The Oppenheimer Report 2/24/14



People have been sending us links lately showing dogs doing remarkable tricks, and I’m afraid our dog Jasper may be developing an inferiority complex. My neighbor Rick sent me an amusing video clip of a German Shepherd shoveling snow. One clip in particular caught my eye; it was of a little Jack Russell Terrier named Jesse, who did everything from make the bed to take out the garbage. He even put his dog dish in the dishwasher, which I think is adorable. I’m told Jack Russells are very smart dogs, but stubborn and hard to train. When we lived in downtown Toronto, there was one living down the hall in our apartment building, and Jack (clever name huh?) barked constantly. Jasper hated him. Actually, everyone on the floor hated Jack. Each time we went down the hall to take the elevator down for our walk, Jasper would sniff at his door to taunt him. This, of course, sent Jack into convulsions, and he would repeatedly throw himself against the door in a frothing rage, screaming his head off. This was particularly troublesome on Sunday mornings. He was the coyote to Jasper’s roadrunner. Jasper loves to mix it up, and she has some serious attitude.

Everybody likes to think their pet is brilliant, but sometimes this just isn’t true. My sister had a mutt named Stanley about forty years ago, and Stanley had what I call “character.” I think he was an idiot savant, because in some respects he was very intelligent. Stanley had an enormous vocabulary and could fetch any one of his many toys upon command. On the other hand, he did not have the common sense to look where he was going. I once called him, and he looked back at me, kept walking, and fell off a 7’ break wall. He had one ear that stuck up and I think it was because he had a tendency to walk into walls. I suppose we could teach Jasper to fetch the paper, or do some other menial task that humans usually do, but I feel this is beneath her. I prefer to let her think she owns the house and protects us from squirrels and other rodents. In the back yard of my parents’ house in Buffalo she once protected me from a rabbit, although I’m not sure whether it was so much protecting me as it was her wanting to kill the rabbit. Frankly that rabbit didn’t seem like much of a threat. It freaked me out though; I’d never seen her kill anything before. I guess it's in her genes; she goes nuts every time she sees any rodent. My friend Bob called her “Redbeard” for weeks after this first kill, which I know he did just to annoy me. Anyhow, I had the brilliant idea the other day to film Jasper doing ridiculous “tricks” she does on a daily basis. For instance, I will wait until she is about to eliminate and speak the command “Jasper, poop!”  Or feed her, and just as she is lunging for her dinner, utter the command “Eat!” Then I can post these on the internet to parody the un-ending need of some pet owners to prove their pet is sharper than all the rest. Perhaps there’s a MENSA test for dogs.

As the Sochi Winter Olympic Games wound down and the torch was extinguished, there were plenty of surprises, as there always are.  The big upsets that caught my eye were the Russian and United States men’s hockey teams who both failed to make the podium. That U.S. 5-0 loss to Finland in the bronze round was hard to watch.  I am sure Vlad was disappointed that his Russian hockey team did not medal, but his country still won the most medals overall. Yesterday morning we woke up early enough to watch the Canada - Sweden game, and thankfully, Canada won the gold. Sweden was without several key players, but nonetheless, Canada played an almost flawless game. Once again CBC did not disappoint, providing excellent coverage of all the events, while NBC decidedly did not.  While I am in fact a Yank, I’d have enjoyed being on Yonge Street in Toronto last night to party with all the jubilant Canadian fans. We all know that Canadians take their ice hockey very seriously, having invented the sport and all. Overall Canadian athletes did very well (3^rd in number of gold medals and 2^nd in silver medals), and may rank even higher when all the drug tests are done. I also enjoyed the bobsled races and the slalom events (snowboard and ski). Too bad the courses were so sloppy. Final note, the question on everybody’s mind this week is what is next for the Ukraine. After a week of bloody violence, President Yanukovych has stepped down, but will anything really change? Is Putin likely to stay out of this? I doubt it.

Jasper, don’t be jealous of Jesse, you’re still the top dog in this family.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2014 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

The Oppenheimer Repor 2/17/14

Photo from the D.Jordan Taylor Collection

At present there are two celebrities who I think are becoming a little bit overexposed. The first one is Morgan Freeman, or more specifically, Morgan Freeman’s voice. Don’t get me wrong, I like Morgan Freeman. I like his cool demeanor, I like his distinctive voice, and I’ve enjoyed almost every role I’ve seen him play. That said, his voice is in about every other commercial voice over I hear on television, and it’s enough already. Shauna indicated on Facebook that she “liked” his voice, and now, every day, she gets an unwanted post of a quote wherein she is to imagine Freeman’s voice reciting it (perhaps from movies he’s been in, I don’t know). I’m serious! Josh Robert Thompson, the voice of the wisecracking gay robot, Geoff Peterson, on Craig Ferguson’s Late, Late Show (which I enjoy), does a great impression of Freeman and occasionally says wildly inappropriate things using Freeman’s voice. The other celebrity of whom I could do with a little less is Sir Paul McCartney. I am a huge fan of the Beatles, and I mean no disrespect to Paul, or the band, or to their music. It just seems like McCartney is everywhere performing these days, and while he was a great singer, I’m afraid he’s not always firing on all cylinders anymore. I don’t want to see my icons decaying in public. Also, it’s a little creepy seeing an almost 70 year old man singing “She was just seventeen.” Can you say “statutory rape?” Ditto Jagger. I love some of the music of The Rolling Stones, but Mick Jagger is beginning to annoy me. Onstage he struts around like a rooster, and aging poultry is not a pretty sight.

Last week marked the 50^th anniversary of the Beatles debut on The Ed Sullivan Show. I just watched the Grammy Salute to The Beatles which I’d recorded last week.  I thought it was very entertaining, and I vaguely remember watching that debut with my sister Jill back in 1964. I was eight. I even remember our clunky Zenith console color TV, with a channel changer that sounded like an automatic weapon firing. I also recall seeing a lot of other artists for the first time on The Ed Sullivan Show. Bands like The Dave Clark Five, The Rolling Stones, The Mamas and the Papas, The Kinks (I think), and The Beach Boys. I like a lot of Beatles songs, and it was interesting to hear some of them covered by contemporary artists in the salute (with varying degrees of success). Lots of celebrity musicians played and sang for the celebration and that was cool. I particularly liked hearing Keith Urban perform Don’t Let Me Down with John Mayer. Great guitar work. Peter Frampton, Joe Walsh, Don Was, Jeff Lynne, Annie Lenox, and more - it was the who’s who of rock ‘n roll. I liked hearing George Harrison’s son Dhani playing along with Joe Walsh and Jeff Lynne on Hear Comes the Sun, because I could hear George’s voice in there somewhere. Brief aside, Yoko’s got some miles on her. I never understood what John saw in her, and I will never forgive her for breaking up the band (oh come on, of course I’m kidding). Sean now looks like a carbon copy of his dad back in the 80’s. McCartney looked pretty good, though I have to agree with Craig Ferguson, who often pokes fun at the aging Beatle’s resemblance to Angela Lansbury (circa Murder That Bitch). Not usually of fan of Ringo’s music, I enjoyed his set. And who doesn’t recognize Yellow Submarine? Shauna asked me what that song is about, and I told her “three and a half minutes.” I mean, come on, what is I am the Walrus about? All I can say is, those boys must have been taking some primo acid.

Final comments on the Sochi Winter Olympics… Short track speed skating is an insane sport. So are most of the snowboarding and skiing events.  Local Canadian slopestyle competitor Dara Howell took home a gold making her hometown (Huntsville is 20 miles from us) proud. I never saw a skier spend so much time skiing backwards. I have tried to embrace curling, I know there is great skill involved, but I’m just not feeling it. Same for the Nordic ski events. The hockey has been impressive and it was fun to see the U.S.A beat Russia in a prolonged nail biter of a shootout. Canada’s team looks strong. It will be interesting to see who wins the gold because there is a lot of strong competition and there’s a long way to gold. Once again, way to go CBC for your excellent coverage.

Paul, you did a great version of Hey Jude in the Grammy salute, let it be your “last waltz.” Somebody go gentle into that good night, please!

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2014 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 2/10/14

The other day, I learned that a friend of ours was a member of Mensa, an IQ society for the most intelligent people in the world. Of course, one needs to score verifiably high on an IQ test to become eligible. I probably took an IQ test at some point in my early childhood, but I do not remember ever hearing how I scored. My parents were probably too embarrassed to tell me (and I never asked). “It’s OK honey, you’re special in so many other ways.” No one ever offered me admission into Mensa, that’s for sure. Shauna found a series of Mensa tests on the internet, and she took 4 of them. She answered almost all the questions correctly, which didn’t surprise me. The testee (testes?) is given certain clues and is then required to fill in the blanks with the answer. For instance, the clue might be 24 H in a D, and of course the answer is 24 hours in a day. Easy, right? The clues get harder as you go down the list. Some of them were extremely difficult, but Shauna scored in the “genius” range. I answered some of the clues as well. I quickly surpassed the “drooling moron without a pulse” category, flew past “not-the-sharpest-knife-in-the-drawer” and was closing in on “average” when I lost interest and went back to watching something mind-numbing on television. One of the clues was 7 D S … seven deadly sins, which of course, I answered correctly. Figures I would get that one. To refresh your memory, the original seven deadly sins are: Lust, greed, gluttony, sloth, wrath, envy, and pride. I think you’d have to be a special kind of jerk to embody all seven sins. That said, there are plenty of other ways for a person to misbehave. Let us not forget idolatry, sorcery, drunkenness, fornication, uncleanness, murder, sedition, adultery, hatred, envy, producer of reality television; and we’re just getting started . I think sloth and gluttony are two of my bigger problems. I had three, count ‘em three large cookies last night after dinner, and then I had a butter tart muffin to wash them down. But I digress from my digression.

The 2014 Winter Olympic Games kicked off last Friday in Sochi, Russia, and as always, the opening ceremony was spectacular to behold. Closet pyromaniac that I am, I always like to watch the lighting of the torch. Too bad about that snowflake malfunction, but hey, those things happen. The Vancouver Winter Olympic Games were not without their glitches, and does anybody remember when all those doves got incinerated during the torch lighting at the Seoul Olympics? Much has been made of the terrorist threat in Russia and I kept expecting to see one of those crazy Chechen rebels jump out from the crowd and blow him or herself up, but so far the only fireworks have been purely for entertainment. I could be wrong, but I think that human rights are a little more carefully guarded here in North America than they are in Russia. I’d hate to be someone on the terrorist list anywhere near Sochi. I imagine the macho, homophobic, Vlad Putin would be all too happy to scorch the earth and “clean house,” and I doubt he would be especially worried about collateral damage. And if you’re unfortunate enough to be a gay Russian terrorist, fuggetabotit. Remember, Vlad’s the guy backing Syria’s current genocide, and he has a lot riding on this event. After spending about $50 Billion of his countrymen’s money to host these games (apparently more than any other country has ever spent), I think he will do whatever he can to avoid any kind of terrorist violence. Of course, how does one protect against a foe that is willing to sacrifice his or her own life? You can’t really.

Finally, this was an action-packed weekend up here in the Great White North. Not only did I catch a few hours of the nearby Kearney Dogsled Races, but I made it there in time to watch the parade of vintage snowmobiles (see above photo). I also attended this month’s Katrine Jamboree. Woo hoo. The guy with whom I am presently recording is the sound man for these monthly jamborees, and he introduced me to a local performer from the Huntsville area named Tina Turley. She’s very talented, sounds a bit like Melissa Etheridge, and plays with a good band up here. I’m hoping I might be able to persuade her to sing on one of my demos.

I wonder if an unclean sorcerer would be considered better or worse on the sin scale than say an idol-worshipping fornicator. I may not be a genius, but I am inquisitive.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2014 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 2/3/14

Do something every day that scares you, isn’t that what they say? For some people that might be jumping out of an airplane, or learning Cantonese, or confronting one’s arachnophobia. For me, it is the act of believing in myself.  I did something that scared the hell out of me last Wednesday, and it felt pretty good. Last Wednesday I played seven of my songs (including my marriage proposal song to Shauna) on a radio show called “Talent on the Bay” broadcast by Hunters Bay Radio in nearby Huntsville. Doug McClean, one of my fellow songwriters up here had put in a good word for me at the station, and I was invited by Christine Heron, the host of the show, to come on and perform.

At the end of last week’s report (which 12 people read) I’d mentioned in passing that I would be playing the show, and that was the last I spoke of it to anyone. Ever my biggest fan and promoter, Shauna got busy on her phone and on Facebook spreading the word to as many friends and family as she could contact. People were surprisingly supportive, before and after the show, and I want you all to know that this meant a lot to me.

 I was not sure until the day of the broadcast if I would even make it; so many obstacles conspired against me. Apart from my trepidation about performing, the weather was atrocious, and Wednesday morning, we had not yet been plowed out at the house. As well, at about 5AM Wednesday morning, Shauna awakened me from my much-needed beauty sleep, very upset because we once again had a flying squirrel in our bedroom. That extraction took about an hour and left me completely wired. I sat in bed for the next three hours staring at the ceiling and imagining the hundred ways I could make a complete fool of myself on air. Maybe I’ll fall into a narcoleptic stupor mid song. Perhaps I’ll prove myself to be a musical imposter for all of Muskoka to hear. As I braved horizontal snow-blown Highway 11 to Huntsville, my old companions, self-doubt and fear, swam around in my brain, wreaking havoc on my self-confidence. I wondered how I could have ever agreed to such a potentially disastrous experience. What am I trying to prove here; do my songs really deserve to be heard?? Such arrogance! I arrived at the station early and sat nervously in my car for five minutes, watching the winter storm stir up little tornadoes of snow all around me. Even Mother Nature doesn’t want me to do this! I had rehearsed some songs – I was told to have 4-7 available to play – but I wasn’t sure how I would respond to the questions I might be asked. Thankfully, everyone at the station was great, and Christine was affable and easy to talk to. A fellow singer/songwriter herself she seems to be passionate about music, and she put me at ease almost immediately. The next hour was a blur. While I know I made mistakes in my performances, I did get my songs out there and did not completely choke. In short, I succeeded in presenting a few of my stronger songs to a larger listening audience than I had so far reached. And I have a recording of the event.

Hunters Bay Radio has been around for a while, but is presently only accessible online. That is about to change, because they have received their license from the CRTC and are slated to go on the air as an FM station this Spring (88.7 for anyone in range). I think the station has great potential, and I have offered my services as a volunteer, because I like that this radio station supports  the local music community. Who knows, maybe I’ll even get do a radio show. Go to http://www.muskokaonline.com to learn more about Hunters Bay Radio, or you can do a YouTube search of Hunter’s Bay Radio to see and hear some of the local talent, including artists Christine Heron, Sean Cotton, Lewis and Clarke, Juan Barbosa, and Scott Gilson. All in all, a great learning experience for this wannabe songwriter.  

 
Actor Philip Seymour Hoffman has died at 46, the victim of an apparent drug overdose. I never had a clue the guy had a drug problem, probably because his work did not suffer, and he kept his personal life under wraps. Unlike the Lohans and the Biebers of the world, who wreck their trains in the center of town, Seymour Hoffman just seemed to get better and better at what he did. I am sorry that one of the truly talented actors, who did not have his head up his ass, has succumbed to this all too common affliction.

Note to self, when I become famous, I should stay away from the heroin.  

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2014 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 1/27/14

I never thought the day would come, but I finally went out and ordered a block heater for my car. Up here in the Great White North we have experienced the business end of that polar vortex which has enveloped the rest of the Northeast, and for this past week, the mercury sank to below -20 F almost every night. That is nose hair-freezing cold. Last Tuesday morning, I was supposed to drive to a nearby recording studio in Emsdale to finish a couple of songs I’d begun recording, and the outdoor thermometer read -27F.  I stuck the key in the ignition of my car, tried turning the engine over, and it sounded like the pistons were in mud. After three or four attempts, I realized that this engine was going to need a little help, so I pulled out my portable rechargeable battery pack, a handy thing to have for boat or car, and reached down to pop the hood. Not so quick. The hood was frozen shut! There was probably a little moisture on the cable that releases the hood latch, and that would not budge. Dead in the water, I called the guy at the studio and cancelled, which was disappointing. About three hours later in the day, in the noonday sun, after hitting the cable with a hair dryer, I finally got the hood open and managed to get the engine started. In all my years leaving my car outside in Buffalo winters, and my five years living up here, I have never before needed a block heater; but as soon as I got the car started, I drove over to the local auto shop and ordered one. When you see a plug sticking out the front of a car grill, it is likely for a block heater, and they are quite commonplace up here in the Great White North. I might need it once every two or three winters, but when I need it, I really need it. By the time I get it installed tomorrow, this polar blast might be over, but at least I’ll avoid this aggravation the next time.  

Just when we thought it could not get any worse for Toronto Mayor Rob Ford, yet another video surfaced last week of a drunken, slurring Ford in a fast food restaurant, ranting on about something with a terrible Jamaican accent. Someone emailed me the above photograph after the incident. No crackhead no cry. Funny, because a few days before the video surfaced, I had prematurely suggested that Ford was beginning to look like he had cleaned up his act. He appeared to be a little thinner, he was speaking in complete sentences; he looked pretty good. But now, he hasn’t just fallen off the wagon, he’s jumped head first into the empty pool. When the press grilled him about his latest offensive public behavior, he used the old “what-I-do-on-my-own-time -with- friends-is-my-business” line. Yo,Your Honourless, if you are going to misbehave, do it in private, which means not in a fast food restaurant, and tell your “friends” not to videotape you on their cell phones! It may be true that the press has it out for Ford, but goodness knows he’s made it easy! In what universe did he assume it was O.K. to screw up in public, yet again? This isn’t Mayberry; you don’t just sleep it off in jail and let yourself out in the next morning (cryptic reference to my man Otis). One might even get away with this nonsense in some rustbelt city, but you are the mayor of a major international city, WAKE UP!!!Up until now, and given the incredible ability of constituencies to forgive the bad behavior of their elected officials, I would have predicted that a clean and sober Rob Ford, rising from his own ashes, might have had a chance at re-election. Again, look at former D.C. mayor Marion Barry. But I am fairly sure this latest faux pas, picked up by every major news source and every late night talk show host in the world, will be the nail in the coffin for SpongeRob Tentpants. The good news, if there is any, is that for all the people out there with drinking problems, Ford is a poster child for just how glaringly obvious your problem is, to everyone but you.

Speaking of bad behavior, Justin the Biebster finally crossed the line as well. That DUI in Miami could be an expensive mistake for the Prince of Pop. Nice mug shot by the way, almost as good as Nick Nolte’s. We all love it when celebrities misbehave, don’t we? While the young pop star did apparently pass the Breathalyzer test, he then admitted to smoking some weed and taking some prescription drugs. He also used the “F” word more than once in the presence of a police officer. What a badass motherfudger. Thank goodness I wasn’t famous when I was a teenager; I think I would have been a train wreck in the public eye. One part of me is sympathetic to this kid who is getting eaten alive by the press, and one side of me thinks he might deserve it if he’s acting like a little dickhead. Not every celebrity mishandles fame, but history reminds us over and over that fame can be corrosive. Winky needs to start listening to his publicist, or else step out of the spotlight for awhile. Speaking of fame, I will be interviewed on an internet radio station called Hunter’s Bay Radio  (http://www. muskokaonline.com) this Wednesday between 11:00AM and Noon. The show is called “Talent on the Bay”, and I will be playing a few of my songs during the interview. If you’re near a computer, it might be amusing to listen to me choke in public. Needless to say, I’m nervous, but excited.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2014 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 1/20/14

Last Saturday, I headed down to Toronto to meet my buddy Bob from Buffalo and to attend the annual Toronto International Boat Show. We’ve been going to these Toronto boat shows for a long time, starting back when I still lived in Buffalo, and  these shows are gradually becoming less and less interesting to me. Perhaps it is simply that there only so many pontoon boats, bass boats, sailboats and “personal watercraft” one can look at in a day before one gets bored. Both of us are becoming too impatient to stand in line for 20 minutes in order to board and inspect one of the trawlers, cabin cruisers, or the bigger sailboats. Perhaps it is that the two of us own great boats already and are not really interested in purchasing something new. If I were to replace my rig it would cost me about five times what I have into my present boat, and this is a strong disincentive. Bob’s boat, pictured above in last year’s WNY Poker run, is quite old (1972 I believe), and I suppose Bob would be happy to replace it with something like a 30’ Cigarette, when he finally cracks his Magnum in half on a rogue wave, but something like that would cost the equivalent of most family’s retirement savings. Besides, mooring a craft like that alone on choppy lake like Lake Erie can be a bit tricky. And we’re not getting any younger. During past shows Bob and I would have a couple of beers at the beer garden, listen to some poor bastard play Neil Young covers on a cheap PA system (great gig by the way), following which I would amuse myself by listening to Bob interrogate some ill-informed boat salesman about the defective nature of his product. Bob would ask a rhetorical question, such as: “How come the gel coat’s so wavy on the hull?” and then move in for the kill when the salesman started to back pedal from some ignorant misrepresentation. But presently, both Bob and I are on the wagon - it’s much easier to do this when your drinking buddy quits as well – and somehow the sport of salesman stalking isn’t quite as much fun without a buzz on. So we may need to find another annual event to entertain us. Mardi Gras isn’t going to be a lot of fun sober, so perhaps we’ll need to up the ante on boat shows. I’d like to attend the Miami show some day, because down there we’d see a lot more of the offshore boats that we want to see. Pipe dreams keep me going.        

There was a segment on the 11 O’Clock News last night entitled “Trouble on the Tracks” about some of the recent train derailments in Canada. After Lac-Megantic derailment in Quebec last July, which  killed dozens of people and burned down half the town, and which was reportedly the deadliest rail disaster in Canada since 1864, there was much discussion about the volatility of certain kinds of crude oil, and about the dubious safety of certain kinds of tanker cars used to transport this oil. I remember that disaster quite clearly because it happened the day my father-in-law had the massive stroke which ultimately took his life. That was one serious explosion and there were reports that the heat from its fireball could be felt 2 kilometers away from the blast. I read more about the disaster after seeing the TV segment and learned, among other things, that oil from the ruptured tanker cars poured into the storm sewer system and then exploded, wreaking havoc in the center of town.  Then there was a more recent tanker derailment in New Brunswick, and I believe one in the Midwestern United States as well, causing some to question whether oil should be transported by rail in close proximity to any populated area. Admittedly, I do not know much about the safety procedures in place for transporting oil, but this Keystone Pipeline that the Harper government is so avidly promoting seems to have the potential to cause some major damage. Neil Young, the king of protest songs, is not making any friends in the Province of Alberta right now. He is presently raising money on an abbreviated concert tour to protest the oil sands and a proposed pipeline development in the Northern part of that province. Disregarding, as we always seem to do, the environmental ramifications of pipelines, of fracking, and of transporting volatile materials like Bakken crude, not to mention the increased vulnerability to terrorist attacks, we always seem to go for the cheapest energy solution, don’t we? Really what incentive is there for oil companies to change direction, when there is still a plentiful supply of and demand for black gold? No sir, the caboose has left the station, everybody don their asbestos drag racing suits, and don’t forget the weenies and marshmallows.

Final note … just when the NHL and other pro sports organizations are starting to take a closer look at the fallout from sports violence, did anyone see the story about hot-headed John Tortorella, coach of the Vancouver Canucks? Tortorella faces a fine and possible suspension for losing his temper after a game with the Calgary Flames over a match-up of “enforcers”. I’m no fan of goon hockey, and I hate when stupid injuries are the deciding factor in who wins the game. Once again, I think the lust for blood is still there among the fans, but I wonder how the bloodthirsty fans will feel when they lose a money player like Sidney Crosby or Steve Stamkos, sidelined for good because of some goon was just following orders. As for Tortorella, anger management classes may be in his future. Leafs are not out of it yet.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2014 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 1/13/14

Today’s rant is twofold and concerns bureaucracy and incompetence, two of my favorite subjects.

The first story involves Canadian Customs and UPS. About a month ago we sold the Taylor condo down near Miami, because none of us was using it, and because the condominium association to which we belonged was “troublesome.” Corrupt, lazy, infuriating, incompetent, bordering on criminal; these are other modifiers that might apply as well. Every year there was some new and more onerous rules restricting our quiet enjoyment of our property; new restrictions about renting the unit to a third party (i.e. it’s next to impossible), another cash grab or special assessment, and of course the constant hassles involved in getting anything fixed. In absentia, and given that we were dealing with constant medical issues in Toronto, we finally threw in the towel and sold the place. I lived in constant fear that the A/C would fail and the place would become a swampy cesspool of mold and maggots. I will not even go into the IRS nightmare involved when a Canadian citizen sells a U.S. property, and the nonsense involved in paying the U.S. income tax for that property. There were some large items Shauna and her mom wanted to have shipped back up to Canada, and after some investigation, Shauna chose UPS Freight to deliver the goods. When we had finally jumped through the hoops of fire involved in paying to use the condo building freight elevator ($100 for non-exclusive use of an elevator!), and arranging to have a security guard present when the movers came to move the items out, we then breathed a sigh of relief, foolishly assuming that our troubles were over. We had been told by the Florida UPS office that the items would be delivered within a week or so, and that for their (I thought rather high) fee, they would handle all the customs issues. Right! None of this stuff was particularly valuable, and none of it was anything a customs agent at the Peace Bridge would not have waved through without thinking twice. Then we got a call from UPS Freight in Toronto informing us that our shipment had in fact arrived, but that we needed to employ a customs broker in order to clear customs. We hired a customs broker only to be told that in fact she could not help us. After an unbelievable amount of time on the phone and the necessity to inconvenience a friend and designated “agent” to vouch for us at customs, the items were finally cleared to be shipped. THEN, last Thursday we were informed by UPS that they had lost one of the four boxes. Oy! And of course, everyone passes the buck. Free trade my, ass. Someone is successfully importing tons of heroin while the jokers in customs are holding people like us up over $200 in personal effects! Kudos to UPS as well for losing some of our stuff.

 

The second story involves renewing my Permanent Resident Card in Canada. I have chosen so far not to become a Canadian citizen and so I must renew my permanent resident status every five years. The application for renewal is pretty long, and involves a lot of notarizing and photocopying, and answering questions such as, have I slept with any Haitians in the past five years, dealt with any drug cartels, murdered anyone, etc. You know, the usual questions. There is a special photo required, which is different from the passport photo, with all sorts of rules about size and facial expression.  In short, the Canadian permanent resident renewal application is a big pain in the derriere to put together, and I sure didn’t want to do it twice. My card expires in February of this year, and, to be proactive, I had applied for the renewal in September. After the first of this New Year I became a little nervous that my application had not even been received, much less approved, because I got no confirmation of receipt. Stupidly, I had sent it regular, not registered mail, and who knows where the regular mail ends up. Try to contact the Canadian Immigration to determine the status of your application. It is next to impossible. And while there is a website, with a you-can’t-get-there-from-here list of steps to determine if one’s application has even been received, it has been all but overwhelmed with traffic since the recent disaster in the Philippines. I am hoping to get through to someone in immigration soon, as the new card is somewhat essential for border crossings.

Tomorrow, assuming I can negotiate the uphill skating rink which is presently our driveway, I will drive to a nearby studio and lay down tracks for two of my songs, employing someone who knows more about this than I do. I am nervous, but feel the time has come. Wish me luck. In the news, Israel’s Ariel Sharon passed away last week. Toronto’s Rob Ford is a new man, and the Leafs are fast approaching the point where they will not make the playoffs, which is somewhat (but not a lot) more disappointing than watching them lose a 3 goal lead in game 7 of last year’s round one of the playoffs, against the Bruins. Why do I keep doing this, why am I a Leafs fan?  I’m like an abuse victim who just keeps coming back for more. I’m going back to rooting for the Sabres, at least there I know what to expect!

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2014 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 1/6/14

It had never happened since we moved into this home, but last Thursday, due to a comedy of errors, we ran out of propane and lost heat on the coldest day of the winter. On Christmas Eve we allegedly got a call from the propane supplier to inform us that the truck driver could not get down our driveway, and that we needed to plow before he could deliver his shipment. That message never got to us because our phones were down when they called. They thought they’d left a message on voice mail, so they never called a second time, but the message never came through. About 6AM Thursday morning, when I got up to go to the john, I noticed it was a bit chilly in the bedroom. Checked the thermostat and sure enough, we were down to 61F degrees. Downstairs was even colder. I figured something was wrong with the furnace, but then saw the pilot light was out on the propane-fired imitation wood stove as well. Propane can freeze if it gets really, really cold. I then ran around like a chicken with its head cut off trying to determine what was wrong. When I finally went out to the propane tank and checked the gauge, sure enough it was completely empty. After scrambling to ensure the driveway was passable, we arranged to get an emergency supply delivered to tide us over. We are now topped up and good for another month or so, as long as the power does not go out, necessitating the use of our propane-fired generator. I do complain about the weather a lot, don’t I?

Years ago my buddy Bob bought me an IPod Touch as a gift, and at the time I did not think I’d use it all that much. It had 8 Gigabytes of data storage, enough to hold more music than I would ever need, or so I thought. Five years later, I have now run out of memory. I use that little music device almost every day and have found that, although the music files are not as high fidelity as WAV files of a compact disk, and certainly not as good as the analog quality of an LP, the convenience of having so much music at my fingertips is wonderful. Besides, ever since that Allman Bros. concert in ’72, hi fidelity is wasted on me, because I have no high end hearing left. The other day I noticed a Boxing Day sale on the new generation of the IPod Touch, and I seized that opportunity to expand my digital music library. I bought a 16 Gig IPod Touch and have already put about 1400 songs in it. The new version of the Touch is much thinner than the one I already have, with a lot more bells and whistles. It has voice recognition software, SIRI (that annoying female computerized voice) to talk to me if I get lonely, a pretty good quality camera, and a bunch of features for communicating on the internet which I will likely never use. One thing that bothers me about so many of the new electronic gadgets is that I must download the operating manuals from the internet to learn how to use them. “Download” is like a curse word to me. It took me longer than it should have to figure out how to operate this new IPod, because Apple continually changes the ITunes software, and I do not embrace change with enthusiasm (read- I am a stupid Neanderthal).

News Years came and went up here without a lot of fanfare. Shauna and I spent it as we usually do, at home watching Kathy and Anderson exchange clever insults on CNN. My perennial favorite ushering in of the New Year is the “transvestite drop” from Key West. I will not watch Ryan Seabreeze on principle; the man vexes me. He is decidedly no Dick Clark. This year our First Night was a little different, in that there was no sparkling malt beverage, or any alcohol whatsoever with which to usher in the New Year. It is the first time in about 40 years that this has happened. My resolution for 2014 is actually two resolutions. I intend to remain on the wagon (with alcohol anyway). Perhaps I’ll become a meth addict, or start smoking crack, which seems to be the in drug of choice among the political unintelligentsia. But demon alcohol is out. Baby steps. My second resolution is to finally get into studio and record some proper song demos. I’ve been farting around with portable multi tracks for far too long. I am neither a musician nor a sound engineer, and it is time to focus on what  I do (have faith I) can do; write songs. Yesterday, as I loaded up my IPod with new musicians and singer/songwriters, many who are from around here, I was reminded that there are a lot of people out there trying to do this. Some of them are pretty good at it.  I have wanted to get some of my songs “out there” for far too long, and it is time to carp the diem. This is what I love to do, and there are plenty of starving musicians up here who can help me. Resolutions, aspirations, dreams. Never stop doing what you love, right?  

 

Maybe I’ll find the perfect partner

Maybe I’ll become a famous author

Maybe I’ll go to jail for murder

But right now I’m going to sit here,

Stupid, staring at the horizontal snow

Watching the wind blow, watching the horizontal snow.

Time for me to stop “stupid staring” and start blowing. We just got another 8” of snow. Peace out my friends.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2014 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 12/30/13

Ho Freakin’ Ho in Toronto! For the residents of Toronto (and all the retailers who relied so heavily on last minute Christmas shoppers to bump up their bottom line) this was not a particularly merry Christmas, as a crippling ice storm devastated the GTA and left hundreds of thousands without power or heat for almost a week (longer in some cases). In fact, Hydro crews are still working on restoring power for some and it will be a long time until all the debris from fallen trees, destroyed property, and power lines is cleaned up. In the true spirit of the season, people came together from all over the country to help Toronto recover from what may go down as the worst ice storm in the city’s history. I begin this report on Christmas day and very sober Mayor Rob Ford is giving a press conference on our continuous news channel. There’s nothing like a natural disaster to erase past transgressions. Just as Hurricane Sandy gave Obama a bump in the polls at a crucial point in his re-election campaign, (even if he is a Muslim terrorist without a birth certificate) this ice storm may be Ford’s much-needed crap deflector. Then again, some residents, and even his deputy mayor Norm Kelly, are saying he should have declared the city a disaster area, which he did not. That decision will be debated ad nauseam in the months to come, but get real people, this was a huge storm.

Of course there are the fundamental concerns about providing food, water and shelter to the most needy, and there were emergency warming centers set up throughout the city where beleaguered residents could go to avoid the bitter cold. While this storm was nowhere near as devastating as the recent typhoon in the Philippines, or the earthquake in Japan, or the many other bigger natural disaster stories around the globe, it is a major weather event for Canada, and the coincidence of  arctic cold made this storm all the more dangerous. Roads and highways were like skating rinks, and thick layers of ice covered just about everything, impeding all rescue attempts and slowing down response times for fire trucks and ambulances. As well, many stubborn residents, including Shauna’s mom, refused to leave their homes for the crowded warming centers, and when the mercury dipped, some were living in subzero temperatures for days. There are reasons why they say households should have a disaster plan, but it is usually after a disaster strikes that people actually start to form one. Flashlights, batteries, radios, non-perishable goods, a manual can opener, a camp stove … these are the things everyone realizes they need, after the fact.

 Because so many were without heat or light for days, and when people became desperate to stay warm, they sometimes did imprudent things. In the GTA alone there were over one hundred reported incidences of carbon monoxide poisoning, and two people actually died of CO poisoning. People trying to stay warm fired up their outdoor gas grills in their homes, or set up unventilated generators in their garages. This problem was compounded by the fact that very few of the affected residents were capable of listening to the news to heed the omnipresent warnings about this. Not a bad idea to have a few battery powered CO detectors in the house to warn of impending CO danger. Shauna’s mom, who was without power for six days, did have one, but it was a plug-in and did not work when the power went out. Thanks to a good Samaritan (and boyfriend of one of our caregivers), who lent her a generator, we were able to get her furnace working for her, but the generator had to be placed in the attached garage, and we were concerned that CO fumes might leak into the house. Finally, one of her guardian angels went to Crappy Tire and bought her a battery-powered CO detector. We are soooo grateful to all the people who stepped up to keep her safe in our absence. The good Samaritan boyfriend not only provided the life-saving generator, but he also assisted Hydro crews on her street by cutting up some of the fallen limbs impeding restoration of electrical service. What a hero. As Blanche Dubois said, “I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.” Shauna and I struggled to provide the Taylors with loyal caregivers, but that effort has paid off in spades. The multi-talented boyfriend was an unexpected godsend.  

That storm was devastating to the flora and many of Toronto’s beautiful old trees will disappear or be truncated as a result of this storm. Layers of ice covered old growth trees and eventually they could not withstand the weight and came down, on buildings, cars, and on power lines. This happened in Buffalo years ago, and the scars are still apparent throughout the city. New growth trees, planted after a plague of Dutch Elm Disease had literally denuded Buffalo of many of her beautiful trees, were just beginning to mature when the ice storm necessitated radical pruning. The trees that did survive now look like bushes with thick trunks. I suspect Torontonians will be hearing  the buzz of chainsaws for quite some time, and predictions are that this cleanup will take 4-6 weeks. Hydro crews from across Canada have been flown in to assist in the monumental job of restoring power, and hats off to all the volunteers and workers who gave up their holiday to provide their much needed assistance to the beleaguered city.

Once the electrical mess is cleaned up, and the trees are cleared, and damaged cars are repaired, and all the spoiled food is thrown out, and the water damage from burst water pipes is cleaned up, and the roofs are repaired, and on and on, the residents of Toronto can celebrate Christmas. What a kick in the butt for retailers!  

Happy New Year to my loyal readers, I'll toast all of you on First Night with a Shirley Temple ( in a dirty glass)

 

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2013 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

 

 

The Oppenheimer Report 12/23/13

Merry Christmas to my Twelve Loyal Readers!

One of the downsides of living in a house with a lot of glass is that, inevitably the odd bird flies into that glass. We’ve had a few of bird accidents in the years since we built the new house, and of course it is not something we enjoy. I guess it's harder on the birds. Shauna pasted some decals on the window to warn of the danger, and we put up some of those kiddie windmills to try and keep the birds away from the house, but despite our best efforts, there are still a few casualties each year. Sometimes, if a bird hits the window, it will be stunned and lying on the ground. If this happens, I usually go outside, assess the situation, and  determine if this is a rescue operation or a lost cause. Lost causes get tossed down the hill. A rescue operation involves an attempt to revive the unconscious but breathing bird, stroking its head gently, and perhaps moving it to someplace where it can recover out of reach of predators. I’m certainly no bird doctor, and there are no attempts made at mouth to beak resuscitation, or at the mending of broken wings. With these window crashes, it’s usually a harmless knockout or a broken neck. The other day we all heard a very loud crash, and we discovered that a rather large dove had crashed into the window. It was now laying head first in the snow, legs sticking straight up. Judging from the sound it made when it hit the glass, I was fairly sure this one was a “lost cause.” I went outside, confirmed my suspicion, and sadly tossed it down Bird Boot Hill. Later on that evening I was looking out the window, and noticed a mark where the bird had hit. Upon closer examination I realized that the mark was a perfect outline of the victim - I mean down to the beak and eyes, and it was kind of creepy. Shauna and I cannot figure out exactly what is the material sticking to our window, perhaps some bird expert out there can enlighten us. This is the first time that there has been a mark like that. There might be the odd feather sticking to the window but never the entire imprint of the bird. Anyhow, we have so far left the mark untouched. I find it fascinating, and I prefer to let that incredible mother which is nature wipe it clean in time, or not. Feathers to feathers, dust to dust.  

I used to think birds were uninteresting and not very smart, but changed my mind about that when we started hiking out west. In fact it was those visits to the Canadian Rockies that gave me a newfound respect for all forms of wildlife, both flora and fauna. We named one bird who visited our loft balcony regularly “Broke Toe” because he/she was missing one claw. I presume he was in a bar fight or something. Broke Toe was a Clark’s Nutcracker, a species of bird known locally in Banff for its annoying, fingernails-on-a-blackboard song, but if ever a bird had personality and attitude, it was Broke Toe. He became a member of our dysfunctional family, and would occasionally hang out with us for no special reason. I think he liked Shauna more than he liked me. Every year we stayed in the same hotel room in Banff, and every year, without fail, Broke Toe came to visit us. Sometimes he would bring along members of his family. I learned that these particular nutcrackers will store food in thousands of different hiding places, and they remember every location. Out in Banff there were Whisky Jacks, huge Common Ravens, Dark-eyed Juncos, Snow Owls, Eagles, and dozens of other interesting birds, but Broke Toe was hands down our favorite bird.  

It is now Sunday afternoon and at present Toronto is dealing with a major ice storm. Right now about 300,000 are without power, including my mother-in-law. What a mess it is. Trees are down all over the city and the current estimate is that many will be without power for 72 hours, maybe longer. Of course, power outages are much more serious in the winter, and with colder weather in the forecast, I am concerned for the safety of Shauna’s mom. Thankfully she has a caregiver with her, but there is really nowhere to go, and no supplemental source of heat or power.  A lot of people figure that a gas generator is a good idea, and it is, if you buy a decent one. The cheap ones you can buy at Walmart may or may not work when you need them, and I’ve heard a lot of complaints about generators that fail. There are going to be a lot of utility workers who miss Christmas this year in Toronto, and like so many weather-related disasters, the severity of this one is still being assessed. Up here in the GWN, we’ve had snow, but nothing special. I have raked the carport tarp twice in the past 24 hours, and we will likely need to have the driveway plowed again (it was plowed yesterday). I am watching Toronto news right now and our bellicose mayor just announced that he is not declaring Toronto a disaster area. He may need to lay off the crack for a couple of days to handle this latest crisis. Ford should be kissing Mandela’s butt for dying when he did, because that took the spotlight off him.

Merry Christmas to those who partake and remember, if you are going to get toasted, do it in front of an open fire and not driving your car out on the open (and icy) roads. Ho friggin’ ho, and don’t be one. . I’m really hoping one of those wild turkeys doesn’t kamikaze into our window.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2013 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 12/16/13

Let it snow, let it snow, let it SNOW! Last Tuesday I took my mother-in-law into Huntsville for a medical appointment, and it was snowing steadily as we headed in to town. As we drove home it was turning into a whiteout. When we finally arrived home, we passed our snowplow guy on the road, heading out after plowing our driveway. Our first plow of the season. That was at around 6PM, and by the time I took Jasper out for her last pee of the night, the snow was already deep enough that we needed another plow. You know you’re in for serious snow up here when the forecasters speak in terms of centimeters per 12 hour period. Jasper went up to her nose in the snow and then looked back at me as I to say, “WTF, if this keeps up I’m doin’ my business IN the house.” I realized that I would need to do some heavy duty snow blowing the next morning. I later heard that, shortly after we had arrived home, they closed the highway from Huntsville almost all the way up to Powassan because the squalls were so bad. Nearby Bracebridge got walloped. Based on the storms that have been hammering Alberta and the Midwest, I knew it was only a matter of time before we got hit with some heavy lake effect snow, and Tuesday night was a direct hit. And COLD!

I don’t mind the snow, but what makes winter a little more treacherous up here is the freezing and thawing. Accessibility becomes an issue. Last week, our 500 meter long driveway, which is at least a 100 foot drop down to the lake, was a skating rink. Wednesday I couldn’t get traction with the ATV in 4 wheel drive. I think the MDX will get up the road if I desperately need to get out, but when the weather is like this, it’s better to stay put. We have lots of food, and barring an extended power outage (we have a propane-fueled generator), the propane tank should hold out or a few more weeks. Keeping the propane topped up is a legitimate concern up here. In Toronto, I could take an elevator to the basement and pick up anything I needed. There was little chance our apartment building would ever lose heat or electricity, and if it did, there were plenty of people to take care of the problem. Up here, if the power goes out, we can go through a tank of propane in no time, and because we also heat with propane, we need to keep the gas flowing. I had a few nervous weeks last December, wondering if the propane truck would make it down our driveway. I suppose we could always burn the furniture.

We had plans to put a clear Lexan roof on our carport last summer, both to protect the log structure and to create a greenhouse off our back porch, but an unreliable supplier and the unfortunate events of last summer combined to throw a wrench in our plans. Life happens and, barring any more unforeseen circumstances, it will be spring before we revisit that project. In the meantime, the roof is covered with a heavy duty tarp, which has survived one winter but may not survive this one. Every time we get a heavy snow, I go out and rake it off while it is still light and manageable. Wednesday morning I did this and almost got buried in an avalanche. Sometimes I amaze myself with my own stupidity. Up here in the Great White North, it’s just me, my wife, my mother-in-law (for the time being), my Miniature Schnauzer, my snow rake, my Ariens snowblower, and my will to survive. Grizzly Oppenheimer. Right now, I am a little starved for male companionship, and my best friend lives in Buffalo. Most of my other male buddies don’t live around here, and my two best friends up here are my plumber and the guy who plows our driveway. They’ll only hang out with me because I pay them.

The wild turkeys have returned, and they have decided to take up residence on our property. Actually, I'm not sure if they are turkey buzzards or wild turkeys, and I can't tell from the internet pictures I googled. The other day I counted five of them, but one fall we had sixteen on the property. They are more fun to watch than a girl fight on Jersey Shore. When I took Jasper out Saturday morning, three of them were hanging out high up in the trees, bracing for the winter storm. I didn’t even know they could fly, and I’ve only ever seen them on the ground. They make a lot of noise when they fly.

Attended the pre-Christmas Coffee House musical review in Burk’s Falls last Friday, and it was the best one yet. My favorite performer of the night was a guy named Jamie Clark, formerly of the group Lewis and Clark. He has a great voice, and he's a good songwriter to boot. I’m making a list of the performers up here on my wish list to cover my songs, and yesterday, at the Katrine Jamboree, I met a bassist in a local band, who has better recording equipment than I do. Perhaps he and I will be able to do something together . I’m not sure how long it will last, but I quit drinking booze the day my father-in-law went into the hospital on July 6th, and now I need some musical diversions. Up here in the Great White North, snow is not the only winter hazard, and many a poor soul has succumbed to the evils of cabin fever and demon alcohol.

 

 

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2013 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 12/9/13

It has been months since I last griped about the perils of technology, so I am long overdue for today’s rant. I don’t know to which device I would rather take a ballpeen hammer, my cell phone or my GPS. I despise touch screens, and these days everything has a touch screens. Our electric oven uses a touch screen. I suspect that the reason Windows 8 has incurred the wrath of so many of its users, myself included, is that it was designed to be used with a touch screen, and so does not always operate properly without one. Perish the thought that some of us have not made that quantum leap yet to a touch screen laptop.

My not-so-smart cell phone has a touch screen, as do most other cell phones these days. If my hands are cold or wet, a touch screen does not operate properly, and sometimes I find that I cannot answer a call because of this. As well, I find I am now more inclined to ass dial people. Ass dialing, in case you are over 65 and/or unfamiliar with the expression, is a modern day phenomenon whereby one inadvertently touches the phone screen, with some body part other than one’s hands, and speed dials one of the people on one’s caller list. I get ass dialed on a regular basis. One of my musician friends in Alberta does it to me on a semi-regular basis, usually at two in the morning from some gig he’s playing. I’m flattered to be one of his top ten speed dialees, but do not want to hear him walking around, or listen in on his private conversations with other people.

Then there is my infernal GPS. I have a TomTom and more than anything use it as a wireless “hands free” (Bluetooth) speaker device. Technically I should not be talking on my cell while driving the car, but at least this way it’s a hands free call, and I can have both hands on the wheel (which I hardly ever do anyway). What I had not anticipated is that, when I walk away from the car, and forget to turn off the GPS, the phone may continue to communicate with it. Half the time the wireless feature doesn’t work properly when I am in the car, much less 50 yards away from the car, but the other day I drove to nearby Burk’s Falls to pick up some groceries, and Shauna called me on my cell to remind me to pick up some things. While I was talking to her in the supermarket, my phone cut out, and it kept happening. She would call, I could hear the phone ring, but when I answered the call there was silence. I finally figured out that my phone was communicating wirelessly with the GPS in my car parked out in the lot. I was screaming “Hello! Hello!” in the store and she was screaming “Hello HELLO!” to the speaker in my car. Ridiculous! I consider myself average in my technological skills, maybe a little below average, but these days, I feel pretty stupid. Now that the Christmas rush has begun, have you noticed that almost every gift idea has something to do with phones, computers, or new and improved stuff for your T.V.? The other day I saw an ad for a PVR (digital recorder for the television), which will record four different shows simultaneously.  Do I need this? As it is, I hardly ever watch half the crap (and I mean crap) I record; do I really need to quadruple my inventory of crap? I know, I’m turning into one of those grumpy old Muppet codgers in the balcony, but as I become more and more dependent on this stuff I somehow lived without for decades, I feel that I’ve reached the saturation point.

And speaking of high tech, did anyone see that segment on Amazon’s proposed delivery drones? I can think of one hundred reasons why drones are not a wise idea for delivering packages. Has anyone considered the possibility that one of those little things, with its ten mile range, could be used by our enemies to attack us. It doesn’t take a genius to see how that technology could backfire.

Nelson Mandela died last Thursday, and most would agree the world has lost a truly great man. Strangely, he passed away on the night when the premier of the biopic about his life Mandela: Long Walk to Freedom had just been released. Obviously the man was a great and charismatic leader, but apart from his monumental accomplishments of dismantling apartheid in South Africa, and preventing his country from imploding, Mandela amazed me most by his ability to forgive his enemies. Having served 27 years in prison the man could have been understandably bitter towards his white oppressors. How does one walk away from that kind of loss of freedom? I understand that complications from a persistent lung infection he contracted in prison finally did him in. He was 95 when he passed, how long would he have lived if healthy? I read some famous quotes attributed to the man, and the one I liked best was: “Lead from the back – and let others believe they are in front.” As we wrestle some feeble old lady to the floor in WalMart over the last remaining IPad in the store, let us take a nanosecond to reflect on the selflessness of this one great man. Will we ever learn? So far I haven't.   - Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2013 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 12/2/13

As I begin this report on Thursday, I am sitting in my living room watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, and this has been one of my favorite parts about Turkey Day since I was a little boy. Learning machine that I am I googled the Macy’s Day Parade and, of course, there is a lot of conflicting information about the early years. The event originated in 1920’s (1924?). According to what I read, there were no balloons in the first parade, but they did parade animals on loan from the Central Park Zoo. Apparently, in the early years, the balloons were released at the end of the parade. I was worried that the giant balloons would not be in the parade this year (Snoopy was always my favorite) because of high winds from that most recent winter storm. Luckily, it was a perfect day for the event, and the balloons floated down the street as they always have. The American Thanksgiving will always be my favorite holiday. Traditionally, it was when my family gathered in Buffalo, along with a few obligatory strays, and sat down to a Thanksgiving feast, and I mean feast, hosted by my mom and dad. There is no other holiday which is as meaningful to me, and though the hosts of that party are now gone, the warmth of the celebration will be with me forever. I know it’s maudlin to say this, but I am thankful to have had that experience for so many years. Rather than whine about the loss of family, I turned it around this year and called a bunch of friends and family with whom I have not spoken in a while. I talked to Edmond, my shut in friend with MS from Buffalo to whom I used to deliver meals for Meals on Wheels, I spoke with one of the nurses who took care of my mom and dad, and to my cousin who lives in Oregon. Vicariously, I soaked up some of the good vibes I always used to feel at my parent’s house.  

There was an article in the NY Times yesterday which caught my eye concerning a developing technology that falls into the “big-brother-is-watching” category. We’ve all heard of face recognition software which can assist authorities in apprehending the bad guys. Faces are recorded by a camera and sent to a database which can then determine if the subject is on any criminal watch list. With cameras popping up more and more in public places, there is the ongoing debate about what violates a person’s privacy. Now there is a developing software which uses algorithms to read facial expressions and determine what a person is thinking or feeling. It isn’t much of a stretch to presume that computers will one day be able to read people’s minds, and this is a little unsettling. There is an expression, “owner of one’s thoughts, slave to one’s words.” Perhaps we are approaching the point where we have become a slave to our thoughts as well. Or at least our computers.

11/30/13 - Well the insanity has begun, actually it began shortly after Halloween, and Shauna just told me there was a news clip on CNN about some holiday-related violence in a Wal Mart. Some predatory shoppers rioted over the last computer tablet on the shelves. If it isn’t Tickle-ME-Elmo, or a Cabbage Patch Doll, or Pet Rocks, it’s always some thing that brings out the worst in human holiday behavior . The news is always chock full of negative stories about the downside of Christmas - gunfights in shopping mall parking lots over the last parking space, one of Santa’s helpers caught exposing himself in public, or a Christmas tree fire that wipes out an entire family. Misfortune doesn’t only happen at Christmas, but Christmas always seems to highlight the suffering. It seems stories of goodwill don’t stand a chance when put up against the intoxicating allure of yellow journalism. This is probably why Santa has had so many emotional problems, but I’m not even going to go there.     

And speaking of overweight guys with public relations problems, on a lighter (heavier?) note, disgraced Toronto Mayor Rob Ford was asked not to attend this year’s Santa Claus Parade, because the promoters thought he might be too much of a “distraction.” Ouch.  Somebody’s getting a stocking full of coal this Christmas. For those members of my tribe, I wish you a Happy Chanukah, which began at sundown last Wednesday night. I don’t read or understand Hebrew, but I googled Chanukkah prayers so I could recite the prayers phonetically as I lit the candles. Presently we have Shauna’s mom up here with us in the Great White North and, while she is still grieving the loss of her husband, I think she has been enjoying her time in this winter wonderland.

I am thankful for the good friends and family in my life. May your holiday season be absent stress and pain, and the last tablet computer from Wal Mart.

 

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2013 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 11/25/13

Demolition of the old cottage in 2007

This was the week when winter arrived with a vengeance. All over North America there was crazy weather, with snowstorms in the west and destructive tornadoes in the mid-west. As I begin writing this report on Sunday, we’re in the deep freeze up here in the Great White North, and the mercury is hovering around 8 degrees F. Jasper has officially donned her polar fleece Canadian-flag design winter coat for the season. When it gets really cold, as it has been the past few nights, I also put her boots on. She hates the boots (“Mutt-Luks”) and tries to kick them off, which is pretty funny to watch, but without them her paws freeze up within minutes. She gets as far away from the house as we walk and then lifts one paw as if to say “I’m cold now, pick me up and carry me home.” The night before last we had a significant snowfall and there is more in the forecast for this week. Tomorrow the Blizzak snow tires go on the SUV, and what a difference those babies make. We need radial snows up here. Just in time, as I head down to Toronto later this week, through lake effect alley, to pick up Shauna’s mom for a Chanukah visit.

Because I embrace winter weather with the resignation of an Eskimo, I have some excellent winter gear. From our hikes in the mountains, I have knee-high gators for keeping snow out of my boots. For heavier duty snow play I have snowmobile pants (we used to call them leggings), fleece-lined snowmobile boots, a down vest, a face mask, and plenty of long underwear. The one thing I have never been able to keep warm are my hands, and no matter how heavy duty the gloves are, when I’m out on the ATV zipping along at 40-50MPH, wind chill is a factor. This year I researched heated glove liners and finally bought a pair manufactured by a Canadian company called MotionHeat. They seemed to be the best electric glove I could find. Of course these liners were in high demand and were on back order, but last week, just in time for the first arctic blast, they arrived. Once I figured out the wiring harness, how to attach it to the 12 volt outlet on my ATV, and how to adjust the temperature – I know, it sounds like a lot of bother – they worked perfectly. I took a long ride in the arctic air and everything stayed warm, including my hands. These electric glove liners are not cheap, but they are a lot cheaper than the grip warmers I was about to buy for the ATV, and they come with a rechargeable lithium ion battery good for 3 hours of off-the-grid warmth. Bottom line, they work, and comfort in this cold northern climate is worth a lot. I only wish these things had been around when I was still an avid snow skier. Some of those lift rides in the mountains of Vermont were pretty darned frosty.

We had a scare last week when it was reported to me that our snowplow guy, Harvey had passed away. News travels fast in a small town, but it turned out it was another guy in the community with the same name (even the same middle initial!) who had died. For about two hours I was mildly freaking out. First of all, he is the best snowplow guy in the area; always reliable and fair. But more important, he’s a buddy, and I enjoy his company. I called his house to send my condolences, and he answered the phone. We had a good laugh, and I later sent him one of my historic Buffalo post cards with a note on the back saying “I was relieved to hear that news of your untimely demise was greatly exaggerated.”

I watched Toronto Mayor Rob Ford body check some council woman to the floor as he attempted to address some hecklers in council chambers. Talk about video gold, the news had a field day with that footage. Hulk Hogan, stand back. There was much talk in the news this week about a deal with Iran that will ensure their nuclear program will not be used to produce weapons. All of this is allegedly verifiable, but  Israel is predictably skeptical, and so am I. Last week marked the 50^th Anniversary of JFK’s assassination. I remember where I was. In my sister’s bedroom in Buffalo watching it on a portable black and white T.V. I can’t believe that was fifty years ago. A pre-emptive Happy Thanksgiving to all my buddies stateside, hope you all have a great bird with your families!

                           - Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2013 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 11/18/13

Last Friday night I had the opportunity to play a few my songs at the monthly Burk’s Falls “Coffee House”, and it is always gratifying to play a couple of my songs for a receptive audience. I dragged Shauna out with me and I think it was therapeutic for her to let go of her grief and to meet some new people. These coffee houses provide a good chance to meet like-minded people in the community who share a love of music and good song writing. I’ve been playing open stages for over thirty years now and I have yet to play a better venue for songwriters than this one. On Friday, I met two good writers who performed their own songs, and we sat with an older guy named Sam Fattore, who moved up here from Hamilton recently. Sam played several good covers of older country songs (George Jones, Hank Williams, etc.) and I ended up buying his CD, although traditional country music is not my favorite genre. We talked guitars and swapped war stories about the worst venues we’ve played. A few weeks ago I acknowledged the passing of rock icon Lou Reed, and I alluded to the fact that he had influenced my song writing. One of the songs I played last Friday night was Dear Dirty Dublin, one of my favorites in my repertoire, and Lou Reed figured significantly in the writing of that song.

Dear Dirty Dublin recounts the story of an all-night party in which I participated, back in 1977, in a suburb south of Dublin. The Irish know how to have a good time and my Irish partners in crime and I drank a lot of Irish whisky, smoked some home grown weed, and all night long we listened to Lou Reed and Bruce Springsteen albums. As the party was winding down in the wee hours of the morn, someone had the brilliant idea to continue the celebration at some skid row bar in the bowels of Dublin. That decision required a bus ride into the city, and still loaded from the bender, we boarded the double decker 6A bus headed for Dublin. Because it was the first bus of the morning, it was filled with all the bus drivers who were to be dropped off at their respective stops along the way. You can imagine how strange it was to board this bus, inebriated as we were, and to see it full of uniformed bus drivers going to work.

 “…The trees are black cracks against the diesel sky/ And through my reflection I watch the cars go by/ Dublin Bay is on my right the water cool and still/ Rid me of this vagrancy, I’m gonna drink my fill.”

I remember everything about that long ride into town, and I remember we ended up at a skid row bar along the Liffy River in the industrial section of downtown Dublin. We arrived just before the doors opened, and tinkers (what the Irish call gypsies), were milling about outside waiting for first call. When the doors did open shortly thereafter, we entered a world I had not seen before and have not seen since. I felt as if I was half immersed in this foul underbelly of vagrancy, and it was a real life lesson. We drank at this bar for several hours and then staggered back into the city centre, making an obligatory stop at the Trinity College campus to view the Book of Kells (which, as it turns out, is even more interesting to view smashed), before heading home to sleep off what had been a legendary bender. At the time, I was in a literature class and studying Joyce’s Ulysses, hence the title of the song and the general theme of exile.

 “…That pub down by the Liffy, tinkers circling outside/ Soon they’re shooting whiskey and spilling Irish jive/ From delirium to paradise is such an easy slide/ This ain’t no kissin’ the Blarney Stone, it ain’t no tour bus ride/ No sir this is the 6A bus to the bottom of the line/ Dear Dirty Dublin, I think I’m out of time.”       

Hitting rock bottom is part of what that song is about, and as I watch the Rob Ford scandal unfold, I think I’m watching it happen to him. From SNL to CNN, Ford has become the laughing stock of the world, and he is taking Toronto down with him. How a man can in his right mind presume his glaringly public and deplorable behavior will go unpunished, especially under the microscope of the media, is beyond me. Today Toronto City Council votes, I think on whether or not to strip Ford of his operating budget. Last week they voted almost unanimously to strip him of his staff. Ford says he will challenge their decisions in court, at the taxpayer’s expense, if his power is taken away, but one way or another, this pathetic man is going to need a bulldozer to pull him out of the political quagmire into which he has fallen, head first.

                             - Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2013 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED