verbalize.

We are, all of us, the product of our experiences and the love we receive. I go back to the differentiation between a house and a home. As I did with my Dad, I measure my Mom’s life in terms of the lives she touched, the love she radiated; the home she created. In all of those ways, she excelled. Neither Mom nor Dad was particularly overt about their love, but make no mistake, Jill and I, and our extended families, knew by their actions how much they loved and cared for us. Their love trickles down and has now touched the three generations that have succeeded them. Mom and Dad did that for us and I can never explain how thankful I am for that blessing. For those of you who have long since lost both your parents, you probably know how we feel, and we all cope in our own ways. This morning, I broke through the protective emotional wall, and I broke down. There is already a huge void left in the absence of their guidance and love.

I know it’s time to start paying it forward. I hope I am up to the task. Thank you Mom, you were as good as they come. I miss you very much, and I will do my best to live up to the wonderful example you set.

Betty Lehman Oppenheimer - September 14, 1919 - August 8, 2011

Got back to Buffalo last night late, and this afternoon around 4:30 PM, mom drifted off in her sleep. It could not have been a more peaceful end.

The Oppenheimer Report

First of all, I want to forewarn any of my readers who are averse to discussions about the end stages of life to skip this entry. Many of you may be wrestling with the same issues, certainly many of my peers with living parents are, and I need to put this in writing. To date, the decisions which have confronted me and my sister may be among the most important decisions we have had a hand in making. I said in my last entry that this report is my therapy, and I write this because I need to verbalize how complicated all of this is. If anyone can learn anything from my experience, or at least relate, then that is a good thing.

I’m back in Katrine for a while, and I don’t know when I’ll be called upon to return to Buffalo. Could be a day, could be a week. The waiting is hell. I’ve been down to Buffalo several times in the past month and Mom had reached a new low. Our concern, and the concern of our nurses was that the Lewy Body symptoms had become so bad in the last couple of weeks that my mom was in an almost constant state of agitation. For someone unfamiliar with the disease, this can be ugly. It includes Parkinson’s-like tremors, kicking and flailing, and a lot of strange noises. The mom I knew is almost completely gone now. While she may not have been in any physical pain, she hadn’t slept in five days, was having difficulty swallowing solid foods, and was generally unresponsive and hard to manage. Up until a few weeks ago, she would occasionally “come to” enough to speak and to recognize us. Our goal has always been for her to live out her days at home, and at least one of our nurses is hospice trained. That said, now that the end is near, there are no simple answers for how to properly care for her. The issue at hand: what could we give her to calm her down, help her to rest? This is the point I have dreaded for the past year; the point when I and my sister would be called upon as Mom’s health care advocates to make decisions about her end stage care. There was much discussion about morphine, which accelerates death, and neither my sister Jill, nor I felt comfortable going this way. While my mom’s case is probably a textbook example of why euthanasia might sometimes be the “right” course, we could never in good conscience do this without clear instructions from Mom. That ship has sailed. The neurologist suggested a mild sedative to “snow” her and allow her to sleep. We tried Xanax with limited success. It calmed the agitation, but had other side effects. Next we tried Atavan, which seems to work much better. Given sublingually (drops under the tongue), it is a medication that can be given as needed and in easily adjusted doses. Every patient is different. Mom reacted badly to almost every medication we tried throughout this five year journey, and to complicate matters, as her condition changed, so did her tolerance for certain drugs. I take some comfort in knowing that at least she is calm now, and that her imminent demise will be more peaceful than it otherwise would have been. Not all that comforting, but the best we can do.

The myth with which I deluded myself all my life was that each of my parents would one day drift off and simply never wake up. That was not how it was with Dad; he struggled near the end. One nurse in particular was able to guide him through his last days and help alleviate the anxiousness. He too took a little Atavan near the end, and that helped him with what in medical terms is called “terminal agitation.” Although he kept saying he wanted to die near the end, I don’t think it was until the very end that he was really ready to let go. My mom is a strong woman, and she has now lived almost 20 years longer than any of the females in her blood line. Hers has decidedly been a life well lived, even as we approach this confounding and difficult end. As one of our nurses so wisely pointed out, when making decisions about end stage health care, we can do no better than to disregard what we want, and to focus on what is right for the loved one. Sounds simple doesn’t it? It is anything but. I know we probably made mistakes; there were things I’d do differently had I the chance to do it all over. What Jill and I have learned, and what I hope to impart here is that loving someone does not ensure one does the right thing. That “right thing” may include removing the primary physician who, in our case, completely dropped the ball and failed to admit he knew next to nothing about this little understood dementia. Sometimes it is simply being present, and listening to the patient. Pay attention to the doctors and nurses you trust. Assess the options, and do what is right for the patient. Where my mom is concerned, those decisions became more clear as the end approached. I feel confident that with the care and advice of her neurologist and our wonderful nurses, we have guided my Mom to her end with as much peace as she could hope for. That of course gives me some measure of peace as well. As I write this she is still with us, barely. I love you Mom.



Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2011 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report -8/1/11

To my twelve loyal readers …

My mom is gravely ill and nearing the end of her journey. While I love writing the Oppenheimer Report, and while it is often my therapy, I haven’t got a lot to say this week. The last few years have been a challenge for my family, but Mom is almost 92, and for the most part, she’s had a wonderful, interesting life. I’m sure I’ll have something to say about this and about her in the coming weeks, but at present, I am uncharacteristically at a loss for words.

I’ve been lucky enough to have two great parents, and even though they were with me well into my 50s, I’m having trouble letting go of them. In my mind, I’m still the little boy pictured above.

Jamie

The Oppenheimer Report - 7/25/11

Oh, what a sad day for baseball! Former Toronto Blue Jay pitcher Roger “The Rocket” Clemens just got a free pass when his perjury trial was declared a mistrial last week. He now joins Casey Anthony in the “get-out-of-jail-free” department. Drug use in pro sports; what a surprise. If Roger did use steroids and lie about it on the stand with impunity, that’s a regrettable miscarriage of justice. What is even more regrettable is that this mistrial has probably cost the U.S. taxpayers tens of millions of dollars. I read an article last week stating that the Clemens trial involved 103 federal agents, five prosecutors, and 229 investigative reports made at 72 different locations. Mega-hitter Barry Bonds was convicted of steroid use and to what end? It might have been a moral victory for the prosecution, but the penalty was about as stiff as a parking ticket, and it took almost a decade to achieve that victory. How many countless millions of dollars of the taxpayer’s money did Clinton’s enemies spend trying to bring him down after Blowjobgate? There was the whole Whitewater investigation, which went on forever, and I wouldn’t exactly say they “nailed” him. They sent Martha Stewart to jail for some trumped up insider trading charge, but Clemens walks? That just doesn’t seem right. As for cleaning up the game of baseball, or any other professional sport for that matter, good luck with that. I love it when politicians step into the limelight and try to legislate morality. That’s always a “win-win” for America. Then, I read the other day that former IMF leader Dominique Strauss-Kahn may also walk because the woman who accused him of rape has been discredited. So let me get this straight; Rape, murder, perjury, and pillaging pension funds, are defendable crimes, as long as you are rich, or powerful, or some hotshot lawyer wants to make his or her reputation by winning your case. Justice may be blind, but apparently she does have a checking account. Once again I refer to the French Revolution. Audible groan of righteous indignation.

British bad girl and multi-Grammy-winning singer-songwriter Amy Winehouse finally succumbed to her demons and expired a few days ago. Can’t say I didn’t see THAT coming. While there is no official cause of death, a Winehouse friend (dealer?) said she had probably taken a “dodgy” tab of Ecstasy. I love the reasoning behind this; the friend said that Winehouse could drink and snort cocaine all night long without a problem, and she would have been just fine if she hadn’t taken that impure E. Let that be a lesson to you kids; make sure your Ecstasy is pure before you combine it with copious amounts of alcohol and cocaine. Winehouse now has the dubious honor of joining Club 27, the growing list of gifted musicians who died at age 27. Also members of the club: Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Kurt Cobain, Rolling Stone Brian Jones (1942-1969), and Grateful dead founder Ron “Pigpen” McKernan (1946-1973). Because I have a morbid fascination with celebrity crash-and-burns, I always want to know the cause of death. Sometimes it’s just a bizarre accident. Club 27 member Dennis Boon, lead singer of the punk band The Minutemen, fell out of a van as it made a sharp turn and broke his neck. Malcolm Hale, one of the original members of the 60s band Spanky and Our Gang, died from carbon monoxide poisoning from a faulty space heater. Hardly a rock star death. Fun fact: Mamas and the Papas singer “Mama Cass” Elliot died of a heart attack in a London flat she was renting from Harry Nilsson, and not, as the urban myth goes, by choking on a ham sandwich. Spooky coincidence: The Who drummer and wild man Keith Moon died in the same flat four years later, AND both Moon and Elliot were 32 when they died. Maybe there should be a Club 32.

Anders Behring Breivik, a right wing nutcase from Oslo, Norway killed about 93 people, some in an Oklahoma- style bomb attack in Oslo, and around 85 people he shot to death while impersonating a police officer on a nearby island. We don't know yet whether other people were involved in the attack. Much was made of the slow response of the SWAT team called out to apprehend Breivik, but how do you anticipate an attack as out-of-the-blue and so obviously well-planned out as Breivik’s? Like Loughner in Arizona and that Cho guy at Virginia Tech, Breivik is the most recent time bomb to explode. I found it interesting that, according to Norwegian law, if convicted, Breivik can only receive a maximum of 21 years for his crime.

Do you think Lance Armstrong was juiced when he won all those Tour de Frances? If they wanted to prove Clemens was “juicing” wouldn’t his testicles tell the truth? Talk amongst yourselves.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2011 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 7/18/11

We love our Miniature Schnauzer Jasper, so much so that we named our house after her: Jasper Bark Lodge. It’s a play on the name of a famous lodge in Jasper, Alberta called the Jasper Park Lodge. Anybody familiar with the breed knows Schnauzers are stubborn dogs with a lot of attitude, and this can be somewhat trying at times. Every morning as soon as Jasper wakes up, she makes a bee line for the big picture windows in the front of the house so she can “hunt” the squirrels and chipmunks. When she sees one, she goes absolutely berserk, hopping up and down frantically and screaming at the top of her lungs. We’ve tried several “dog whisperer” techniques to break her of this annoying habit, with limited success. Now, when confronted with a rodent outside, and with the proper signal from her alpha leader (me), she will stifle her craziness and instead let out marginally less annoying moaning and howling sounds. Sometimes she picks up one of her toys and barks with it in her mouth, thus muffling the sound. That always makes me laugh. Perhaps we are screwing her up by altering her natural instincts, but isn’t that what family is all about?

Citizen Kane is playing out in real life, and we may be re-examining the freedom of the press issue after Gazillionaire Rupert Murdoch again found himself in hot water. One of his more popular scandal rags, Britain’s News of the World, was accused of serious phone hacking abuses, and Murdoch finally shut it down last week. Now, the question is how will this affect the rest of his media empire. Pioneer journalist Edward R. Morrow must be rolling in his grave after these allegations of intrusive and unethical reporting. News of the World is accused of, among other things, hacking into the phone records of a teenage murder victim, and deleting phone records vital to the police investigation. We don’t seem to mind so much when tabloids besmirch the reputations of celebrities and penis-tweeting politicians, but when they go after the man on the street, this apparently crosses that very faint line of ethical journalism. Clearly some of these tabloid stories are over the top, and this latest charge is a wake up call to remind us how bad some tabloid indiscretions have become. Sadly, no one ever lost money overestimating the public‘s appetite for yellow journalism, and there seems to be an insatiable demand for lurid details. I wonder what if any impact this will have on Murdoch’s U.S. holdings, which include Fox News, The New York Post, and The Wall Street Journal? My favorite newspaper, which I don’t believe is a Murdoch publication, is The Weekly World News. Their in depth coverage of the Bat Boy sightings in Texas was nothing short of Pulitzer-worthy. If Shauna has not yet thrown it out, I probably still have my Weekly World News “Bat Boy Lives!” tee shirt. I love this stuff: “Woman Killed by Mink Coat” … “Clinton Endorsed by Space Aliens” … that sort of thing. My favorite headline, which was on my kitchen wall for years: “Man Loses Testicle Down Hot Tub Drain.” And speaking of media coverage …

A few reflections on the Casey Anthony verdict. Everybody is upset because this woman got away with murdering her little girl, but none of us really knows what happened. We all think we do, because we have had a steady stream of experts telling us what might have happened. She was tried in the court of public opinion. Clearly she was not a great mom, and probably not a good person in general. Some jurors interviewed after the verdict said that there was reasonable doubt; some even felt that Casey’s father George was suspicious. Sounds to me like the system worked. Perhaps if the prosecution hadn’t gone for Murder One, there might have been hope for a conviction. What I find bizarre about this whole thing is that, probably because of all the media attention, Casey Anthony is now a kind of celebrity, albeit a notorious one. She has apparently been offered a book deal and she could make some serious money because of her notoriety. Bonfire of the Insanities. Perhaps we should start licensing the rights to serial killer’s names. Wouldn't you go to a fast food restaurant called J. Dahmer’s?

Final note … a moment of silence for Betty Ford, who passed on last week. I’ve got no snide remarks about that. Hats off to Betty for her humility, and for shining a light on the huge problem of alcohol and drug abuse in America.

I want to know how a man’s balls can be sucked down a hot tub drain. I think maybe we need an Edward R. Morrow Clinic for recovering tabloid writers.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2011 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 7/11/11

Fourth of July weekend I was called down to Buffalo unexpectedly to attend the funeral of my Aunt Bobbi. She wasn’t really my aunt, more of a distant relative, but she might as well have been. She and her brother lived with my maternal grandparents after their parents died prematurely. I saw her and her family a lot when I was younger, but not so frequently over the past 35 years. Bobbi was big on family, and she was always very generous and kind to me and to Shauna. At the reception after the funeral, there was a collage of old photos of Bobbi and the extended Lewin family, and each picture spoke volumes. Of late I have been surrounded, sometimes overwhelmed, by the complications inherent in dealing with my aging loved ones. My dad passed a few years ago, Mom is very old and sick, we just spent a year caring for one of Shauna’s elderly aunts who passed last year, and Shauna’s parents are now in their upper eighties. I’ve spent a lot of time in the past five years dealing with nursing care, medical emergencies, hospital beds, walkers, wheelchairs, searching for the ultimate adult diaper, and the odd behavior that so often accompanies my octogenarian and nonagenarian charges. For the past five or ten years, Bobbi had been sick, and most of the time near the end she was confined to a wheelchair equipped with an oxygen tank. I looked at those pictures at her funeral and was reminded of the woman who had lived a full life, complete with all the travel, family drama, joy, heartbreak, and laughter most of us experience. She and her brother Morry were great story tellers, and they told me tales about my grandmother and grandfather that I never heard from my Mom. That oral history, embellished as it was, gave me a little more perspective on the people my grandparents were. I never knew my maternal grandmother and my grandfather died when I was three . To my mother they were saints, but to Bobbi and Morry, they were fallible human beings. Somewhere between my mom’s recollections and the stories from Bobbi and Morry, I got a clearer picture of who my grandparents were. In my collection of family photographs I recall one picture of Bobbi as a young woman lying on the Lake Erie beach with some of her pals. I think of all the parties and good times I had on that same stretch of sand. Four generations of my family grew up at that beach house. Like my discussion several months ago about the passing of some high school classmates, this death kind of shook me up. A hundred Kodachrome moments came flooding through my head; ancient history in color and black and white. My father as a younger man, wearing his Stetson cowboy hat, sitting on his horse, overlooking Palm Springs in the early1960s. My sister as a pudgy little girl playing in the sand with her infant brother (my ears were as big then as they are now). Me sitting in a giant tea cup at Disneyland, back when there was only one Disneyland. I guess with each passing of an old relative, and with the premature passing of some of my peers, I’m spending a little more time contemplating the past rather than the present and future. Bobbi is one more person gone who played an unforgettable role in my development. This past week I have taken it upon myself to contact a few of my relatives and send them old pictures from our family photo album which pertain to them. I guess it’s my way of staying connected to what little family I have left. I leave you this week with a song I wrote several years ago…

                                     Scrapbook

You’re in the kitchen brewing coffee, the aroma fills the air
Morning sunlight through the window filters through your hair
The dog is at the window, watching for the squirrels
And everything is perfect in our little world.

Cho:
And I just want this moment to survive all my life
Something to hold onto every day of my life
To carry me through all those trying times
To capture the contentment in the scrapbook of my mind.

That’s me down by the water playing in the sand
Grampy’s in his lounge chair the king of all the land
Mom and Dad and barbecues, the smell of fresh cut grass
Just a summer day on Thunder Bay, I wish that it would last

Cho: repeat

Bridge:

These days I find it difficult to keep my spirits high
Surrounded by the foul rag and bone shop of my life
I fall into a dark hole when I ask the question why?
Memories of past contentment help me to get by.

We’re at the table sipping coffee, silence fills the room
Out on the lake we hear the calling of a distant loon
And when our life turns difficult, as it will someday soon
I’ll open up my scrapbook to this sunny afternoon

Cho: repeat


Here’s to remembering all the sunny afternoons.

The Oppenheimer Report - 7/5/11

Happy Fourth to all my Yankee readers, and a belated Happy Canada Day to all the Canadians. Hope you still have all your fingers after this incendiary day. I was in Buffalo to attend a funeral, and last night, it sounded like the city was at war. From dusk until about Midnight, the streets were ablaze with fireworks and explosives. It was almost laughable how many explosions there were. I wish I could get my hands on some of those M-80s we used to blow up, but apparently they’re difficult to procure. I never actually made the purchase, but we used to buy our explosives on the black market. Some guy would appear shortly before the Fourth and sell bombs out of the trunk of his Camaro. I’d hate to think what would have happened if someone hit that gentleman’s car from behind, igniting the dangerous cargo. One M-80 can blow a small tree stump out of the ground; I can’t imagine what ten gross would do. Of course, every Fourth, there is the obligatory news story about some black market fireworks manufacturing disaster wherein somebody’s house burns down. I actually went to a website that sells the fuses, canisters, and packing material, because I thought to myself, “How hard could it be?” Gunpowder, wax, a fuse, a canister, and maybe a few other ingredients, and presto, you have your basic, garden variety M-80! I am sure that simply by visiting that website I have put myself on some kind of FBI dangerous person list. Relax everybody, I’m just a mischievous fifty-five year-old going on fifteen. And speaking of mischief …

As promised, this week’s report deals with the how, why, and where of the notorious Annual Buffalo T.V. Shoot. The first shoot took place January 1, 1977 and was the brainchild of several of my old friends from the neighborhood in Buffalo. I like to tell people the event began as a symbolic gesture expressing our displeasure with all the jingoistic Bi-Centennial manure we had been force-fed for the large part of 1976. If I saw one more used car salesman dressed up like Uncle Sam, I was going to puke. In truth, a bunch of us were home for the holidays, sitting around getting drunk at some Christmas party, and we decided it would be fun to raffle off tickets for the chance to shoot a television set. After all,who needs a reason to shoot a television set? Our first victim was a Zenith black and white which my pal Bob and I procured. Over the years, we got better at picking our victims, but that first purchase was a little weird. Imagine going to buy a used television and explaining to your salesman that you only need it to get three channels, once, for about three hours. The repair guy who sold it to us was very proud of the fact that he had almost completely restored this period piece, and all Bob and I cared about was that it had moderate reception on three channels. I felt kind of bad for the guy. Anyhow, New Year’s Day 1977 arrived and we all headed over to Canada for the big raffle. Because I have never owned a gun, I wasn’t responsible for explaining to the customs agent why we were bringing weapons across the border on New Year’s Day, but I’m quite sure we didn’t tell the truth. I won that first raffle. The winning ticket had a picture of a blindfolded television with a cigarette dangling off the screen. Blam! I shot the Zenith (but I did not shoot no R-C-A) with a twelve gauge shotgun. I believe I shot John Madden in the back. After the first kill shot, other attendees were allowed to take pot shots. We really destroyed that first set. You’ve heard of first blood, well this was first transistor, and it was intoxicating. For a while, we had a trophy room in someone’s garage, housing quite a few of these electronic carcasses. The event was such a success that it was repeated for about ten years thereafter, usually on New Year’s Day, and always on the Canadian shore. Some of these TV shoots were well attended, and in keeping with the general political incorrectness of the whole affair, beer was often served as a refreshment. Some of the murders were videotaped (we filmed the first one with Dad’s old 8mm movie camera). One year, we had three or four sets on deck to shoot. We shot consoles, monitors; one year, I think we even shot a VCR. The only criteria was that the electronic device had to be plugged in and working at the time of execution. Several of the shoots were by firing squad, and I remember there was a lot of firepower involved in some of those executions. One year, I believe there was even a high-powered elephant gun. Many of you have probably heard the story about Elvis shooting his TV set with a pistol. I can say from experience that it is a very satisfying thing to do. There has been talk about resurrecting the ritual, but so far no firm plans have been made.

Former Illinois Governor and grown-up-Eddie-Munster-look-a-like, Rod Blagojevich, was finally found guilty last week on 17 of 20 charges of corruption. He’s the guy who tried to sell Obama’s Senate seat to the highest bidder. Sign your name in the book of jive and get ready for your vacation in the Big Country Club. And on the other side of the justice-is-blind spectrum, Casey Anthony was found not guilty of murdering her daughter Caylee. While we can all hope for karmic retribution in this one, I'm not optimistic. The final verdict came down to the lack of evidence. No one could say how or when the little girl died, and therein reasonable doubt trumps all circumstantial evidence. Ugh.

Finally, on my country's birthday, I'd like to express my gratitude to all the men and women who serve our countries and protect my freedom to spout my silly opinions. For the record, I do not take that privalege for granted.


Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2011 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 6-27-11

The weekend before last, I made an unusual discovery: seagulls can be aggressive. One of my rituals when I’m up north at Jasper Bark Lodge and when the weather is co-operative, is to take a cruise around our lake in my little portable dingy around sunset. As I try to reduce my Sasquatch-like carbon footprint, I am using the little boat with the 3hp motor more and more often. I haven’t quite stepped down to the canoe, or heaven forbid, a sailboat, but I’m heading in that direction. Despite the black flies and mosquitoes, the beauty of nature abounds up here, and my little boat rides around the periphery of Little Doe Lake afford me the opportunity to stop and smell the muskrat poop. Last week’s O.R. entry featured a photo I took two weekends ago of a mother duck with nine of her newly hatched ducklings. I’ve seen blue herons, many species of ducks, owls, loons (I love the loons), Canadian geese with their goslings, sandpipers, and countless other birds. As well, there are lots of other critters roaming about. The other day, I saw a beaver the size of Nebraska on the Magnetawan River, building what appears to be a beaver high rise condominium. There are minks, weasels, otters, fox, moose, bear, deer, raccoons, porcupines, etc., and I enjoy seeing them all.

The other day, while on my pre-sunset cruise, across the lake from our house, I noticed two seagulls acting peculiarly. As I approached, they began to swoop down and seemingly dive- bomb my boat. At first, I thought they were playing, but with each pass, they came closer and closer, at one point coming so close that I felt the breeze from their pass. They appeared to be agitated, and I thought their behavior was odd. The next evening, I returned to the scene of the crime, armed with my portable digital video camera and my still camera. Sure enough, there they were, perched on the little island at the narrows to the middle lake, and as soon as they saw me, they alighted and proceeded to do what they had done the evening before. They were like Kamikaze pilots. I took some video of their behavior, and while I did manage to capture one or two close passes, the video is jerky and the birds are only visible for a nanosecond. Oddly enough, I had better luck with the still camera. Of course I took a hundred unsuccessful pictures of the lake and trees with no sign of the swoopers, and several photos have just a webbed foot or a wing tip in the frame, but I did manage to get one or two decent shots showing the perpetrators. I was fascinated by this phenomenon, because in my almost 50 years of boating, I’d never seen seagulls behave like this. What was going on? Is this too a product of global warming; are the animals all going crazy? On day three, I brought my neighbor along to view the swooping gulls, and it was then that I saw why I think they were acting the way they were. There along the shoreline, near their little island, was a baby gull floating around in the calm water. It couldn’t have been more than a week or two old, and I don’t think I’d ever seen a baby seagull before. I’m guessing these swooping gulls were protecting their young, and I was an intruder on their otherwise quiet lake. Gulls are not my favorite birds. They crap on my boat cover, their call is like fingernails on a blackboard, and they are one of Mother Nature’s scavengers. Nevertheless, they play an important role in a marine environment, and I recognize their part in the natural order of things. I waited for the swoopers to land in the water and putted over to them. We had a bizarre Camp-David-like conversation, and while I don’t speak fluent gull, I told them that I was sorry for causing them any distress, and by the way, I mean their baby no harm. Then I gunned the motor and tried to swamp them. I am, after all a homo sapien, and a semi-retired one to boot, which makes me a double threat.

The huge Walmart class action suit filed by women claiming discrimination was thrown out by The Supreme Court. Perhaps the judges were concerned that such a big class action could have deleterious implications for the rest of corporate America. Isn’t this a little like saying the banks are too big to fail, so we must bail them out? Too big to fail or trust-busting; either way there’s government intervention. Once again, profit and power trump justice. Big wildfires in Sierra Vista, Arizona and parts of Texas. 4 Million acres have been destroyed so far this year alone. Up here in the Great White North, rain has been the big story, and it came down hard for most of last week. My weather gurus up here have predicted a hot dry summer, but so far, a week in, I don’t see it. I spoke to one of my buddies in Banff last week, and he said that the above-average snow pack in the mountains has made for a wet Spring. I remember many times well into July when Shauna and I encountered deep snow hiking at the higher elevations in the Canadian Rockies. Odd to need “gators” in July.

Anyhow, this is your seagull behavioral expert, signing off. Next week, join me as I recount the story of the annual Buffalo television shoot.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2011 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 6/20/11

Newly hatched in Katrine

This past week in the media it was the tale of two Anthonys. For me, it is unusual to miss an opportunity to make some wise crack about a political scandal, but I missed the boat with Weinergate. It just didn’t interest me all that much, so jaded have I become by all these stories of aberrant behavior among famous or important people. Ahnold the marriage terminator, Elliot Spitzer the high stakes John, Sen. Edwards, Brett Favre; where will it end? After all the sex scandals involving celebrities and politicians, this just didn’t seem all that scandalous. Stupid yes, ridiculous, absolutely, but interesting or newsworthy, not so much. The Weinergate scandal did add a new word into my anemic vocabulary: “sexting.” Congressmen Anthony Weiner Tweeted his penis (huh?) and got caught. I mean, come on! Last Thursday, after vowing indignantly to remain in office, the broken Weiner announced that he would resign. Another story that I didn’t need to see ad nauseam on CNN last week was the Casey Anthony trial in Florida. Apparently this so-called mother is on trial for murdering her little daughter Caylee, and while there is only circumstantial evidence, it is becoming increasingly evident this woman at the very least was responsible for her daughter‘s death. I don’t think it is a good idea to try defendants in the court of public opinion, because I believe it leads to bungled verdicts. While it may be yellow journalistic entertainment for some to follow the trials of pathological liars, cheats, cyber-exhibitionists, and sociopath murderers, I think the publicity hinders the legal process. I realize that our capacity as human beings to commit unconscionable evil is Nancy Grace’s bread and butter, but I also believe that O.J. might have been convicted if there had not been so much distracting media coverage. Last week, I turned on the news to see what was happening in Libya, or Syria, or Yemen, or any number of stories that might effect the real world, and what I saw was a fist fight in the line of potential spectators for the Casey Anthony trial. And there was some guy in a neck brace, racing to get in the line to watch the trial. What, was Disney World closed that day? He looked like some obnoxious kid racing to get into the Space Mountain line. Is this the righteous indignation of a largely law-abiding public or vultures circling over the latest kill on the Savannah? Secretly, I’ve always wanted to attend a Judge Judy trial. I did NOT injure that woman’s poodle on purpose with my weed whacker! Judge Judy is kind of like the championship wrestling of law.

Hockey is officially over for another season. Heavy sigh. The Boston Bruins won their 1^st Stanley Cup in 39 years, defeating the Vancouver Canucks handily in Game 7. Once again, a hockey game was hyped as Canada vs. the rest of the world, but come on, Boston probably has Canadian players, don’t they? I was torn, but in truth I wasn’t particularly vested in either team. Riots broke out in Vancouver after the game, and while this was probably the actions of a few disgruntled fans, it makes Vancouver fans look like poor losers. Let me see, what else is news … there was comedian Tracy Morgan’s homophobic rant, for which he is very sorry. “Hey, some of my best friends are fags, but if MY kid came home and said HE was one, I’d stab him in the head with a knife.“ And scene. Greece is about to swirl down the toilet bowl of bad debt, and fears are that this default could have a domino effect on countries like Spain and Portugal, further imperiling the European economy and indirectly threatening other economies in the world. All this greed and mismanagement. I wonder if those Greek government finance guys like to tweet pictures of their private parts? A moment of silence for Springsteen sax player Clarence Clemons, who died last week not long after having a severe stroke. Clemons was 69.

Final note. You may have heard of the Burning Man Festival now held annually in the desert of Nevada, but did you know there is a Frozen Dead Guy Days festival in Nederland, Colorado? I just read an article in the NY Times about it, because apparently the town fathers are selling the copyrights to all things Frozen Dead Guy. They actually have a frozen dead Norwegian guy named Bredo, stashed in a freezer somewhere outside of town, but he doesn’t go with the package. Sounds like a money maker to me. From this article, I learned that there are other such bizarre celebrations out there. For instance, in Fruita, Colorado there is an event celebrating Mike the decapitated chicken, who allegedly lived for 18 months after his head was cut off (urban myth?) There’s also one in Arkansas, called Toad Suck Daze. I’d buy that tee shirt. I suppose these festivals are no more bizarre than incarcerating a groundhog to predict the weather. In Buffalo we used to have our world famous annual New Year’s Day television shoot. If any of my twelve loyal readers wishes to hear more about that, I’d be happy to oblige. It’s likely to be more interesting than the drek now spreading across the news. Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2011 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 6/13/11

When I returned from Buffalo last week, I stopped at our apartment to pick up the mail. I went into the kitchen to grab something to eat, and I noticed that the refrigerator had crapped out. One of the many nice features of living in an apartment building is that I simply call up the maintenance department and request that they replace the faulty appliance. The bad news is that I still have to clean out the refrigerator before they can replace it. Yuck. There were frozen blueberries from 2009 which had melted and leaked all over the freezer, melted frozen vegetables, not-so-frozen meat, etc. It’s amazing the stuff that can accumulate in the back of a refrigerator and go unnoticed for half a decade. I found a jar of jam stuck behind the pickles that had an expiration date from 2006. Miraculously, no mold. In the freezer there is a slab of white chocolate made to look like piano keys with dark chocolate black keys, which Shauna has kept for the past twenty years I have known her (and perhaps for much longer). I do not question these things, I just leave stuff where it is and hope that some day it will disappear.




Everyone in Canada knows it’s black fly season in the Great White North, and for any of you unfamiliar with those little bastards, they are tiny enough to go unseen, but their bites are ferocious and itch for days. The other day I was in such a hurry to try out our new lawnmower that I went out under-protected. I didn’t realize my mistake until it was far too late, and now I am covered in black fly and mosquito bites. This coupled with the squirrel family that has taken up residence in the one foot crawl space between our ceiling and our roof deck just above my bedroom made for a few relatively sleepless nights. I may have to resort to playing my Del Rubio Triplets album at full volume to drive the squirrels out. That is something I usually reserve for unwanted dinner guests who have over-stayed their welcome. The Triplet’s version of the Doors tune “Light My Fire” is so bad it’s not even funny. For the black fly bites I have made my own version of Afta-Bite itch reducer (ammonia and water), and that seems to help, temporarily. Unfortunately, I was attacked in the two sensitive areas wherein scratching is considered unseemly. One of the major problems with these embarrassing nether regions is that it is difficult to determine the exact location of the bite (for obvious reasons), so there is a lot of unproductive groping and grabbing to achieve the desired relief. This of course is not acceptable public behavior. Thank goodness I have no pressing social engagements this week, only a dental appointment. I will if needs be, scratch those areas in front of my dentist. I once had to sit through my entire college graduation covered from head to toe in poison ivy, and that was in sweltering heat. The only advice I can give based on that experience is that alcohol and skinny-dipping are not always a good combination.



Mini rant about postal service. It’s bad enough that I constantly have to buy two cent postage stamps to add onto my letters because the rates keep changing, but I have just had my second CD package returned to me, months later, that was properly posted in the first place. I’m not sure what is happening, but I am certain I would not be having this problem if I could fax a CD. A few weeks ago there was a postal strike over the usual issues: salary and benefits. That’s right, let’s make mail delivery even less economical shall we? I recently heard about a bulk email delivery service that some of my musician friends use called something like Usendit.com which will send large files and/or documents through the internet for pennies a day. I can email a 400 page book to a friend in Bangkok or my entire CD collection (as computer files of course) to my buddy in Australia, for a very reasonable annual membership fee, and it offers the almost instantaneous transmission times characteristic of the internet. This is a thousand times more economical than snail mail. I keep hearing about how snail mail is losing business, and it’s not hard to figure out why. It now costs $1.03 Canadian to send a POST CARD to Buffalo, N.Y. from Ft. Erie, Ontario, a distance of a mile or so. And that usually takes at least three days, if Canada Post does not lose the piece. If they were a private enterprise, the market place would deem them uncompetitive and run them out of business within a month. But noooo, they’re run by the government so they’re expected to be expensive and inefficient. Jeesh.



Oh, I think I just found the spot …. Oh yeah … ahhhhh, that’s better! Scratch and win.

The Oppenheimer Report 6/7/11

Cousin Harry

Sumer has finally arrived, and with a vengeance! Last Tuesday I was in Huntsville and I could have fried an egg on the hood of my car. The thermometer read 91 degrees, and it was only the end of May. The next morning I checked the temperature, and it was a frosty 41. Yikes! Still a lot of rain, and it has been difficult to plan outdoor planting and painting projects. My cousin Harry in Oregon sent me an email the other day, as he does on a semi-regular basis. I love receiving his missives because they are always laced with interesting stories about life on his farm. In his most recent folksy letter, he mentioned that all his farmer friends who planted in March are basically screwed because of the crazy weather. While the burning of fossil fuels may certainly contribute to global warming and the resulting weather changes, I am skeptical of Al Gore’s voodoo science premise that global warming is primarily the fault of mankind. Whatever the cause though, it is hard to dispute that we are experiencing extreme weather changes.




Did any of you ever see that disturbing internet video wherein people allegedly pop corn with the microwave transmissions from their cell phones? This video was quickly debunked as a hoax, but there is a new study out suggesting that cell phone radiation may be more harmful to the human brain than we originally thought. And they figured this out just in time to watch the horse running away from the barn. Cell phone radiation has been re-classified and is now considered about as dangerous as chloroform, lead, and car exhaust. Fun fact: there are about 5 Billion cell phones out there emitting microwaves in the world. No one seems to know exactly what level of risk they present, but I am taking precautions. I do not use my cell phone all that frequently, but when I do, I try to use it in speaker mode. Someone told me that those hands free headset thingies that hook onto your ear, while they may comply with hands free regulations, are just as dangerous as holding the phone to your ear. One doctor I heard commenting on the subject suggests that merely holding the phone an extra inch away from your head exponentially lessens the danger of microwave radiation exposure to the brain. Frankly, I don’t think anyone knows for sure yet what’s going on, but there is evidence that more and more people are getting brain tumors. I figure I did enough damaging things to my brain in my ill-spent youth, I don’t need to stack the deck.



Last year I watched a very interesting, albeit depressing movie, entitled “You Don’t Know Jack” about the life of Jack “Dr. Death” Kevorkian. Kevorkian was released from prison in 2007 where he did some serious time for his overt and notorious campaign of assisted suicide for the terminally ill. The movie was interesting, not only because it shed some light on the personality of this strange and enigmatic man -- and by the way, I thought Al Pacino did an excellent job portraying Kevorkian -- but also because it delves into the highly controversial subject of euthanasia. I won’t go into my usual tiresome rant about my opinions on the quality of life and right to life debates, but I think if nothing else, Kevorkian‘s self-inflicted martyrdom has forced this issue of euthanasia out of the implicit classification of religious and moral heresy, and into the light of day where it belongs. In fifty years will he be deemed the blasphemous demon, or will he be perceived as a visionary pioneer, championing the rights of the end stage terminally ill? Dr. Jack Kevorkian died last week, at the age of 83, presumably without any assistance.



Actor James Arness died last week as well. Some of you are old enough to remember him as marshal Matt Dillon fron the 70s T.V. show “Gunsmoke.” I looked him up on Wikepedia and was surprised to find that he was Peter Graves’ brother. He looks like Graves. My dad and I were watching “Gunsmoke” one night and caught a serious continuity error which made us both laugh. Dillon was talking to his barmaid/girlfriend Kitty and he said, “Don’t be uptight Kitty.” I don’t think cowboys said “uptight” in the Wild West. Festus, the town loser, was my favorite character on that show, I suppose because I identified with him. By the way, who names their kid Festus? Oh, he reminds me of a festering pustule; let’s call him Festus. Did you ever notice that in all those cowboy shows like “Bonanza,” “Gunsmoke,” and “Rawhide”, there was never any horse manure on the ground? As someone who has been around a lot of horses, I did not find this particularly realistic, and as we all know, I crave reality in my television. Finally, I heard on the news last week that Winnipeg, Manitoba is once again going to have an NHL hockey team. The Atlanta Thrashers will be moving to Winnipeg next season, and now the team needs a new name. How about the Winnipeg Frozen Stiffs? Many people in Canada refer to Winnipeg as “Winterpeg.”

Festus honey, come inside, it's time for your iodine treatment.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2011 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 5/30/11

There was a big discussion at the dinner table the other night about funeral expenses. Weddings and funerals are serious money drains. Last summer we buried my aunt and the unveiling will be coming up this summer. It’s now time to order her inscription, which will appear under her husband’s. Apparently, there is a vast difference in the cost of engraving work from one engraver to another, and one place that had quoted on the inscription work several months ago suddenly raised their prices. Instead of six bucks per letter, the cost would now be seven bucks, and this seemed like a big bump to us. In this economy, at a time when people are scrambling to find work, it didn’t seem logical that an inscriber should be raise his prices, certainly not by 15%. It’s not as if his prices are tied to the price of gold. Another engraver was offering the work for six bucks per word, with a $900 ceiling. Does this mean I could get the Gettysburg Address engraved on my stone for $900? I guess the letters would have to be pretty small. In keeping with the general absurdity of some of our dinner conversations, this engraving subject rapidly deteriorated into a discussion of the various pecuniary considerations in gravestone engraving. Does a comma cost as much as a semi colon? Shouldn’t a period be less than a question mark? How about apostrophes, is there some kind of a two for one deal? September is the most expensive month in which to die; it’s much more considerate to croak in May. And think about all the people with hyphenated last names. When you combine a hyphenated last name like Abramowitz-Oppenheimer and two Septembers and you start to talk about some serious coin. I think given this seemingly capricious escalation in the cost of engraving, I might go for decals. Whose going to complain, the neighbors?




To continue on this thread, there are so many other funeral expenses; perpetual care for instance. Perhaps they should call it eternal care instead. Perpetual care is essentially an open ended landscaping contract wherein one pays an up front lump sum to the cemetery and thereafter the gravesite is to be maintained by the cemetery. In theory this makes sense, but “perpetual” basically means as long as anybody remembers that there is a contract. At our family plot in Buffalo, I went over one day and noticed that the graves were a mess, overrun with weeds and overgrown ivy. Some of the stones were not even visible. I dug up (sorry, bad choice of words) our perpetual care contract for the five or six family members in our burial plot. After several conversations with the cemetery, we straightened things out, but had I not complained, I am quite sure nothing would have been done. Cremation seems to be the a viable alternative to these landscaping issues. While we have a lovely family plot, which overlooks the serene beauty of the Scajaquada Expressway, my dad did not believe in taking up a lot of space, and he elected to be cremated. He’s in a crypt, or as he liked to call it, his home away from home. I remember he paid for it on time, and with his typical irreverence, he joked about the monthly no-interest payments. I also distinctly remember the day my sister and I were presented with his incinerated remains to be placed in the crypt. That little procedure fell under the heading of “internment fee,” and he was unceremoniously handed to us in a cardboard box. At first we were both a little surprised. I thought at the very least they would provide something a little more permanent, like a plastic milk jug with “Jim Oppenheimer” written on it ... something. If I’d have known, I would have brought a coffee can, but I guess the cardboard box was fine. Actually, that was the perfect container for my dad, because he was as unpretentious as they come. Besides, the remains are hidden behind a stone, and no one ever sees them. The only problem with the crypt is that sometimes your neighbors paste tacky photos to the wall, or worse yet, plastic flowers. I think Will and Kate Pez dispensers would be nice. When we do finally self destruct as a species, as I’m pretty sure we someday will, does it really matter whether Dad’s in a terra cotta urn from Pottery Barn or a cardboard box? A propos to nothing, did anybody you know disappear into heaven during the recent, and much anticipated Rapture? That would certainly preclude the burial concerns. I feel bad for all those folks who sold all their worldly possessions in anticipation of their one way ticket to heaven, only to be left shrugging on earth. I am reminded of that wonderful scene in the film “Little Big Man” wherein the Indian Chief declares “It is a good day to die,” and goes out into the woods to await his demise, only to be disappointed by his unwanted longevity.


For those of you who might perhaps be offended by this cavalier discussion about death, make no mistake, I take my mortality seriously. I’m just a lot more concerned about living my LIFE to the fullest. My heart goes out to all those poor souls who were plucked from the earth in that horrible Joplin tornado, and whose bodies have yet to be recovered. And I get that it’s about closure. Recover the body, say goodbye to the vehicle, but remember the soul. Frankly, out of all the Westerners, I think the Irish have the right idea. When I go, I want all the funeral money spent on a big party. Incinerate me after all the useable organs have been extracted (not the liver!), put me in a cardboard box, and stick me next to Dad. I think there’s room in there for me. What does it really matter if you are buried in a pyramid or a cardboard box. None of us really knows whether what follows is darkness or light, but does it really matter what you stick in the ground to advertise your existence?

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2011 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 5/23/11

Aftermath of Slave Lake Wildfire 

Last Monday I was in Toronto to hear the band Echo and the Bunnymen play at the Phoenix. While the Eighties did usher in a lot of silly pop bands, there was plenty of music from that era that I liked. When I think of pop music from the Eighties I am reminded of those ridiculous “Flock of Seagulls“ hairdos. One of my old friends from Buffalo once called the Eighties the decade of the Limey drum band. Anyhow, my pal Bob recently turned me on to this seminal Eighties rock band, and I wanted to see what the Bunny had to offer. Last Monday night I bit the bullet and rode over to the Phoenix to wait in line with all the other aging rock fans. After the concert was over, and I was riding my bike home in the pouring rain, I realized two things: 1.The Bunny rocked the house, and 2. I may finally be approaching the age where I am too old to BE in that house anymore. While I still prefer clubs to larger arena venues, this was a very loud and very crowded concert. After downing several beers and stuffing some Kleenex in my ears, I managed to channel with my inner 17 year-old, and I did enjoy the music. While I did and still do sometimes like my rock music loud, these days I’m a little more protective of my diminishing capacity to hear.



Mother Nature continues to make headline news throughout the world, with earthquakes in New Guinea, volcanic eruptions in Iceland, and floods in the Midwest. For many of us in the East, this has been the wettest spring on record. As if Canada has not had enough natural disasters in the past week, the Town of Slave Lake northeast of Edmonton, Alberta was under an evacuation order last week after out-of-control wildfires swept through the small community and virtually incinerated one third of the town. The fire took everyone by surprise when shifting winds of over 100 kilometers per hour turned an already dangerous wildfire into a rogue blast furnace. Miraculously, all the approximately 7000 residents escaped with their lives. Another community was not so lucky. Last night, we were watching CNN when breaking news flashed across the screen about the monster tornado that had just barreled through Joplin, Missouri. Already there are 89 reported fatalities and a third of that city was wiped off the map. The winds in that Joplin tornado, which reportedly measured close to three quarters of a mile wide, approached 200 mph. This has been the eighth deadliest season for tornadoes in North America, and that is even with the sophisticated early warning systems that are now available.

And what is with the European power elite? IMF managing director Dominique Strauss-Kahn is in hot water after accusations he raped a chambermaid in his posh Sofitel Hotel suite in Manhattan. When I heard the story on the news the next day it sounded almost comical, with reports of the (sex-agenarian) naked Strauss-Kahn chasing the chambermaid around his suite. Certainly there is nothing funny about the accusation of rape, and Strauss-Kahn was pulled off a Paris-bound Air France flight last Saturday to face these charges like a common criminal. He could do some serious jail time if convicted, and I understand he just resigned from the IMF. “Mr. Bailout,” as some pundits called him, was thought to be the best hope for the resolution to the Greek financial meltdown. He was also a promising candidate to be the next President of France. Was he set up, as some French pundits suggested? Of course, in the world today, you’re guilty until proven innocent, and anything short of an immediate exoneration will likely end his political aspirations. Representing the Socialist Party in France, he seems to be an odd representative of “the people.” I mean, 3000 bucks per night for a posh hotel room is a bit excessive. If he does beat the rap, which seems rather unlikely at this point, I doubt his being a hound dog will hurt his chances in an election. Look at Marion Barry, former mayor of Washington D.C. . The guy was caught smoking crack in a hotel room with a prostitute, he served six months in prison, and he was still re-elected as mayor.


Final notes: last week, the Queen made a four day visit to The Irish Republic, and that marked the first royal visit to the Republic in 100 years. I’m a little surprised that the one of the radical splinter groups from the I.R.A didn’t take a pot shot at her, but I suppose she was wearing her royal armor. It’s amazing what they can do with Kevlar these days. And you wonder why her hats are so big. As for rock royalty, Bob Dylan turns seventy tomorrow. I thought his voice was bad in the Sixties, but it’s even worse now. Still, the guy writes great songs. I wonder if he ever puts Kleenex in his ears.


Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2011 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 5/16/11

Recently, I became a member of SAC (Songwriter’s Association of Canada) with the hopes of meeting and hopefully networking with other songwriters, and last Saturday I attended a Canadian songwriter’s showcase hosted by Bluebird North at the Royal Conservatory of Music in Toronto. Basically these showcases are opportunities to hear successful songwriters talk about their craft and the events that inspired them to create the featured songs. For a non writer this might be insufferably boring, but for me, the “Grasshopper” of budding songwriters, it is box office gold. Most of the time, I write my songs in the vacuum of anonymity. If I’m lucky, an inebriated barfly at the open mic might compliment me with a “Good song, dude,” but mostly, I’m talking(singing) to the hand. My most meaningful positive reinforcement to date has come from the generous professional musicians who have occasionally deigned to play with me. Hearing gifted songwriters like Dan Hill, Marc Jordan, and Jane Siberry pontificate on this little understood craft left me inspired to improve while at the same time reminding me of how far I have to go. Last week I also had the rare opportunity to see Neil Young, one of my songwriting heroes, perform solo at Massey Hall. That memorable performance marked the 40th anniversary of his first visit to that venue. The 1971 concert was recorded, and so was the concert last week. The difference was that, last week, world famous Hollywood director Jonathan Demme did the recording … with IMAX cameras.




It’s been an unusually wet spring so far and last Friday there were serious flash floods in parts of Western New York. In Manitoba last weekend, the difficult decision was made to breach a dike holding back the swollen Assiniboine River, in order to control flooding in more populated areas. Saskatchewan and parts of the Southern United States have also experienced severe flooding, and other hard decisions have been made to open the floodgates. This of course is good news for all the people who stand to lose their properties along the flooding rivers, but bad news for those in the more sparsely populated communities which will now be flooded by the purged water. I guess if you live in low lands, this is what you can expect. Up where we live, they control the spring melt by damming the Magnetawan River. I’m told this has something to do with protecting fish populations during spawning season. Our lake was very high last week, and a few doors down, where years ago our Township mysteriously permitted the construction of eleven commercial structures in a designated flood plain (over the well-documented and vigorous objections of most of the surrounding neighbors), all those cabins were underwater. I wonder, when those buildings eventually wash away, will the town board then deny the necessary permits to rebuild? I doubt it. There are reasons for designated flood plains you boneheads!



A week after the raid that killed Osama bin Laden, more information is coming out about how the world’s most notorious terrorist lived in hiding for the past five years. On the news last week, there were reports that they found porno on bin Laden’s computer, and that made me laugh. The image of this powerful religious zealot, who likely believed adultery is an offence punishable by death, watching “The T & A Team” or “Scooter Trash” (two of MY favorites), is ludicrous. Bin Bombin’s kind of like Jimmy Swaggart, except with a beard and a propensity for mass murder. I found myself wondering what kind of porn the world’s most notorious terrorist would be in to. Straight, gay? Pigmy sex? Camels?? One thing is for sure, he needed a better television; did you see his little 13” set? Was he playing Pac Man on it? We westerners may be The Great Satan, but we know a little bit about home entertainment. There seem to be a lot of stories in the Western media which paint bin Bombin’ as a vain, flawed human being, and that kind of spin is probably healthy catharsis for middle America. Still, I’m not so sure fundamentalist Muslims are laughing. Already there have been violent reprisals in Pakistan, which I think is a bit of a public relations faux pas. I don’t think there are a lot of Western Satan Dogs living in Pakistan, and aren’t the Pakistanis the guys they want on their side? Finally, just in case you thought the Jihad is over, the Imams for two Florida mosques were arrested last week. A father and son were charged with sending $53000 in contributions to the Taliban in Pakistan.



Then again, who knows … maybe it was for porn.



Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2011 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 5/9/11

Did bin Bombin’ really die, was he a CIA operative, was 9-11 in fact orchestrated by the U.S. government? These are some of the goofy conspiracy theories that re-circulated last week, after President Obama’s announcement that the world’s number one bad guy was fish bait. I admit that the whole thing did sound a little suspicious at first. For instance, why the big hurry to dispose of the body? So they dumped bin Laden in the ocean, but why couldn’t they have saved his nose, or an ear or something … you know, like after a bullfight? I want DNA verification. As for whether or not he was armed when he was shot, do I care? If it had been up to me, he’d have been dropped in a giant vat of fresh elephant poop. I’m curious about what Donald Trump thinks, because Trump always seems to have the inside track. After all, he was right on top of Birthcertificategate. It should mean SOMETHING that al Qaeda, the terrorist organization bin Laden founded, acknowledged he’s dead. Nevertheless, that probably won’t prevent Oliver Stone from making a movie telling “the truth” about bin Bombin’. Obama certainly is looking like a leader these days, visiting Ground Zero, meeting with family members of the 9-11 victims, modestly playing down his role in the mission. Whoever handles his PR is doing a good job, because his approval ratings are improving. I wouldn’t want to be the Republicans right now; who’s their big gun now, Trump? Sarah Palin? I understand Newt (eye of?) Gingrich has thrown his hat into the ring, and that might be entertaining. Didn’t he kind of self destruct as Speaker of the House years ago?



And speaking of people unqualified to run for leadership positions, Canadian Liberal Party leader (loser) Michael Ignatieff has fallen on the sword and stepped down as leader of the Liberal Party after his stunning and humiliating defeat in last week’s national election. The commies from the NDP (New Democratic Part) are now the official opposition party to Stephen Harper’s Conservative Majority. Go figure. Television is such a powerful political tool. I remember about fifteen or twenty years ago, Japan had a Prime Minister with what some politely referred to as a “T.V. problem.” Loosely translated, he came across as boring and lifeless. I’m not sure if he actually is one, but Michael Ignatieff gave me the impression that he was an arrogant a-hole in his televised appearances, and I think perhaps Canadians got the same impression.


Weather update: Big floods in Manitoba, horrific killer tornadoes in Alabama, and droughts in cattle country. I heard on the news tonight that Texas cattle ranchers are selling off their livestock. In the short term beef prices may be coming down. In the long term, you might want to consider acquiring a taste for goat. Look for the Big Mac goat burger, coming soon to a Macdonalds near you. Goats are apparently more drought resistant.


As of August 2011 there will be a new Toronto attraction: “ledge walk” at the CN Tower. That’s right, for the modest sum of $175.00 the adventurous will soon be able to teeter on a five foot wide walkway around the periphery of the famous tower, over 1100 feet above Toronto, without a guardrail and secured only by an overhead tether. Sounds to me like a slam dunk for the suicidal modern art student. I’ll pass.


Other news tidbits … Claude Stanley Choules, the last of the WW1 veterans, finally died at the ripe old age of 110 in Perth Australia. It must have been the salmon mousse. Just in time to mark the 50th anniversary of the first American astronaut (Alan Shepard) to visit outer space, six of the planets in our solar system are now in alignment ... and it’s not even the Age of Aquarius. While Canada honors its caregivers during national nursing week, there was a disturbing segment on the news recently about the use of "chemical restraints" in American nursing homes. Faced with the ongoing challenge of caring for geriatric dementia patients, some nursing homes are using anti-psychotic drugs to control these patients, sometimes with disastrous results. I know from observing my own mother that these drugs are contra-indicative. Before she was diagnosed with Lewy Body Disease, she was prescribed a very low dose of some anti-depressant, and she had a terrible reaction. As she becomes increasingly confused I am more convinced than ever before that my sister and I are doing the right thing by having her cared for at home. Finallly there is much indignation this week about  the rampant speculation leading to skyrocketing gas prices. Some say they have peaked at $3.97 per gallon in the States. I heard prices would be inching down this week, but now they’re talking about a six cent spike per litre in Canada, just in time for the first long weekend. Today I paid $1.32 per litre. You do the math. North Americans are now paying about what Europeans paid for gas in 1977. Outrageous!

 Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2011 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 5/2/11

I reluctantly watched some of the Royal Wedding for about two and a half minutes, over the last three days. There had been so much hype leading up to the actual wedding, that by the time the actual event took place, I couldn’t watch anymore. Shauna’s cousin woke up a whatever ungodly hour of the morning the wedding took place and watched the entire event, while drinking tea and eating scones. Holy Egg McMuffin Batman, give me a royal breakfast break! The night of the wedding, I was in Buffalo, over at my friend Bob’s watching TV, and we flipped accidentally to a channel covering the highlights of this magical, over-hyped affair. Bob and I had almost the exact same reaction: Here they come, blah blah blah, horse drawn carriage, Beefeaters, blah, blah, blah … wow, that Kate is HOT, blah blah blah, cool Aston Martin convertible, blah, blah,blah … OK, I’m bored, let’s flip back to the auto auction, I want to see what that Jaguar XK 120 went for. And scene. A friend sent me a YouTube video -- I think it was an ad for some wireless service -- and it was an entertaining spoof of the wedding, with a whole cast of Royal look-alikes, dancing to hip hop music. I thought it was pretty funny and infinitely more entertaining than the 2 ½ minutes I caught of the real deal.

Thank goodness President Obama produced a presumably valid birth certificate last week, because an indignant, potential-but-not-willing-to-commit-Republican presidential candidate Donald Trump was front and center in demanding Obama prove he was born in America. Thank goodness our Commander-in-Chief was able to respond to the oddly-coifed real estate mogul’s demands. We certainly don’t want to fire our elected president, two years into his first term, because he‘s an ILLEGAL ALIEN. That’s perhaps even worse than getting caught receiving a blowjob in the Oval Office. Obama’s birth certificate indicates he was born in Honolulu, Hawaii, and after President Obama produced it, Trump then had the audacity to question its authenticity. Trump was roasted at a White House dinner recently by SNL’s Seth Meyers, and rightly so. Trump was not amused. Rumor has it he can dish it out but he can't take it. What a hoser! He’ll probably pull a Ross Perot and cry “foul!”, but if he does deign to run, I’m guessing The Donald will provide us with hours of "Republican" entertainment. And wouldn't it be fitting if America had the opportunity to turn the tables and say to Trump ..."no, YOU'RE fired." Meanwhile, I think Obama has re-election in the bag, because apparently the Democrats just shot Bin Laden!

Ding dong Bin Bombin’s dead, the wicked terrorist is dead. It took ten long years, but they finally got that crazy S.O.B., and last night President Obama, looking very presidential (and American I might add), informed the world that, at his direction, the world’s #1 bad guy was taken out. And here I thought Obama was a wimp. Yee Haw, chalk one up for us cowboys. What I found a little unsettling were the comments by CNN’s Peter Bergen, who had once interviewed bin Laden and is apparently a terrorism expert. In an interview with Wolf Blitzhead, Bergen confidently stated that this will be “the death of al-Qaeda.” I wonder. As I watched all those jubilant people celebrating last night outside the White House, I wondered who could prevent a suicide bomber from infiltrating the crowd, and quickly taking the wind out of our sails. Yesterday, a twelve year old suicide bomber killed and injured a bunch of people in Afghanistan. I love how they recruit women and children. My fear is the direct result of what a couple of twisted radical Muslims did to all of us on 9/11. One down, how many tens of thousands to go? Thank goodness nothing bad happened last night. I hope that Bin Bombin’s seventy virgins are all pork-eating trolls with leprosy, but that said, I very much doubt his demise marks the end of radical Muslim terrorism in the world.

Finally, and because I find it interesting to look at these stats years later, once or twice a year I refer to the current financial benchmarks. As I write this, the Dow is at 12,854 and gold is hovering above $1500 per ounce. Most notable to me is the recent pronounced downfall in the value of the American greenback. There was a time not too many years ago when the U.S. dollar was worth as much as $1.40 against the Canadian dollar. Today, the greenback is about five cents under the Canadian “Loonie”. And, speaking of Canada, today Canadians go to the polls to decide who the next Prime Minister will be, for the fourth time in seven years. I’m a bit concerned. The Liberal Party was presumed to be the big threat to a Conservative government, but because their leader Michael Ignatieff is such a tool, Jack Layton of the New Democratic Party (i.e. the commies) is emerging as a dark horse, and appears to be gaining ground. Layton could end up being the spoiler for the Harper Conservative autocracy. If the NDP takes charge, say goodbye to any semblence of fiscal responsibility. The only good news for me if the NDP does win a majority, admittedly a long shot, that would likely devalue the Canadian loonie.

Good riddance to Bin Bombin’ … Momo, you’re next.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2011 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

THe Oppenheimer Report - 4/25/11

About a week ago, I received an email from our high school class agent informing me that one of my classmates had died suddenly. A few days later I got a message that another one had passed away. While I wasn’t particularly close to either of the deceased, we were all boarders together, and in contrast to some of today’s giant high school populations, our class at boarding school was a relatively small and close knit community. When I got the news, I pulled out my Taft yearbook --we were the class of ’74 -- and paged through the pictures. I was an aspiring photographer back in my high school days, and I took quite a few senior pictures for the yearbook my junior and senior years. I found a photo taken by Morgan “Gaz” Garwood, one of the deceased. It was spooky to see it, because I was present when it was taken, and I remember details about the day. It was a good day, and I took a lot of pictures as well. One of them was the photo above, which became the senior picture for my classmate Bill Worcester. In that picture, the guy aiming his camera at me is Morgan, and the guy to the left, holding a beer and looking at the camera, is John Slate, the other deceased. Out of six people in that photo, two are now gone, and that‘s a bit of a kick in the pants for me. Among other things, John was a talented artist, and we sometimes hung out with the same people, usually when we were smoking weed out on the school golf course. While I didn’t know either of them very well, both were interesting characters, and I liked them.




As Death points his boney finger at the class of ‘74, I am shocked out of my middle-aged complacency to remind myself that it was 37 years ago I took that picture, and that I am not a young man anymore. You laugh, and think to yourself, “well of course you’re not a young man anymore you cretin, you’re 55!” yet I have somehow cocooned myself in a thin veneer of age denial. While I have effectively maintained the emotional maturity of a fifteen year-old, something of which I am proud, these deaths really shook me back to the present. Off the top of my balding head, I can think of five or six of my Taft classmates who have passed on, and I have become uncharacteristically philosophical this past week. In many ways Taft shaped me into the odd character I am today, and the older I get, the more I realize what that institution and my classmates meant to me. As I said in a recent email note to some friends, I am saddened to hear of these deaths, but I am thankful to have had the time I did with those guys. At that awkward point in my life I felt un-judged and accepted by those people, and I will miss them.



I leave you with excerpts from two of my songs; the first a love song written years ago about my travels with Shauna, and the second a song I wrote two weeks ago about self doubt. Please indulge me, as both seem to be pertinent this week.



from THE TIME WE FOUND

“I used to wonder about the ones who moved on

I used to long to know where they had gone

Gazed in a mirror an wondered what can be done

When twenty years have passed as if they are one.



Cho: In a room where people walk around

Some walk in and some walk out

We see the motion but we hear no sound

We get so lost in the time we found”



from A DISHONEST MAN

Truth or dare, but what do you care, as long as you get some tonight?

Leaders and lowlifes, we all live with white lies

Then tell ourselves we fight the good fight

Sun-glassed eyes, poker-faced lies, bluffing all the way to the top

But when you’re nine tenths dead, coughing in bed

Don’t you wish that you could make it all stop?”



Cho: Honesty, honestly, I don’t know what that means anymore

Infrequently, I can see the man I was long before

Used to be, I could feel, when a lie punched a hole in my soul

Currently, constantly, the man in the mirror is a whore

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2011 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED