The Oppenheimer Report 4/27/15

Last Wednesday morning we received a cell phone call from the caregiver for Shauna’s mom that she had fallen. She implored us to call Mrs. Taylor because she was refusing to go to the hospital. I am writing this report in déjà vu mode, to remind all of you docile children of aging octogenarian, or in this case nonagenarian parents – common sense erodes with age. You must be prepared to be firm and take charge when a crisis arises. While the caregiver was down in the basement, Mom Taylor had tried to go downstairs to join her, became dizzy and slipped on the stairs. Our worst case scenario. What was particularly serious about the fall, apart from the fact she is ninety years old, was that she had hit her head and had a goose egg bruise. That was the red flag. We finally insisted on calling an ambulance. Within 10 minutes of their arrival, paramedics had put her in an immobilizing neck collar and rushed her to the hospital. A number of tests at the hospital confirmed that she had fractured her C1 and C2 vertebrae, and was in danger of complete paralysis. She was adamant that she was all right, yet she was possibly moments away from quadriplegia.

 

As I write this, I am sitting in the hospital with her, and while extremely agitated and in pain – those neck collars are not designed for comfort – she is, for now, safe. Based on her advanced years, doctors will not contemplate invasive spinal surgery unless absolutely necessary. We will know little for 4-6 weeks, but wherein quality-of-life is concerned, this is a quantum leap down for Shauna’s mom. I am reminded of the beginning of my journey into geriatric purgatory, when my father slipped and broke his hip about 11 or 12 years ago. What became apparent during that accident was that my mom was not reacting or behaving appropriately, and both my sister and I and our spouses had to remotely negotiate a ridiculously elaborate maze of bureaucratic nonsense in order to get my father back over the U.S. border and into a U.S. hospital (the accident occurred at our summer home in Canada). He almost died, and what unfolded soon thereafter was the gradual realization that my mom was in the beginning stages of a rare dementia known as Lewy Body Disease. Everything went south from there for both of them, and the next four years of my life were challenging to say the least. Coordinating health care professionals, doctors, insurance coverage, was hard enough, but arranging to make my parents’ handicapped unfriendly home into a small hospital was a minor nightmare. My point is this: one minute everything is ok, and the next, it isn’t.

 

Shauna’s dad passed on in 2013, but not before a serious of downward steps resulting from a series of strokes that were emotionally painful and completely unexpected. Now this latest journey into the world of geriatric worst case scenarios makes me wonder if my contemporaries have had the same rocky ride. We have tried to do everything we can to keep our independent parents safe and healthy, while at the same time maintaining their dignity, but sometimes things just go very wrong. Thanks to our house sitters for stepping in. We’ll be back as soon as we are able.

 

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2015 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 4/20/15

I’ve spent a lot of time over the past few weeks poring through my music collection for songs that I might want to play on the radio show. I don’t know if anybody’s listening, and that’s one of the weird things about radio. There you are, alone with a mic, and you have no idea if three people or three thousand are listening in. I don’t expect a big audience, perhaps more when the summer residents arrive, but maybe I can reel in some new listeners by playing a little JethroTull, or a weird Aerosmith cover or, perhaps even some cover sung by Judy Garland. Regardless of how many people are listening, I’ve had a lot of fun learning more about the music I love, and I have had some great feedback from friends near and far. There are so many songs which over the years have influenced me, and every song is a whistle stop on my wild, winding journey. Whenever I hear a certain Led Zeppelin song from the Houses of the Holy album, it reminds me of a beach bar I used to spend a lot of time in during the summers of my ill spent youth. For me at least, songs are like auditory snapshots of the past, and they enhance my memories. Maybe that’s why I like to write songs; I hope one day one of my songs will live on as someone else’s mnemonic device.

 

The other night I was digitally converting a song from my collection for this week’s show, from an old Steppenwolf LP (At Your Birthday Party), and that song conjured up a vivid flashback. I heard the song “Rock Me” and the distinctive drum solo in the middle of that song transported me back to the early 70s and my childhood bedroom in our Buffalo home. I remember listening to that album on my sister’s old stereo, on a hot spring afternoon, and I recall looking out of my second story window at kids playing basketball in the nearby schoolyard of Public School 56. I can picture our verdant, big backyard full of old growth trees and flowers. Mom always had beautiful gardens. I listened to a lot of Steppenwolf back then, and probably had every album they ever made. That includes the last one, featuring a photo of the "penis-mobile" on the inside cover (a car designed to look like an erect penis on wheels). My tastes in music have evolved somewhat, and are considerably more eclectic than they were back then, but I still appreciate the music of Steppenwolf. I can picture myself in my off white,  whale corduroy, hip hugger bell bottoms from the Town Squire Boutique, and my ridiculously wide leather belt from the Soul Source on Elmwood Ave.  I was a boy obsessed with looking and being cool (and failing miserably at both). Years later, my friend Bob and I caught one of the last concerts at the Crystal Beach Ballroom in the now defunct Crystal Beach Amusement Park. On the bill that night were front man John Kay, with whatever band he was now calling Steppenwolf, as well as Alvin Lee and Ten Years After. Both bands put on a fantastic show.

 

Most people are focused in the star who brings a song to light, but I am just as interested in the writer of that song. So often the songwriters go unrecognized. Last Friday night, at the monthly open stage in Burk’s Falls, I saw local picker Merv Mulligan perform a few of his original songs. Merv is a veteran local bluegrass musician, and from what I heard last Friday night, he’s pretty a good songwriter. The country and bluegrass guys often tell great stories. I’ll be playing the recording I made of Merv’s performance on my show this week. Last Thursday night, on the “Live Drive” show before mine, I watched local blues singer Papa John Witterick perform a set at Hunter’s Bay Radio, and he was a pleasant surprise. This is what I love about doing this new radio show. I was concerned that I would not be able to keep presenting more songs I like, but between all the knowledgeable DJs at HBR and all my friends with interesting suggestions and requests, my musical universe is expanding quickly. There is so much under-recognized talent from which to draw. I am appreciative for the people at Hunter’s Bay Radio for giving a voice to obscure and/or local artists, and I hope to contribute to that effort. Singer Percy Sledge died last week of cancer at 74 years of age. Sledge is probably best known for his 1966 hit When a Man Loves a Woman, which he co-wrote with band mates Calvin Lewis and Andrew Wright. May he rest in peace. Another notable death: Last week marked the 150th anniversary of the assassination of President Abraham Lincoln at Ford’s Theatre in Washington DC.

 

Time flies when you’re having fun.

 

 

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2015 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 4/13/15

I think the winter of my discontent is finally on the wane. There may be a few surprises in store, because up here in the Almaguin Highlands it is April, not March, that comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb. Thankfully, the past few days have been warmer, and the sun has peeked through several times. I get serious cabin fever around this time of year. One would think that having grown up in a sunless city like Buffalo I’d have learned to pace myself for long winters, but I still get anxious around this time. Today, I saw some robins in the woods, and the wild perennials are beginning to poke their green sprouts through the newly thawed landscape.

This spring there has been an unusually large population of deer in our area, and several times I have had to be especially vigilant to avoid them when driving into Huntsville. There were five or six on our property last week, and as the snow melts, they are coming out of the woods to scrounge for whatever Jack Frost has left behind. This has in turn attracted predators. The other day, I woke up to a strange sight out on the frozen lake. About two hundred yards out in front of our house were two gray wolves, laboriously dragging the carcass of a freshly killed deer to the cover of the nearby shore. All around there were crows and I thought I also spotted a bald eagle circling above. This was a sobering reminder of the symbiosis of nature. I love seeing the wild animals, but up here we are constantly reminded of the harsh realities of nature. I never saw this kind of thing when I was a “citiot," as the locals call us city folk. I am reminded of “Marlin Perkins’ Wild Kingdom”, a show I used to watch with some regularity when I was a kid. It always amused me that Perkins would be narrating the video of some jungle cat taking down a gazelle or antelope, and then he’d  segue into a commercial for the sponsor of the show: Mutual of Omaha life insurance. Marlin would say something like: “On the African savannah, only the fastest antelope can out run their predators, but human beings can’t outrun mortality … they need life insurance for their survival. Mutual of Omaha life insurance is the protection you need.” Or, “Baboons mate for life, but who will take care of YOU if your husband is blown to pieces in a boiler explosion? Mutual of Omaha, that’s who.”

Indeed we are perhaps more cognizant of the laws of nature up here in the near north. At present I am anxiously monitoring the spring thaw because we are concerned about flooding. The past several years, flooding has been particularly severe, and we recently installed a sump pump to deal with the excessive volumes of water. Last Thursday night we had the first major thunderstorm of the season, melting much of the snowpack in the area. It was a sleepless night for me. If the power goes out, we do have generator power, but so far the sump is not tied in to the generator.

The radio show is becoming more enjoyable, as I find my stride. At first it was awkward talking into a mic with nobody around, but it is getting easier. I recognize my arrogance in hosting a show wherein I talk about song  writing, and while I am not a widely recognized songwriter, I have been writing songs for a long time. I believe I have something to offer, and I certainly have strong opinions about what I do and do not like. I’m hoping to revisit some of my favorite songs and perhaps all of us will learn something in the process. Much of what I have played so far is music from the past, and to those who suggest I play new artists, I am open to suggestions. I am constantly being exposed to new songs that move me, and when that happens, I will present them for your consideration. That said, there is a lot of music from the past that in my opinion never got the recognition it deserved, and simply does not get air time on the radio today. Good songs do not go out of fashion, and in the show last Thursday night, in no particular order, I included Sammy Davis Jr singing a Cole Porter song, two live cuts from a Humble Pie concert, and a tune by Toronto song writer Willie P. Bennett. In my show, there will be songs that are not for everyone, but almost every song I play is one that has meaning to me, and/or has influenced my songwriting in some way. As I said, I welcome requests, and I am always willing to learn something new. To those who have caught the show, either locally or on the internet, thanks for listening!

 

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2015 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The OppenheimerReport - 4/6/15

Friday night (Good Friday as it turns out) marked the Eve of Passover, a Jewish holiday celebrated by eating a lot of strange and sometimes unsavory foods. Every year, as a token gesture of my observance (somewhat hypocritical given the fact that I am not an “observant” Jew), I substitute matzo for leavened bread for the week of Passover. I do not like matzo; it constipates me, it tastes like cardboard, and has no redeeming nutritional value whatsoever. But I eat it for Passover, just because we Jews like to celebrate our suffering. To add insult to constipation, I can’t find matzo anywhere locally. This year I took the bull by the horns and made my own.

 Actually, it was my mother-in-law’s idea. Mom Taylor is a very clever woman. She co-wrote the song “Every Time I Look at You” with my wife Shauna, and that song was recorded by Vic Damone. She also came up with the brilliant idea for me to write a song around the phrase “Nothing Buttafuoco,” back when Joey Buttafuoco and Amy Fischer were the latest scandal. I could not resist writing that song, and while not one of my finest, it does have a certain edgy appeal. Anyhow, she convinced me to try making matzo.This kosher food business puzzles me. How is it that a cracker made out of flour and water can somehow be more valuable because some rabbi blessed it? To me, this is preposterous. How hard can it be to make matzo, right? Not all that hard as it turns out. It helps to have a pasta maker to roll out the dough, but then it’s just as simple as baking it in a hot oven for a few minutes. Once I got the hang of it, I was a regular matzo- making machine, cranking out homemade matzo for a third the price. And it’s much better than the expensive, store-bought, kosher beaver board commonly sold as Passover matzo. I actually like this homemade stuff, and will likely make it again. It’s a good alternative to regular crackers and chips, which often loaded with salt and preservatives. My mother-in-law had a great idea. Necessity is a mother, so I did some inventing.

 

I got a belly laugh at something I read last week, which is at once politically and religiously incorrect.  Jann Arden posted something on Good Friday wherein she referred to the holy day as the day when Jesus rose from his tomb, saw his shadow, and went back in. That’s pretty much what I’ve been doing as well this past month: laying low. I drove the ATV over to pick up the mail yesterday afternoon and almost froze my tuchus off. Seems I miscalculated the beginning of spring, again. I know it’s coming, but so is Christmas.

 

IF STATUTORY RAPE COMES NATURALLY

IF SCHTUPING AMY FISHER IS YOUR CUP OF TEA

IF YOUR WIFE GETS SHOT BY THIS CRAZY TEEN

LOOK HERE, YOU'RE NOTHING BUTTAFUOCO

 

cho:

YOU STUPID BUTTAFUOCO DON'T YOU SEE IT'S CLEAR

IF YOU SCREW PSYCHO TEENS YOU'RE GOING TO LIVE IN FEAR

THEY SAY THAT LOVE CAN BE A MANY SPLENDORED THING

BUT LUST CAN GET YOU THREE TO FIVE IN OLD SING SING

 

IF AUTOS AREN'T THE ONLY BODIES YOU WORK ON

AND IF YOU THINK YOU'RE MASTER OF THE WOMEN YOU CON

WELL HELL HATH NO FURY LIKE A WOMAN WITH A GUN

YOU'D BETTER RUN YOU STUPID BUTTAFUOCO.

 

                          -From “Nothing Buttafuoco”

 

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2015 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 3/30/15

Jon Brooks - Photo by Shauna Leigh Taylor

Now four shows into this radio host experience, I find this challenge both exhilarating and humbling. Not only have I gained a great deal of respect for all the other volunteers who host their own unique music shows on Hunter’s Bay Radio, but I have also begun to accept and begin to address my relative ignorance on the subject of songwriting. As I begin to research artists – and really only North American artists so far – I have come to realize how little I know about so many great writers. People are coming out of the woodwork to edify me, and I am learning a great deal from my musical friends. That includes Bob, my best friend in Buffalo, who early on exposed me to some of my favorite bands, and who seems to know as much if not more about Canadian artists than I do. So many good songwriters are not receiving the attention they deserve, perhaps because the field is far greater than it was thirty years ago. This became ever clearer Friday night when Shauna and I drove up to nearby Sundridge to hear Toronto singer-songwriter Jon Brooks perform. We went largely because our friend and songwriter, Gina Horswood, was opening up for Brooks, and we had no idea who he is. Brooks is a remarkable wordsmith with a distinctive percussive guitar technique, and his set left me so “gob-smacked” that I bought all four of his CDs. His songs are edgy, and clever, and just plain intelligent, and I now find out that he is no secret to the international songwriting community. I left the venue reminded of all the talent I have yet to discover. Brooks is a refreshing antidote to so much of the mindless, homogenized, synthesized, auto-tuned pop crap that passes for music and lyrics today, and his talent puts my songwriting skills waaaaay down the list. Here I want to touch upon two points.

In last week’s show I discussed my aspirations for my radio show. I hope that I might learn something, or be pleasantly surprised by something unfamiliar learned about an unexplored songwriter. Admittedly, some of the songs I air are not for everyone, but if I can open up a mind or two, then I will have succeeded. I spoke about the hundreds of open mics I’ve played over the years. What I finally took away from all those open mic nights is that, not only are there a LOT of people who do this well, and certainly better than me, but if I actually got my head out of my ass and listened to some of these artists, I could improve myself. The more I listen, the more I open myself up to new styles, and the better I get. In the recent concert I attended, Brooks eloquently stated another important point about songs and songwriting: they can touch on the human condition, and they can unify. To explore the human condition in song is one way to chip away at the cynical, divisive direction our cultures and governments are heading. Brooks eschews “protest songs”, and instead uses dark humor and sarcasim in his songs to convey his messages. He’s not telling us what to believe – he’s just opening up the dialogue and asking us to think, to believe something. As polyanna-ish and naïve as this may sound, I believe some music can improve the human condition.  I want to be one cog in that wheel. In my opinion music should not be about fame or celebrity, it should be meaningful, and insightful, and it should implore us to examine our lives in some pro-active way. Ever my biggest supporter, Shauna wants me to toot my own horn more, and to use the show to promote my music. Thanks to Hunter’s Bay Radio, I am getting plenty of exposure, perhaps more than I deserve. I am plenty full enough of myself, but when I see a guy like Jon Brooks sing his songs, I am reminded that I am still in the foothills. This radio show is causing me to open my eyes and ears a bit.

 

Early last week a Germanwings airbus crashed in the French Alps, killing all 150 aboard. We are force fed news paranoia about the omnipresent terrorist threat, but to this phobia we can now add suicidal pilots to the list. It’s disturbing enough when someone in crisis snaps in public and “goes postal”, but what about the mental health of the people who routinely ferry large amounts of people around the world? Look at the mess the incompetent captain of the Costa Concordia caused.

 

Like me or not, I leave a good story,

The women are busy, and the men are boring,

And the only good thing, the only good thing,
The only good thing, is an old dog.”

 

The reader can have no idea what this song is about from the above four lines, but If you want to find out why I love this song, you should check out Jon Brooks’ latest album The Smiling and Beautiful Countryside. Excellent song writing in my humble opinion.

 

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer  c 2015  All Rights Reserved

The Oppenheimer Report -3/23/15

My rant du jour is about our wasted tax dollars. Several months ago, and largely through the efforts of a citizen of Huntsville and our community radio station, we learned of plans to cut back services at the Huntsville Hospital. The first cut they are proposing is to the surgical services, followed by the emergency room, and who knows what’s next. There is the very real possibility that eventually, the Town of Huntsville will no longer have a hospital, and people from here and points north and east will have to travel an even longer distance to receive health care. For elders living in remote locations, this becomes particularly troublesome. Of course, had there not been some squeaky wheels in the community, all of this would have been done out of the public eye. I understand the Ontario government even hired a consultant to explain why this is necessary, a kneejerk reaction to the negative reaction of the locals. I wonder what that consultant is being paid. Somehow, there was funding for a multi-million dollar sports complex and summit center,  why aren’t there sufficient funds allocated for a hospital that services the health care needs of over 2500 square miles of full time residents, not to mention the huge influx of seasonal residents?  I’m told the problem is in how the Province of Ontario allocates hospital funding, but whatever are the political and economic factors causing this to happen, the whole thing makes me bristle. It seems sometimes governments have their priorities wrong. Why is it we the private sector are obliged, sometimes mandated by law, to act in a financially responsible way, but governments are notorious for mismanaging funds? Who is it, for instance, who decided to build that Ontario power plant and then scrapped the project, at a cost of $500 Million?

It all reminds me of my dealings with the Town of Fort Erie, across the border from Buffalo, and a municipality in which I used to reside during the summer months. It is also a Township that had what I consider to be ridiculously high real estate taxes for the services rendered.  I am very thankful to no longer own real estate in Ft. Erie, because the guys who run that town are not particularly good with money. For years, owners of waterfront property just west of Ft. Erie were largely summer residents from Buffalo and Western New York. The town had for decades tried unsuccessfully to wrest control of the privately owned beaches, claiming that making these beaches public was in the public interest. The town fought unsuccessfully to expropriate this land, but for years the private residents fought back, and finally won. Never underestimate the machinations of a town government. Then, as a sort of spiteful end run, the town fathers decided that, to raise the tax base, it would be a good idea to pass legislation essentially setting aside deed restrictions which prohibit the subdivision of waterfront lots for development. Needless to say, this decision was controversial and had a serious potential to impact on property owners in the area. It should have been made with adequate public notice to property owners affected by the proposed changes, but it was not. Required public notice was made a little over two weeks before Christmas, and the meeting to pass the proposal was snuck in before the holiday, essentially assuring that dissenting interests would not have a chance to present a successful opposition. Most of the affected property owners were not even aware of the change until after it had taken place. This is one of many reasons I don’t have any love lost for the Town of Ft. Erie. They are in my opinion sneaky bastards. In recent years, there has been a controversial effort to develop a high rise complex on the site of the former Crystal Beach Amusement Park, which would substantially increase the population density of the area. This may or may not have been a good thing for the community. What was decidedly not a good thing for the community was the fact that a Ft. Erie councilor had a substantial financial interest in this development, representing an atrocious conflict of interest. While the project is now on hold, I doubt it has much to do with the rights of the property owners.

So I went to the hospital rally, and I listened to all the well-reasoned arguments for not cutting back on Huntsville’s hospital services. The turnout was good, and reams of petitions have been signed to let the Ontario Minister of Health know how adamantly we are all oppose to this. Nevertheless, I think this is a bit like Sisyphus pushing a rock uphill. We are not going to solve the provincial funding problem anytime soon, and essential services will suffer. That money allocated to this hospital has already been spent, on Pamela Wallin’s private travel expenses, on Stephen Harper’s war chest, and on an Ontario power plant that never got built. The time has come for me to take matters into my own hands. I’m thinking of auctioning off a kidney.

 

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2015 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 3/16/15

"Puddlejumping"
 

Today, Sunday, I went for my first walk of the season on our frozen lake. It’s something I like to do, but this winter has been so particularly cold and harsh that I just didn’t feel like venturing out much. Besides, since late December, our front lawn has been under about four feet of snow, and it’s a bit of a wade to get down to the shore. So, I went out for that walk today. It was relatively warm, the sun was shining, the sky was blue, the lake was a vast moonscape of snow-covered ice, and I walked about a half mile down the shore and back. Over by the mouth of the nearby Magnetewan River, where the water never freezes, there was a crowd of people and a bunch of snowmobiles. Some of the people were wearing orange vests, and my immediate assumption was that someone, either on a machine or on foot, had fallen through the ice. I figured I was watching some kind of rescue operation. Then, I heard the high pitched screaming of snow machines, and realized that this was a puddle-jumping rally. Puddle jumping, for those of you who do not know, is the practice of driving snowmobiles over open water. Having built up enough speed, one can hydroplane over open water with a snowmobile. I suppose this is a thrill, as long as one’s snowmobile does not conk out midway. I am told that there are competitions involving this practice, and that the some or all of the snowmobilers attach ropes and buoys to their machines so as to have something with which to retrieve them when they sink. This is the part that particularly puzzles me. I’m not exactly sure what the driver is supposed to do, now relieved of his or her “floatation device” and bobbing around in open ice water, but perhaps they wear wet suits  and life jackets underneath their winter wear. People tell me that some of these daredevils travel long distances over open water, sometimes many miles. Perhaps this is some kind of weird right of spring around here. On one of my ice walks a few years ago, I came upon a party at the one ice fishing hut out on our lake, and there were quit a few snow machines parked there. One guy had an ATV with tank treads mounted instead of wheels, and I remarked to the owner that it must go through any kinds of rough terrain. His answer surprised me: it will travel through almost anything, but slush. On my walk today, the surface was exactly that, slush.

Last Thursday night, I hosted my second edition of Lyrical Workers, my radio show on Hunter’s Bay Radio about songwriters and song writing. This one went a little smoother than the first one, and I was a bit more conversant than I had previously been. I had a little practice, because, on the Wednesday before, my producer and collaborator Juan Barbosa and I did an interview on the HBR live show Talent on the Bay, hosted by fellow songwriter Sean Cotton. We talked about my upcoming album, and my new radio show, and about the novelty – for me anyway – of recording an album of songs in a studio. Oddly enough, these live radio interviews and performances do not make me nearly as nervous as does being in the studio alone and hosting a three hour show. There, I am responsible for manning the mic and the equipment, and without elaborating, there is much that can go wrong. During the day, there are people on site to assist, but starting in a week or so, I will be on my own for this evening show, and that terrifies me. Just another cliff to jump off; it’s getting easier.

Final notes …The beginning of this week marked International Women’s Day, wherein the world acknowledges and promotes the achievements of women throughout the world. I read a disturbing article in the New York Times over the weekend about women’s shelters in Kabul, Afghanistan, and about honor killings in that country. We in North America are slowly working towards gender equality, but it is still inconceivable to me that other cultures still consider it permissible and acceptable to disfigure, torture, and kill a woman on the grounds of infidelity, and many other "offenses". My acceptance of other cultural practices stops when it includes enslavement, torture, or murder. And that morally repugnant cultural aberration is practiced in North America. Apple introduced its new computer watch thingy, and perhaps that is the next big thing, but I can’t see it. Then again, Luddite that I am, I never thought I would use my phone to access the internet, but I have done so  on occasion. The Juno Awards took place last night and Canada's music elite assembled in Hamilton, Ontario for the event. Hamilton's own The Arkells were big winners, and  80 year-old singer songwriter Leonard Cohen won Best Album ( Popular Problems), beating out rock band Nickelback. I'm a big Cohen fan. Nickelback, not so much.

Spring is almost here!

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2015 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 3/9/15

Shauna's promo for my first show -I'm  lucky to have such a good publicist!
 

I had my “shakedown” show on Hunter’s Bay Radio (CKAR 88.7 FM) last Thursday night, and I was petrified. Luckily, the station manager was there to walk me through that first night. Having heard scare stories about other DJs deleting the entire playlist for the day, I was trembling with each click of the mouse I made to load my music into the system. When the mic turned on and I spoke my first words, I felt a little like King George VI, the subject of The King’s Speech. I went into the show prepared with my playlist, but for the first hour or so, I was trembling every time I turned on the mic. This is community radio, and they want their DJs to talk. We are supposed to be providing an informative show, and my intention is for my show to be an exploration of the art of songwriting. I have many thoughts on the subject and am eager to impart them, but somehow my fear got in the way. Shauna taped my speaking segments for this first show, and my very first time at bat was hard to hear. I counted fifteen “ums and ahs” in the first minute. Like anything else that frightens me to do, practice will make me better. By the end of the night I was no longer shaking when I hit the mic button, and I suspect everything will be a little easier for this upcoming Thursday’s show. I am told I need to enunciate a little more. If anyone had told me that I was going to have my own music show on an FM radio show, I would have laughed in their face. Then again, I was petrified to get up and play live on air, and I have now done this three times in the past year. What I have finally realized is that nobody’s perfect, and it’s quite a rush to finally do something that terrifies me. Once I get over the home room jitters, I think I will be a little better.

 

What I hope to do is to approach the art of songwriting from the perspective of an aspiring songwriter. There are successful writers who host shows – Randy Bachman and Kim Mitchell come to mind immediately – but they are already established writers. I am still unrecognized. Who are the writers who have influenced me? What is it about the song that hooked me? My influences go back fifty years, from songs like “Venus” sung by Frankie Avalon, to “White Room” by Cream, to “Blinded by Science” by Thomas Dolby. People have told me that my song writing style is varied, and this is because I like all kinds of music. I am very interested in the songwriter’s perspective. What does the writer sound like singing his or her own song? Last Thursday, I played the brilliant Cole Porter singing his bare bones version of his song “Anything Goes” on the piano. So many famous artists have covered that song successfully, but what is particularly interesting, to me anyway, is to hear the writer perform the song. While many writers are singer songwriters, just as many are not. There are far more artists and musicians out there who are not the best writers, and I want to remind people that a good lyricist is invaluable. A good lyricist who also has an ear for unique melody lines is even rarer. I will have some Harry Warren in the mix, Irving Berlin, Gershwin, Hammerstein, as well as John Prine, Leonard Cohn, and a whole list of obscure writers who have caught my ear over the year. While most radio shows will try to mix the selections thematically and melodically, my approach will likely be random; you never know what will pop up on my show. There will be novelty songs, live performances no one has ever heard before (with the permission of the performers of course), and my anecdotal two cents worth. Most of all, I intend to learn something, and I already have learned a lot from research for the first show.

 

Mysteriously, Boris Nemstov, one of Vladimir Putin’s staunchest political opponents, was recently shot to death, not far from the Kremlin. Putin was quick to take over the investigation, the fox guarding the henhouse, and of course he immediately found the murderers … Chechens, of course. Vlad is all about law and order. Nemstov, was reportedly close to proving Russia’s involvement in the Ukrainian conflict, something Putin has categorically denied since the conflict began, so the timing of Nemstov’s murder is curious. I would say join the bandwagon of quips about Putin’s stupid bare-chested photo ops, but then we have the un-presidential video of Obama, taking selfies and talking to himself in the mirror. I guess this is the new normal: promotional videos for presidents. Actor Harrison Ford was involved in a plane crash last week when the vintage airplane he was flying crapped out shortly after takeoff. He’s banged up but he’ll live. I’m sure there will be s few Han Solo jokes about that, but he did manage to land an unpowered plane, and not kill anybody in the process, so perhaps he IS a good pilot. Wish me luck on Thursday, and thanks to those of you who listened on the internet!

Who wrote the song “Yummy, Yummy, Yummy, I Got Love in My Tummy?”

 

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2015 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 3/2/15

Last Friday night, while attending the monthly Burk’s Falls open mic, I got to talking with Jeff Carter, the head honcho over at Hunter’s Bay Radio. He asked me if I would like to host a radio show and, without thinking twice, I said yes. I can’t even blame this ill-considered decision on too much beer anymore. Thursday nights from 8-11pm I will be hosting a music show on HBR, broadcast locally at 88.7 on the FM dial and also on the internet. I have no idea what it will be about yet, but as Jeff and I were talking about all the recordings I have made of local performers, we both thought it might be interesting to incorporate these into the show. As well, I want to in some way explore the art of songwriting, perhaps by airing some of my favorite songs, and occasionally putting in my two cents worth, while avoiding most of the big hits. I need to brush up on my Canadian song writers, as I will need to comply with Canadian content broadcast rules. I am petrified of doing something which is entirely out of my wheelhouse, but this is all part of my master plan to scare myself, and to become a better song writer. I will learn a lot about other artists in the process of airing this show, and I’m looking forward to the opportunity. When I was an arrogant music snob in my 30s, I thought I knew a lot about music. In truth I know next to nothing, especially when compared to some of the radio hosts at HBR, and other artists in the area. Time to up my game!
 

Probably best known for his role as Mr. Spock in the TV show Star Trek, actor Leonard Nimoy died last week at the age of 83. Hard to believe that show was only on for three seasons, because it has aired long since in syndication. While I never became a bona fide Trekkie, or dressed up like a Vulcan, or learned to speak Vulcan, or wore the pointy ears to attend conventions, I did like that show a lot. I find it amusing that Nimoy wrote a book in 1977 entitled “I Am Not Spock,” and then another one in 1995, entitled “I Am Spock.” Are you or aren’t you? I just read an article describing some of the events in his long and fruitful career as an entertainer. Obviously, that first book was written to remind his fans that he was a multi-talented person, and not just the character he played in one show. It must be strange to be so widely recognized for one role. Perhaps it’s a little like being a one hit wonder in the music business. Name one other hit song by Iron Butterfly, besides In A Gadda Da Vida. I did not know that, on top of being an actor, Nimoy was also a noted and published poet, as well as photographer. I also did I know he had written one of and directed several of the Star Trek movies, and was the director of the movie Three Men and a Baby. There was one other fun fact that I learned the other day. Nimoy came from a family of Ukranian immigrants who were also orthodox Jews. The now famous Vulcan split finger salute was Nimoy’s idea, and was derived from a Jewish blessing, a hand gesture representing the Jewish letter shin. Who knew?

 

Technically, Spring is right around the corner, but I’m not really feeling it just yet. Looking out over the lake this morning I see another band of snow blowing in, and I’m still trudging out to the propane tank twice a week to monitor the usage. The roof rake is still on active duty, and I know it’s been a cold winter when I take Jasper out for her morning bowel evacuation, and it feels appreciably warmer because the mercury has shot up to 15 Degrees F. Ugh! One of my Buffalo friends posted a video to his Facebook page which made me laugh. You will find it on my FB page if you have embraced the great Satan of social media (I still don’t Tweet. Yet). What you see when you click on it is a guy, somewhere in the Maritimes, sitting on top of a mountain of snow which almost completely buries a huge excavator. It is a music spoof of some Christmas song and it includes a lot of swear words to describe what most people feel about this harsh winter.

 

I understand Shatner is Jewish too. Maybe they should have named the show Star Schlep.

 

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2015 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 2/23/15

Last Saturday, I drove down to Toronto to meet my buddy Bob for our semi- annual boys night out. For the last four or five summers, I have joined Bob in the Western New York Offshore Powerboat Association Poker Run. For the winter session, we usually attended the Toronto Boat Show, but every year that show has become a little less interesting. As much as I enjoy examining new boats in the winter, ones that are not covered in snow, it seems that more and more pontoon boats and fishing boats were creeping into the show. There are only so many floating living rooms I can inspect before I get bored. After waiting in long lines last year in order to board some of the bigger cabin cruisers and sailboats, we decided that this year we’d find a different winter diversion. As neither of us drinks alcohol anymore, we seek entertaining distractions that don’t involve bars. This year we decided to go to the Toronto Motorcycle Show, and it was my first motorcycle show ever.

 

Bob and I used to ride motorcycles together. He’s owned a motorcycle almost as long as I’ve known him. In keeping with his love of classics, he still owns the immaculate (1975-76?) Kawasaki KZ 900 he’s owned since it was practically new. Back then, that bike was considered one of the “superbikes”, boasting about 85HP. Jump ahead thirty years, and motorcycle technology has come a long way. These days, the bikes are all sprung with high tech mono shock suspensions, come equipped with powerful anti-locking disc brakes, and much more powerful motors. Even the smaller four cylinder bikes would probably beat Bob’s classic KZ900 off the line. I bought my first of two Yamahas, in the mid 80s,  largely because I got tired of riding on the back of Bob’s bike. I enjoyed our motorcycle adventures, and while we never made any Easy Rider trans-continental road trips, we did take some memorable day trips. During my motorcycle riding years, I put about 14,000 miles on the two bikes I owned. I only remember one minor mishap in all the years I rode (I dropped my bike at low speed once when I hit a gravel patch turning into our driveway). I haven’t been on a motorcycle in twenty years, although I am still licensed to ride one, and these days, it becomes less and less likely that I will buy anything two-wheeled that does not require me to peddle. or push. Bob is a far more experienced rider than I, but even he has slowed down a bit. Last summer, there were several stories on the news about the preponderance of serious motorcycle accidents involving senior riders in the Greater Toronto Area. Aging baby boomers, intoxicated with the illusion of freedom that motorcycles represent, buy fast, powerful bikes, often their first motorcycles, only to find out the hard way that motorcycles require much more hand eye coordination than cars. Defensive driving takes on a whole new meaning once you start driving around the city in a motorcycle. That was the deal breaker for me. When I married Shauna, and moved up to Toronto, I quickly learned it is not a place I wanted to ride a motorcycle.

 

After we walked around the show for a few hours, we decided to head over to the Ripley’s Aquarium, situated near the CN Tower. I do not recall ever having been to a big aquarium before, and I’d recommend this one to anyone visiting Toronto. It really is spectacular. Finally, we stopped and had dinner downtown, and then walked back uptown to where we were staying. Walking up Bay Street from downtown, I could not help noticing how much Toronto has changed in the past year. Almost overnight it seems as if seven or eight new high rise condo buildings have sprung up, and my apprehensions about change visited me once again. While I do not consider myself over the hill just yet, I had just spent the day with my former drinking buddy, looking at fast motorcycles neither of us had any intention of buying, and I was now walking through a city I’d lived in for over 15 years, but now hardly recognized. Am I any wiser than the thirty-something that once pegged his Yamaha Radian at 115 MPH? Perhaps, a little. Certainly I am more uncoordinated,  a little more forgetful, and definitely more cognizant of my mortality. As I watch the high rises spring up around me, seemingly as I walk up Bay Street, I wonder, am I keeping pace? Bob says we should get tee shirts printed up that read: “Ape Shit at Eighty!”

Maybe that old saying is true: "slow and steady wins the race."   

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2015 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 2/16/15

 

First things first – Happy Family Day, and a belated Happy Valentine’s Day to my twelve loyal readers! I treated my lovely wife Shauna to her customary gift, a package of cinnamon hearts. I usually buy my cinnamon hearts from Dollarama, and that store sells some strange Valentine’s Day gifts. I once bought red plastic handcuffs there, in the shape of hearts, lined with pink fur. Nothing says “Happy Valentine’s Day!” like bondage accessories. This year the dollar store was out of cinnamon hearts so, reluctantly, I bought Shauna’s gift at Walmart. I have noticed that cinnamon heart quality control is going downhill. Whereas they used to at least resemble little hearts, now they are just irregular little red blobs; kind of like blot clots. I buy these crappy little Valentine gifts for two reasons. Everyone knows I’m “thrifty” but I am also making my statement that Valentine’s Day is a load of hooey. I love Shauna, and she knows it. More than half my love songs (all five of them) are about her. The fact is, I do not think love is something that can or should be celebrated on one specific day, any more than Christmas should be the one day when people celebrate peace and goodwill. About ten years ago, I wrote a Valentine’s Day song for Shauna, and every year I sing it to her. I’ve gotten a lot of mileage out of that song. This, year, I chose to share it with “the world” (read the twelve people who might consult my Facebook page). The other day, I recorded it for the first time, on my portable recorder, and posted it to Facebook. Take that Hallmark.

 

One of the ways I am trying to grow as an artist is to play and write as much as possible with other people. This is a relatively new practice for me. My first writing session was with local artist Doug McLean, and since then I have had sessions with several other artists as well. The other day I had my first meeting with a female artist named Gina Horswood. Originally from Australia, Gina now lives in Huntsville, and she is really talented. She certainly does not need my help, as she is an accomplished songwriter in her own right, but we gave each other notes on songs we are in the process of writing. My friend Buck was a gifted banjo player, until a stroke interfered with the dexterity of his picking hand. He’s getting that back, slowly, and we’ve played together a few times lately. The brain never ceases to amaze me with its ability to recuperate. Frankly, I don’t know who’s getting more out of these sessions, because Buck is a remarkable source of information about local musicians. We’ve been practicing one of my songs, with the hopes that he will be able to record with me by the time I get the second album done. This should not be a problem, as the first one is taking longer than expected to complete. Another local guy with whom I played the other day is an older fellow I met while volunteering at the Katrine Community Centre. Ed Brown impressed me with his gift for rhyme and, after he learned that I write songs, he began to sing a cappella versions of various songs he’d written every time I saw him. I think he’s pretty good, so the other day, I went over to his house and we recorded a few of his tunes. I record a lot of local artists on my little Zoom H4N field recorder, then I give them the digital file. I think it is helpful for singer/songwriters to hear their live performances, and I wish someone had done that for me when I was starting out. Also, this is a record for posterity. Some of these folks have never before recorded their music. Ed used to play around Toronto a lot, but life pushed him in another direction, and he is now a little out of practice. If these recording sessions help him improve, then I have succeeded. I have found with music, you get what you give.

 

The big news this week is that it’s really cold here. I think my car battery is lunch, but as much as we grumble about it here in the Almaguin Highlands (last night it was -37C), places like Boston and the Canadian Maritime provinces are getting hammered with one blizzard after another. The problem has become where to put all the snow. My friends in Sharon, Massachusetts said that the snow banks are so high now that the snow blower cannot blow over them. Now there is apparently another big storm approaching. It’s time to pull out the summer photographs. Again.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2015 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 2/9/15

Yesterday, I indulged myself in yet another time-sucking session on Facebook to catch up on all the amusing clips that my friends have posted. I know, I’m an idiot, but this to me is what early retirement is all about. I am always looking for amusing stuff to share on my page, and there is no shortage of amazing video footage and audio clips that people put up. The other day I watched a clip of a man with no arms playing blues guitar with his feet, better than I ever could. My favorite clip from the past week was a tongue in cheek YouTube spoof of the popular song “Say Something” by A Great Big World (Alex Preston), sung really well (but with altered lyrics) by a disgruntled Toronto Maple Leafs fan. I think “I’m giving up on you” is the key phrase here, and you can fill in the blanks. The Leafs did finally win a game Saturday night, after breaking their own record for most games lost in a row (10 or 11) … a record not challenged since 1967. Hey, they’re only about 13 points out of a playoff spot, so I still hold on to my tiny morsel of hope. They are not done yet; soon, but not yet.

 

I attended the Kearney Dogsled races on Saturday, primarily to hear my song writing pals Doug McLean and Jeff Stamp perform some of their original songs at the Kearney Community Center. While the races themselves are of little interest to me - I fear that sometimes the animals are not particularly well cared for - I have attended for the past three years. For me, the race marks one of the temporal stepping stones to Spring. First there is the “holiday season”, followed by the Burk’s Falls Winter Carnival, then of course there is Groundhog Abuse Day, and not long after, the Kearney Dogsled Races, followed by the Katrine Winter Carnival, and various and sundry winter-related equipment malfunctions. Before you know it, you’re at the end of April clawing the walls with your family and re-enacting the final hour of The Shining.

Following a Supreme Court ruling, assisted suicide may soon be legal in Canada, and I think that is a remarkable development. Euthanasia pioneer Dr. “Death” Jack Kevorkian is probably smiling in heaven. Let me weigh in on this decision from the perspective of a son and son-in-law who has now experienced the demise of three of his four parents. I was confronted with this issue twice, once directly, when my mom was in the end stages of Lewy Body Disease, and a second time, indirectly, when Shauna’s dad slowly slipped away after a crippling stroke. His stroke was on the right side of his brain, and he was left unable to swallow. His decline was slow and emotionally confusing for the entire family; probably not what he would have wanted. In both cases our decision was not to assist the demise of the patient, if only because there was no clear directive from the sufferer. As I believe the Supreme Court ruling suggests, this should not be a right denied the individual, and in some specific cases, it will clearly be the right thing to do. Of course, some in the medical community will fight this, and I understand their concerns that this “right” will be abused. Clearly this is a contentious issue. I ask: what about the rights and dignity of the terminally ill patient? Just as I don’t think religious leaders or politicians should have any say in whether or not a woman chooses to have a baby, I do not think these leaders should have the right to dictate end of life decisions. Listen carefully to the anecdotal evidence from some of the terminally ill, and perhaps you too will be inclined to offer them some control over their ends. Indeed it is a complicated issue, and it will inevitably lead to legal debates about the legality of certain health care proxies, but I applaud Canada for this brave ruling. Now let’s see if it holds up.  

 

Final notes. My apologies to all of you who are on Facebook, or my email list, and who received multiple requests to listen to my HBR “Live Drive” performance with Juan Barbosa. Shauna and I may have been a little carried away with this. It was my first live on-air performance with a professional musician, and I was so happy that Hunter’s Bay Radio recorded and posted it. I was proud of myself for doing this scary thing, and I wanted to brag a little. So my ego is swelling. I wish I could say the same for my popularity!

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2015 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 2-2-15

I have not used the ATV in a few weeks, and with all the cold weather, I figured I’d better go out to the shed and fire it up to charge the battery. I picked a day that was relatively mild last week – “relatively” being the operative word here - and went out to the shed to start it up. When I walked into the shed, I noticed that a bag of corn feed which we keep on hand to feed the wild turkeys had been torn, and corn was spilled on the floor. This was probably the work of one of the 23 different varieties of rodents who inhabit these premises. I cleaned up the mess and didn’t think much more about it. Then, as I turned the key to start the ATV, it fired up, but sounded like a coffee grinder. My immediate reaction was that this was some kind of catastrophic engine failure, or some broken part in the crankcase, but then I looked behind me and saw corn shooting out of the exhaust pipe. I can only assume that one of these resident rodents had made the exhaust pipe his or her food stash. Once all the corn was out and the smoke cleared, I drove the ATV into town, picked up the mail, and by the time I headed home, the problem was solved. Several years ago we had to replace a furnace motor in our house after a mouse got into one of the condenser hoses, which then caused water to back up into the furnace. If it’s not flying squirrels, it’s bats, or mice, or moles, or voles, or beavers, or rabbits, or minks, or weasels, or muskrats, or possums, or bears, or raccoons, or, well, you get the picture. As I suggested in last week’s report, you can’t fight Mother Nature. The other day I grazed a deer that ran in front of my car. It ran off into the woods, but it was another week or so before I was apprised by the local police that they were in possession the front license plate to my car. I suppose it was torn off during my deer collision. Country livin’! So far we haven’t seen any flying squirrels since we plugged up the gaps in our eaves. Thank goodness for that. I don’t enjoy killing any animals, even mice, but when they start to mess with my home and my equipment, I go medieval on their little asses.

The other day, shortly before our Live Drive performance on Hunter’s Bay Radio last Thursday, I was on Facebook writing an announcement for that show, and I noticed a post on someone else’s site which gave me pause. There was a photograph of a pile of charred corpses. Upon reading further, I learned that the photograph was allegedly of the aftermath of a recent Boco Haram attack in Baga, Nigeria, which cost the lives of two thousand victims. The gist of the post was simply that, we in the West do not hear all that much about the atrocities that occur in Third World countries. Even the genocide in Rowanda did not really come onto the U.S. media radar screen until it was already a giant massacre. The Paris attacks a few weeks ago were tragic, and I am glad that the outrage was palpable throughout the world, but 2000 African souls?! This is a 9-11 scale attack and nobody in the West even blinked. I am once again reminded how complicated and brutal are the conflicts in the darker corners of the world. I have no idea what happened in Nigeria, but I do know that our Western news is selective. The dirty little secret is that not many people want to hear about the slaughter of innocent victims in Africa. Maybe we do not feel their lives are as significant as the lives of Westerners. Wouldn’t you rather see the 24-7 coverage of the big storm that didn’t hammer NYC, or hear expert accounts by astrophysicists about why air pressure in an inflated football can be affected by the atmosphere? The horror of 9-11 is indelibly etched in every North American’s consciousness, but it is worth noting that no suffering throughout the world is any less newsworthy.  

 

It’s no secret I am a weather junkie, and when something like the recent blizzard  (I cannot believe they named it) in the Northeast hits, I am glued to the tube. My sister lives in Connecticut, but she dodged the bullet, as the storm veered east and hammered Massachusetts and points up the coast. Up here we call that “snow flurries.” In Superbowl #49 yesterday, Seattle snatched defeat from the jaws of victory when, within spitting distance of winning the game, and right after a spectacular reception which should have cinched their victory, Seahawks quarterback Wilson threw an ill-advised pass that was picked off by the New England defense. Despite all their controversy over the past week, the New England Patriots won the game 28-24. I’d  didn't really care who won and it was a good close game, but I would hate to have had money on the Seahawks in that game, and to have watched them lose the way they did. Talk about your deflated balls.   

 

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2015 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 1/26/15

Doesn't this pretty much say it all?

 

 Music continues to fill in the blanks during this somewhat desolate January. Last week my producer Juan Barbosa and I spent some time deciding which of the 26 songs we have so far recorded should make the cut for the first CD. That list has changed three or four times, and I think we are finally down to between twelve and fourteen keepers. The album has evolved considerably from its original form, and now Juan sings (and does just about everything else as well) on about half of the tracks. While still showing my range as a songwriter, the album has a much more R&B feel to it than it originally did. My goals have changed as well. Initially, I wanted this to be about my versatility as a songwriter, almost like a songwriter’s demo. Now, as I discover what a gifted producer and musician I have at my disposal, the album has become more of a showcase for Juan’s talents. My ambition is to have this album of songs in some way improve Juan’s exposure as an artist, because he is decidedly the most talented person with whom I have had the privilege to work. I am immodest enough to believe that my songs, combined with Juan’s skills as a musician (guitarist, bassist, and drummer, not to mention a phenomenal vocalist) have turned this album into something really interesting. I don’t know if it will “sell” in the real world, but it is notable that for two weeks in a row, one of the songs on the album, Every Day, made it to #1 on the Hunter’s Bay Radio Top 20 list, and three or four of my songs are in regular rotation. I never expected airplay, much less that kind of recognition, and I am on cloud nine. This coming Thursday night, January 29^th , Juan and I will be performing some of the songs on my new album live on air at Hunter’s Bay Radio, on a show called “Live Drive”. The show runs from 6-7pm, and if you are within 40 miles of Huntsville you can pick it up on the FM dial (88.7FM). Alternatively, if you are out of the area and have access to a computer, you can go to www.muskokaonline.com, click on “Listen Live”, and that should get you to the live broadcast. While I am nervous about performing live on the air for an entire hour, this is an excellent opportunity to reach a wider audience (Juan has a substantial following in this area), and I am eternally grateful to Hunter’s Bay Radio for the air time. I do not think I have ever before experienced a radio station which is so supportive of local artists. Music is the great unifier – so unify on January 29^{th -} even if it to laugh at my mistakes live on air. Enough about me, what do YOU think of me?

 

Last week, the story that eclipsed ISIS, and the ever spreading blight of crazy religious nut jobs in the Middle East, was the story of “Inflategate” - the revelation that, in their decisive 43-22 defeat over the Indianapolis Colts last week, the New England Patriots may have given themselves an unfair advantage by using under-inflated footballs. Oh my. Of course, the real question on everybody’s minds (besides “why are we even talking about this??”) is: “Was this in any way the deciding factor in the game?” Cheating in the NFL, what a surprise. What’s next, steroid abuse in pro baseball? I am shocked that this kind of thing happens. I mean, those professional athletes are role models for heaven’s sake. I don’t know who to trust anymore.

 

Elsewhere in the news … Salmon bin Abdulaziz Al Saud, King of Saudi Arabia, passed on last week on at the age of 90. In the ever shifting sands of the Middle East, this may not bode well for future diplomatic relations with the United States. Apparently, King Abdullah was, by Saudi standards, progressive. Coupled with recent developments in Yemen and the relentless march of violent recidivist Muslim whackos, this news leaves me apprehensive. Apparently, there is a potentially destructive storm descending upon the north east coast of the U.S., with blizzard warnings and record amounts of snow predicted in the hardest hit areas. I am reminded of the recent 6’ snow dump in Lancaster, New York, near Buffalo, and of the devastation from that crippling ice storm blew through Toronto during the 2013 holiday season. Shauna’s mom was without power for over a week, and after the storm had passed, the cleanup took months. We take our electricity for granted, until we are deprived of it for a long period of time. We’ll see if the Chicken Littles are correct about this latest storm today. Whether all this severe weather is the result of the man-made depletion of the ozone layer, caused by the ever more industrialized world we live in, or because catastrophic weather is cyclical, there seems to be little doubt that we’re in for some meteorological ass kicking in our future. What saddens me is that, instead of adapting to what is likely an inevitable and unstoppable change, we are still led to believe we can alter the course of Mother Nature by driving Priuses. It might be more pro-active to rethink shoreline development, warning systems for over-populated danger zones, new energy-saving building products, technology to harness the ocean’s hydroelectric potential, localized economies, and yes, of course less dependence on oil. But let’s get real folks, there is no quick fix for the weather.  

 

January 29^th 6-7 PM live on Hunter’s Bay Radio … tune in if you want and hear me play some of my songs.    

-Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2015 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

My Medieval Feast Experience (Oldy but Goodie - circa 1999)

I watched a commercial for one of those Medieval Feast places the other night, and by golly  I want to go. For those of you who don’t live in a large metropolitan area, with a glut of entertainment options,  you probably  don’t even know what a medieval feast place  IS. This is basically a fun-filled evening for which you pay an all-inclusive admission fee to sit in an auditorium, eat meat with your hands, and watch men on horseback  try to spear each other in a mock jousting match.  Occasionally, there is the odd hand-to-hand skirmish and  maces and balls and chains are called for, but mostly it’s just skewering. Picture yourself tearing apart an unmanageable slab of cheap, underdone cow meat (heaven knows from what part of the cow), as  you watch  chainmail-clad horsemen try to impale each other with giant pool cues. If that isn’t enough excitement, their galloping horses fling large gobs of mud and saliva  up into your food as they race by. You have a front row seat for all the feudal carnage and savagery you can stomach.  Relive the good old days  for  one,  very reasonable,  all- inclusive admission charge. Fun per dollar, I don’t know how you can do better than this.

 

Call me a testosterone-choked moron, but I love crap like this. It’s not that violence turns me on,  it’s more that this is simply such a ludicrous concept. It makes about as much sense as watching the Foot Surgery Channel on TV  as you sit down to your spaghetti dinner.

 

I am reminded of a funny experience I had a long time ago,  when I spent a  semester studying abroad in Dublin, Ireland.  I and my classmates were taken on a field trip, as part of our cultural experience, and one of our stops was dinner at a place called Bunratty Castle.  It was a genuine, ancient stone castle, dating back to Celtic times, which had been transformed into a rather bizarre restaurant. First, we were served mead wine by real wenches, and then, once sufficiently lubricated, we were led into a large banquet hall for a good old-fashioned throw-the-bones-over-your-shoulder medieval feast. They BRAGGED about this. The feastitorium seated about two or three hundred, but on the night we were there it was only about half full. The tables were long, seating between forty to fifty diners, and each place setting consisted of a serrated knife and a  plate, but no other utensils.  For the tour group of geriatric bible thumpers from Iowa, this must have seemed quite a primitive feast, but to my study  group,  made up in  large part by scoundrels of questionable  Irish decent, armed with their somewhat muddled interpretation of what was proper medieval decorum, this was a green light to party.

 

After several more  tankards of mead wine,  we realized that the folks at the next table were a rugby team visiting from England, and that they too were getting into the spirit of things. Once our slabs of animal flesh had been served, it wasn’t long before the mother of all food fights broke out.  It was instant mayhem, the likes of which I doubt the managers of Bunratty Castle had ever anticipated or even imagined.

 

Entertainment during our feast was supposed to be a quartet of musicians playing music from the period, and they were  all dressed in those balloon  pants and  those funny hats with big feathers.  I’m sure they felt silly enough dressed like that, but no words can describe how silly they must have felt fending off  projectiles of beef  with their lutes and drums. Amidst the chaos - and let there be no mistake, this was CHAOS, there sat the Iowans, calmly eating their meals with as much dignity as they could muster, (remember they have  only knives with which to eat), ducking occasionally to miss the odd incoming roll or slab of meat. 

 

Needless to say, we, the School of Irish Studies and the rugby team, were summarily escorted out of Bunratty Castle before we could finish our medieval desserts, but not before leaving our indelible mark on the patience of these tourist trap imposters. Covered with food, we were bussed back to our hotel where we spent the next four hours drinking even more and embellishing what was already a slam dunk in the “memorable experience” department. By the way, I grudgingly admit that the rugby guys won the food fight.

Now, whenever I see an ad for one of these Joust-O-Rama places, it triggers fond memories of that Bacchanalian  orgy  in which I was so blessed to have participated.

                           

As I  approach that stage in my life  to which I loathingly refer as “approaching respectability” ... that point where I would never in a million years dream of behaving with such a careless lack of decorum,  I look back on my Bunratty adventure as one of the high points in my Irish  experience.  Sometimes, while eating dinner with my wife at a fine restaurant, I’ll toss an olive at her, just for old time’s sake . In response, she  will look at me as if to say “I married a single cell organism” ....  or, worse yet, she’ll simply ignore my token nostalgic gesture. That hurts. In my mind there can’t be enough of these medieval feast places to satisfy the base needs of men all over the world.  It’s in our nature to be this way, and all this rubbish about the rules of civilized behavior is totalitarian hogwash, foisted upon us by prudes like Emily Post and Miss Manners.   

 

Oh, to be medieval again! Honey, do you know where I put my good feather?  It’s time to feast!

 

                  - Jamie Oppenheimer