The Oppenhemer Report 6/27/16

The latest Chicken Little news story is of course Brexit, and financial markets tanked last Friday on news that the British voters had opted to cede from the European Union. The Dow lost 3.4% of its value in one trading day, and other financial markets were far more severely impacted. The Canadian dollar looked like a roller coaster during the last trading day of the week, and in one day dropped over a penny against the U.S. dollar. Regardless of every indication that this would cause financial chaos in world markets, British voters narrowly chose to go it alone, opting out of the EU, and clearly the country was split right down the middle. Prime Minister Cameron resigned, probably because his “remain” position was not accepted, and his ability to lead was then in question. I, like so many other people across the globe, am baffled. On CTV news last Friday night the comparison was made between the “Leave” voters in Great Britain and the American voters who so adamantly support Donald Trump. As I see it, the message is that the disenfranchised in both countries are voting against the status quo. The rich get richer and it’s time for the “masses” to throw the bums out. I heard that there was talk of re-tallying the vote, because it was so close, but regardless of the final outcome, the die is cast, and change is coming. Whether or not British voters are making an informed decision, it would be wise for the powers that be to pay attention to this not-so-quiet revolution. I wonder what part the media has in affecting these outcomes.

Trump has banned many media outlets, including The Washington Post and the New York Times, from covering his campaign. I’m not really sure how that works in a free country, but at this point I guess he can withhold information as he chooses. While I think the media is often biased, Trump clearly uses the press to his advantage, and he can’t have it both ways. Ross Perot, another rich guy who ran for president and was chewed up and spit out by the media, got very angry about the unfair press he received. Ultimately that finished him off politically. Former CBS anchor Dan Rather was on CNN the other day, talking about how reporters aren’t asking the tough questions anymore. He thinks the media is helping Trump win. In his opinion, Trump is receiving too much press, because coverage of his outrageousness boosts ratings. Rather suggests that this is not responsible reporting. I don’t know which is worse, an evasive candidate, who makes no substantive representations, or the one who outright lies. Rather makes the point that the media was complicit in Trump’s meteoric rise to the top by letting him get away with his ridiculous generalizations. It’s hard to know which is worse, disinformation or no information. I wonder what Edward R. Murrow or Walter Cronkite would make of all this. I wish there was some way to sort out the lies and the spin from the truth, but it’s getting harder and harder to figure it out. A while back I watched a brief video which explained the mess which fuels the Syrian conflict, and it was edifying. It actually made sense to me, for a minute anyway. I wish there was a video that we, the attention-challenged public, could consult which would wrap up the presidential choices in a nutshell. What will they really do, who is the bigger threat to our ever-eroding democracy? There is not; there is only innuendo, and character assassination, and fear-mongering, and half-truths. As I have said all along, the American voting public, myself included, are complicit in this lack of leadership we see today. We are spoiled children. If somebody offers us candy and we gladly accept it, but if somebody suggests discipline, or medicine, we turn our backs. We get what we give, and if the disgruntled masses are angry, perhaps they have a right to be. Nobody wants the truth.This is shaping up to be the next big class conflict. There will be a reset, there always is. Will we learn from history? We haven’t yet, but I’m always hopeful.  

 

One of the reasons I am so active as a volunteer at Hunters Bay Radio, is that the station represents the sense of community which seems to be so lacking in the world today. Last Saturday night, I played an original song at the HBR “Listen to the Radio” fundraiser concert held at Huntsville’s Algonquin Theatre, along with 20 other musicians. I was concerned that, with over twenty acts, the show would be too long, and we would lose our audience. Miraculously, I thought it was very entertaining, the music was for the most part really good, and everyone seemed to have a great time. This afternoon at 5 P.M., some of us will gather at the Hunters Bay Radio station to dedicate a bench in memory of our fallen comrade James Carroll. We will also scatter some of his ashes around a newly planted maple outside his office window. If anyone embodied the spirit of community, it was James, and we can all learn a lot from a guy like that. He was very proud of this little community radio station, as am I, and he embodied the love, generosity, and selflessness that I wish for us all. James was not a perfect man, but his love is what lingers, now that the body is gone. I suspect that he will be present for this afternoon’s dedication, in some form or another. See you there James!

 

     -Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2016 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 6/20/16

I haven’t done this in a while, herein is another of my self-righteous rants. I apologize in advance. As I was beginning to write this week’s Opp Report, I noticed that, in my archives, there was an Opp Report dated 6/20/11. It’s not often that a past report falls on the same day as my current report, and so I was interested to re-read it. Five years ago today, the subject with which I opened was the Anthony Weiner scandal. You may recall that Mr. Weiner, a N.Y. Congressmen, was caught “sexting” on his cell phone, and it became a big news event.  It certainly scuttled his promising political career. Had his name been anything but Weiner, the press and the late night hosts probably would have dropped the story after a few days, moving on to the next political road kill, but who can resist a good weener joke? I wonder how much hard news was tabled to bring “Weinergate” to the public eye. Look how far we have fallen in five years! A Congressman who photographed his penis on a cell phone seems rather mild in comparison to some of the nonsense we’re seeing today.

The other night, I was watching Real Time With Bill Maher, and on the show he featured a segment about political scandal. The gist of the story was that Donald Trump has established a new low for political incorrectness, and that past indiscretions pale by comparison. What is particularly troublesome is that the rules of political engagement do not seem to apply to Trump. In 1992, Ross Perot referred to African Americans as “you people” in a speech he made to the NAACP, and that was it for him. I think the majority of American voters thought Perot was a political crackpot, but to some he was a plain-dealing businessman, who told “the truth.” In one political minute he was deemed a racist. Howard Dean made the famous “I have a scream” speech in Iowa, and soon afterward it was all over for him. Mike Dukakis was photographed riding on a tank dressed in full combat gear, and the public guffawed at the ridiculousness. One photo op can scuttle a campaign, but somehow Trump is immune to bad press. He ridicules the handicapped, says horrible things about women, paints all Muslims as terrorists, and the list goes on, and the American public have chosen him to be the presumptive Republican presidential candidate. How did that happen? Frankly, I don’t know why any worthy candidate would run for public office in the United States. If you ARE the right man or woman, who would ever know? There is so much big money spinning the information that we the common voters don’t know what to believe. Most of the candidates I think might be promising are spit out within the first two months of a campaign. I know I’m in trouble when I form my political opinions by listening to guys like Bill Maher and Jon Stewart, but sometimes the satirists and humorists are the ones who make the most sense out of this cesspool of spin and righteous indignation. Invariably, we are left with the lesser of two evils. I think Donald Trump has become the new benchmark for below-the-belt behavior of a political candidate, but apparently he is seen by many as our savior from a broken political system. I have despised this man’s arrogance and pomposity for over three decades, and I am, like so many other “silent majority” Americans, dismayed by the humiliating lack of class and diplomacy that man embodies. That said, I see Trump as the canary in the coal mine. We can bristle at the man’s apparent stupidity, but he is playing the American people like a fiddle. All he needs to do is point to the broken status quo and he’s in, no matter what nonsense comes out of his mouth. Never before has the “throw-the-bums-out” sentiment been stronger than in 2016. Wall Street is again chugging along at full steam, still relatively unregulated, and the taxpayers picked up the tab. It doesn’t seem like anyone was held accountable, and nothing has really changed in our political system. The only difference is the speed at which disinformation is disseminated. There is a lot of anger out there, and Trump feeds on this. All he has to do is say “I’m not a politician” and people love him. Heaven help us if we choose this lunatic for our president, but maybe it is time for the puppeteers to wise up and recognize that we the people are fed up.  The Founding Fathers, who drafted The Constitution, and put in place a system of checks and balances, probably did not see this day coming, any more than they anticipated the AR-15 assault rifle when they drafted the 2^nd Amendment. If anything good can come from a guy like Donald Trump, it is that he has shone a light on our dysfunction. Blame ourselves if our leaders fail us. Just maybe, this extremely unlikely candidate was just the guy to spark the political debate that will change America for the better. One way or another, American politics will never be the same.

Yesterday was Father’s day, and in my eulogy for my dad at his funeral in 2009, I referred to a black and white photo taken of him in Palm Springs around 1959. He was on a horse, up in the mountains overlooking the desert and the then small town of Palm Springs. There is something about that photo that expresses who my dad was, to me, and a lot of other people. He looked like a cowboy hero, but he was real, and generous, and strong, and intelligent, and funny. He made me feel safe, and he was always there for me. I loved him and was fortunate to be loved by him. Someone posted yesterday that any man can be a father, but not everybody is a dad. I was blessed to have a great dad, so for all you good dads out there, I hope you had a wonderful Father’s Day, and I hope that your kids appreciate you.

   -Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2016 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 6/14/16

Saturday I drove down to Ft. Erie to spend some time with my friend Bob and his wife Laura, and to pick up some special dog food for Jasper. While it was too windy and cold to enjoy a high speed boat ride in his vintage 27’ Magnum, it did not rain, as the weatherman had threatened, and I had an opportunity to kill some time with my best friend and my partner in crime for much of my ill-spent youth. A walk on the beach of Thunder Bay brought back many happy childhood memories, but what was most astonishing was how much has changed. Old cottages have been knocked down and much larger homes have replaced them. In the relentless march of time, only our memories remain the same.

A recent photograph on my Facebook page shows Bob and I sitting in the infamous Raging African Queen, back in the early 90s. I’d owned that little dinghy since I was about 5 years old, and I spent many a summer day putting around in it. We did some crazy things in that little boat over the years. It became legendary on our bay, particularly after Peter Stephens, a very talented artist friend of mine from Buffalo, painted “The Raging African Queen” on the transom in bright yellow Rust-O-Leum. Someone commented on the Facebook picture that he’d seen the boat down the beach recently, and that one of the local residents was still using it. I did not think this was possible, because that boat had been stolen off the beach in front of our house a long time ago, but I had to know. While I was down visiting last weekend, Bob and I paid a visit to the person who was allegedly in possession of the infamous dinghy. I know the guy, and he wasn’t the kind of person who would steal a boat. As I suspected, this was a blind alley, and the whereabouts of the Raging African Queen remains an unsolved mystery. If any one of my twelve loyal readers should find it buried away in someone’s garage, or hear of its whereabouts, I would very much like to know about it.

I drove home yesterday afternoon from Ft. Erie, after picking up Shauna’s mom, E.T. in Toronto to bring her up north for a visit. Hunters Bay Radio sponsors Monday night radio bingo in this community, and of course we had to get back up to Huntsville in time to play. You laugh, but there’s big money at stake here! Any profits made by the radio station will go to upgrading some of the sorely needed equipment we use to broadcast. What I had not anticipated was the chaos which would ensue when I played Bingo with both my wife and my mother-in-law. Concentration is the issue here; I have it, they do not. There are five games each week, and for each game, a player has six different cards to play. Players really need to pay attention when the numbers are called. Last night, as the three of us played, Mom Taylor was having trouble hearing the numbers, and there was a great deal of confusion. “Wait … what was that number?!” Then, Shauna called in what she thought was a Bingo, when she in fact did not have a winning card. She was very embarrassed. I take my Bingo very seriously, and these distractions are very upsetting.

It was strange to be away from the news for only half a day and then to learn of something as shocking as the mass shooting in an Orlando night club. Forty-nine souls were extinguished, and many more are in the hospital in serious condition, all because of one lunatic with two guns and a lot of ammo. There was much discussion on the news about whether or not this was more of an attack on homosexuals or simply a terrorist attack by one radicalized Muslim, bent on killing any western heathens. While it was clearly an attack targeting homosexuals, everyone is a heathen to these fundamentalist nut balls. Along with the news about the beheading in the Philippines of a second kidnapped Canadian by the terrorist organization Abu Sayyaf, it was a good day for bad news. Pretty soon everybody in America will be packing, which, sadly might be more effective than well-meaning but ill-fated gun control. Is this how the next world war will be fought, in the streets? Hatred begets hatred, and all this Islamophobia is playing right into the hands of fear-mongering opportunists like Trump. I am of course saddened that there is so much hatred and ignorance in the world, but I will never give up hope that reason and love will prevail.

 

                   -Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2016 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 6/13/16

Hello Opp Report readers - The Oppenheimer Report will be a day late. I have just returned home and have not had a chance to write it yet. Thanks for reading!

The Oppenheimer Report - 6/6/16

"The Queen" powered by the ' 53 Scott Atwater

When I buy a vehicle or a toy, if it proves to be a satisfactory purchase, I tend to hold on to it for as long as it works. Most of my cars I’ve owned for ten years or more, and I purchased my last boat in 1990. I traded in the original outboard motor in for a new one several years ago. “Don’t fix it if it ain’t broke” is my motto. I don’t usually buy used vehicles, although the two motorcycles I have owned I bought used. I generally prefer to start from scratch. The issue is reliability, and whereas buying new does not necessarily ensure reliability, a warranty covers most problems. Without knowing the maintenance record for a used vehicle, it’s hard to tell if that vehicle was been abused. I did have a mechanic vet the two motorcycles I bought, simply to ensure that they were safe to ride, but generally, I prefer to rely on the warranty of a new vehicle.

The other day, I took my little outboard out of storage, the one I use to power my little folding boat. It’s a 1993 Yamaha 3hp that I bought new in Buffalo. While it has served me well for 23 years, of late, it has become a little unreliable. I placed it on my little folding boat for my spring shakedown cruise, I put some fresh gas in it, fired it up, and it seemed to be running well. Then, I decided to take a putt down the nearby Magnetewan River, and after several miles of driving, I stopped to top off the gas tank for the ride home. As I unscrewed the cap on the fuel tank, which is attached to the motor, it broke off in my hand. Upon closer examination, I discovered that the plastic internal gas tank was decomposing, and now I had no way to tighten a gas cap to the motor. I figured I’d putt home on the gas left in the tank and then see if I could order a new tank to fix the problem. I pulled the starter cord and the motor sputtered and conked out. I pulled again and again, tried the choke, but nothing worked. Although there was still enough gas in the tank, the motor was now dead, and there I was slowly drifting down the Magnetewan River. I began to row the three miles home when a neighbor passed and offered me a tow. When I returned home, I ordered a new tank, for which shipping and customs cost almost as much as the tank (free trade my ass), but then I started thinking about the long hours I had put on that little motor. Short of replacing every wearing part on the motor, I could never be assured that some other part was not going to give out. I decided it was time to take the rubber band off and buy a new, more reliable motor. I now own a new Suzuki 2.5 HP outboard, which I purchased from our local marina. I downsized the power because I’m getting older. Summers are too short to be screwing around with unreliable outboard motors, and after 23 years of faithful service, it was time to say farewell to the old Yamaha. My plumber and bluegrass mentor is a whiz with small engines, so I offered him the old motor (with the replacement tank) in return for future services. Good karma.

I have had pretty good luck with most of my vehicles and motors over the years, but I’ve made my share of bad purchases. I’ve only had one REALLY bad car, and one terrible outboard motor. The car was a 1985 Volkswagen Jetta, and it was the exact opposite of my beloved 1971 VW Beetle. Within a week of the expiration of its two year warranty, that Jetta began to self-destruct. Expensive parts failed, one after the other, and I got used to my German mechanic saying “Misser Oppenheimer, Ve gotta big prublem”. During my antique boat phase in the 80s, I purchased a 1953 5 HP Scott Atwater “Bail-O-Matic” outboard motor. I kid you not, that’s what it was called! I was never sure why ... were you supposed to use the motor to bail out your leaky boat? That motor was a piece of crap. It was the heaviest 5hp outboard motor I have ever lifted, required at least twenty pulls to start, and on the rare occasions when it did run, it spat oil, and made enough noise to wake the dead. It was interesting to look at – very 50s – but that is not a good reason to buy an outboard motor. My friends used to sit on the shore and laugh at me as I tried to start that confounded motor. They’d count the pulls out loud. “Thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five …!” It was humiliating. I eventually made it into a floor lamp, for which it seemed infinitely better suited.

The big story this week was that prize fighter Muhammad Ali passed away. Last night on 60 Minutes, they played a clip of an old Ali interview with Ben Bradley, and I remember seeing the entire interview when it aired. It made me sad to think that they are both gone now.. Ali was such a remarkable human being, and a symbol for what was good about Americans. A friend posted on Facebook the other day, and I agree with his sentiments. He felt that, while the 60’s were turbulent times, there was a sense of idealism, and the feeling that activism could and would change things for the better. These days I’m not as hopeful, and I don't think I'm alone. While I don’t see Donald Trump as the real problem Americans face, his popularity is a shot across the bow of the ship of state. I think that ship has sprung a leak.

Might be time to resurrect the Bail-O-Matic.

  

                   -Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2016 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 5/29/16

Today, Shauna and I celebrated our 22^nd wedding anniversary. No big deal, just a quiet dinner at home with the one I love the most in the world. In the blink of an eye, a year has passed since I wrote the song “21” to commemorate our 21^st , a song which our friend Bobby Cameron so beautifully put to music. Most of the cottagers who inhabit our lake in the summer were scared off by the weatherman this weekend, and our little lake was blissfully quiet. What a lovely anniversary gift! A night  in our beautiful log home, alone with my wife, on the silent lake, is about as good as it gets in my book. There is a lone loon calling out on the lake; this year it appears to have no mate.

This time,  twenty-two years ago, Shauna and I were getting ready for our big wedding at the Royal York Hotel, preparing to recite our vows in front of 250+ friends and family from all over the world. We’d been without sleep for days, making the final preparations, but it was all worth it. Shauna and her parents created the most beautiful wedding that I have ever attended, and everything they had planned and arranged for over a year, every detail of that spectacular event, came off without a hitch. The only problem was that it all went by in a flash. Through all the excitement, I was on auto pilot, and much of the night was a hazy memory to me. The image I do have branded indelibly in my memory, is the soft lens image of Shauna in white, looking otherworldly as she walked slowly up the aisle to meet me under the chuppah. I spoke my vows, she spoke hers, and I, the unobservant Jew, spoke a few words of Hebrew that I had struggled to memorize. The ceremony seemed to go by quickly, and then it was time to celebrate. The reception was wonderful. Toronto’s Guido Basso and his big band rocked the house in the Royal York Imperial Room, and inspired even the most dance-challenged out onto the floor. The food was fantastic, everybody danced, drank, and celebrated, and it was the most memorable event that I can hardly remember. I have to watch the video to see what transpired. All the people I knew and greeted, or to whom I was introduced for the first time, are a blur to me now. So many emotions overtook me at the time, fueled by exhilaration and exhaustion, but inside, I felt an uncharacteristic peace. I knew this was right for me, for us. I remember sitting in the Calgary airport the next day, waiting for our luggage, which of course was lost, before we headed off to Banff. I felt a little like I imagine the couple felt at the end of “The Graduate”, driving away on that bus. We were completely uncertain about what the future would hold, but we were hopeful and optimistic.  

                                                                   

In this blog, I’ve written many times about learning to be present, to live in the moment, yet I struggle with this daily. Of late, I have been extremely anxious and distracted. Contentment can be elusive, even when, to outsiders looking in, our life is perfect. My grief over James’ passing took me by surprise, and has really shaken me. His loss has been an unfolding epiphany. Perhaps it is short-lived – it always seems to take me longer than most to learn life’s lessons – but as our life unravels in its usual, chaotic way, and time scatters like leaves in an autumn wind storm, I am learning to accept and feel the pain. Only then can I know and feel joy. It’s the yin and the yang of life, and there is no playbook for this. It sure helps to have a partner with whom I can share the journey. James was many things to many people, and a saint to some. I knew James as a fabulous, complicated, and flawed man. Being around him as much as I was near his end, I saw his imperfections and his vulnerability. It was those very things that endeared him to me. He had so much to offer with his crazy, beautiful mind, and he gave and received so much love. Perhaps he needed to know that someone recognized that about him at the end. Perhaps Shauna and I were what he needed at the time; simple acceptance with no judgment. His marriages failed, but I think he found salvation in the love for and from his little girl. She was, in many ways, his universe.  

I spent the first thirty years of my life anesthetizing myself in various ways, with delusion, with false dreams, with denial; with alcohol. Eventually, we all come face to face with ourselves, whether we want to or not. Not everyone falls in love with the person in the mirror. It is through the people we let into our lives, whom we choose to trust with all our dirty little secrets, our insecurities, our flawed hearts, that we grow to love ourselves and others. These past 22 years have been such a blessing for Shauna and me, and I cannot imagine spending those years with any better partner. She has taught me to love myself, almost as much as she loves me, and for that, I am grateful beyond words.

Final note: one should never play Scrabble without a dictionary, as Shauna and I did on our honeymoon. 

I won that game dear, “digtion” is NOT a word. 

-Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2016 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 5/23/16

One of the things I love about living in a small community so rich in musical talent is that I have the opportunity to watch musicians develop. While there is a lot of reshuffling of band personnel -  I can’t think of one band I know from up here that has all the same members it had three years ago -  the major players are still around. Over the past few years, I have had the good fortune to observe their creativity blossom, and their live performances improve remarkably.

Last Friday night, at the Algonquin Theatre in Huntsville, Shauna and I attended the CD release concert of our dear friend Gina Horswood. Her new CD, Porcelain, was produced by the much-respected and internationally renowned Andre Wahl, and accompanying Gina that night were all the musicians who played on the album. It was an exceptional performance by all involved. As an added bonus, Gina’s sister Melanie flew in from Australia to join her on background vocals and mandolin. Gina and her sister were quite well known in Australia, even charting nationally with several original songs, but while Gina made the decision to continue her musical career in North America, Melanie elected to stay at home and raise a family. There are not all that many Australian artists who go on to become stars in North America, and fame is decidedly elusive for about 99% of all artists who pursue it. I don’t know if Gina will achieve international recognition in North America, but I think she has a shot.

The other day, I listened to a Hunters Bay Radio interview our late friend James Carroll had done with Gina several years ago, and that was, I believe, the very first time he'd ever met her. During the interview, wherein Gina talked and played several songs live, one can almost hear James falling in love with her on-air. Last December, shortly before Christmas, and soon after James had learned he'd developed stage four liver and lung cancer, Gina played one last live performance for him on a Thursday night show called Live Drive. I was in attendance, and James was in charge of the broadcast. After the performance, which I videotaped, James gave Gina a big hug, and the emotion in that hug is indescribable. I’ve never seen Gina give a bad performance, but this one was special.

My first opportunity to meet and talk with Gina in person came after she performed at the Muskoka Sound music festival in the Fall of 2013. She is an intelligent, complicated, interesting young woman, and we hit it off immediately. She’s a double threat, because not only does she have a beautiful, distinctive voice, but she writes powerful songs as well. Her stage presence is completely natural, and she has that undefinable ability to win the audience over with her charm and her wit. Needless to say, both Shauna and I were taken in by her charm from the moment we met her.

Since our first meeting, Gina and I have exchanged song lyrics online, and have met in person several times at our house to play and discuss songs that each of us is writing. Nothing is more satisfying for me than to work with a talented artist like Gina, and I am hoping that one day, she might even cover one of my songs. One night, sitting around our dining room table, I made a recording of her performing a song I wrote, entitled Halfway, as I accompanied her on the guitar. Shortly after the song was over, you could hear Shauna and I audibly sigh with pleasure. It was one of those other-worldly moments, when all the stars align, and the performance was visceral and heartfelt. For me, as a songwriter, it is about as good as it gets to hear a talented artist such as Gina so successfully interpret one of my songs. After the Huntsville concert, she headed south to do a few more concerts in Ontario before heading out west on a national tour of Canada. I think she has a few U.S. dates on the tour as well. I wish I could attend every gig!

Opening for Gina last Friday night was another local friend and talented songwriter, Jamie Clarke, performing with his band Myrle. The last time I saw Jamie perform, he had just put together a new band, and while they hadn’t been together long (it was veteran lead guitarist Brian Hawley’s first gig with the band), it was obvious they were going to be very good. Now, several months later, with some shows under their belts, the band has found its groove, and their improved live show has an added energy which makes them exciting to watch.

  

The music business can tear a strip off you; it’s hard for even the most talented singer/songwriters to make a living performing original music. Anyone who chooses that life certainly doesn’t do it for the glory, or for the money. There's a lot of schlepping equipment to and from smaller gigs, to play to audiences that are less than appreciative, and there is a lot of disappointment.  Still, there are moments like last Friday night, when everything comes together, and  a large audience is receptive and enthusiastic. It’s in those moments, often few and far between, when an artist, struggling to make his or her mark, is motivated to keep growing and developing. In my opinion, overnight success is a myth. I’ve seen five or six artists from this community work hard and improve substantially since I began to follow them. For me, this is more exciting than seeing a big star perform to a stadium full of people.  

-Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2016 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 5/16/16

Today, I said goodbye to my favorite employee at the local dump. She will be retiring this week, and I’m going to miss her. She’s about my age, and over the past ten years or so, she and I have had many a five minute conversation. Relatively speaking, we are strangers, only socializing in this very limited context, and yet I’ve enjoyed our brief interactions. When she wasn’t too busy doing her job, I’d chat with her for a few minutes. She might be working the bailing machine, or in the recycling shed, or checking people’s loads as they entered the dump, or manning one of the many large pieces of heavy equipment used to tame the ever-growing mound of garbage we in the local community generate. In our conversations, we talked about her fishing trips to Northern Ontario, our aging parents – her nonagenarian mom recently passed on – my music, my involvement at the radio station, and whatever else people discuss in brief conversations. I was amused to find out that her favorite television program was The Daily Show, back when Jon Stewart was hosting. I never would have pegged her as a fan of political satire. I probably won’t see her much now that she’s retiring, but so it goes. Change is the only constant.   

When we first moved up here full time, we didn’t know many of the local residents. Building our house turned out to be a full time job, and most of our socializing was done with the various contractors who were working on the house. Now, after eight years of living up here, we are becoming more involved with the local community, and we’ve met a lot of interesting people here from all walks of life. As I became more involved with the musicians in this community, and with Hunters Bay Radio, I came to appreciate the many different kinds of people who make up this community. I don’t know why that should be surprising to me; there are interesting and intelligent people everywhere, but up here, they are not as obvious. Sometimes, I feel as if I am living among the cast of Northern Exposure. People up here may not wear suits, and some of them look pretty rough, but as I learned from my Mom and Dad, never judge a book by its cover. My dad, especially, was mindful of this, and he loved to talk to people from all walks of life. His contention was that everyone was worth getting to know, and from his experience as a real estate salesman, he was fairly adept at sizing people up in a five minute conversation. If someone was boorish or ignorant, or a vexation to the spirit, he figured it out pretty quickly and avoided them. He treated everyone with respect until they proved they were not worthy of it. I cringe sometimes when I hear a summer cottager treat a local resident badly. Many people come up from the city and treat local residents as if they are simply employees, or worse yet, stupid. The locals have an expression for those people: “citiots”. Just as in any community, some of the residents are better than others, but it’s best to learn about a person before you judge.

Whether it’s the plumber who was a banjo player in a great bluegrass band thirty years ago, or the stock boy at the local supermarket who is a gifted artist, or the stone mason who teaches survival training in his spare time, or the many volunteers at the radio station who share a love of community radio, or the lady at the dump who liked to watch Jon Stewart, there are plenty of interesting people up here, and all one needs to do is ask a few questions.

Tomorrow night, I have agreed to play a short set of original music at a local restaurant in Burk’s Falls. I’m not expecting a big turnout, but I need the practice. My performing skills are a little rusty, and about the only venues I play live these days is Hunters Bay Radio and the occasional open stage held monthly at the Burk’s Falls Legion. I’ve spent much of the last four months attending to the needs of my friend James Carroll, and have not been concentrating on my songwriting. Unlike most of the musicians in the area, I don’t love performing my music, but it is customary to perform some of the songs for an upcoming CD release. My album was recorded almost a year ago, but other events in my life took precedence, and the CD was put on the back burner. The songs are mastered, and once the artwork is finalized, hopefully in the not too distant future, I will send it out for duplication and move on to the next project. That’s the plan.

-Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2016 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 5/9/16

I wish all my readers a belated Happy Mother’s Day! I miss mine but I can’t complain. I had my mom for 93 years and, until the very end, she was a fascinating woman. We all have mothers, or had them, but do we really know them as well as we think we do? Of course some people never get to know their mothers at all, and some mothers are not worth knowing. For the rest of us though, we know them as their children know them, but I wonder what their lives were like before they had us. Do we know that person? I came upon a photograph years ago when I was cleaning out my parents’ house to be sold, and it was of my mom and dad shortly after they were married. They both looked a little giddy, with big grins on their faces, maybe even a bit tipsy from alcohol, and Mom is sitting in Dad’s lap. I remember asking Mom about the photo before she died. She’d been through a bad marriage before my father came along, and she was raising two young girls by herself. There is so much to that photo, so much I will never know about my mother.

In many ways, my mom led a charmed life as a child. My grandfather was a community leader in Buffalo, as well as a wealthy, very successful businessman, and owner and CEO of The Wildroot Company, Inc. The Lehman family had a house in Buffalo and a beach house in Fort Erie, Ontario. That is the house I recently sold, and in many ways that house embodies the spirit of my mom. She grew up there, had parties with her friends there; sowed her wild oats there. The family had a chauffeur named Tom, and during Prohibition he used to bootleg liquor across the Peace Bridge in the family car. Mom was technically a smuggler as a young girl, though she probably didn’t know it at the time. I look at photos of parties she had on the Lake Erie shoreline, with all her friends laughing and drinking on the beach, and I think about how three generations of my family did the same thing in the same place. I wonder what she was like back then, before life kicked her around the block a few times.

I can only go by the oral history, and by the photos I see in the old albums, but it seemed as if she had great love and happiness in her life as a young lady. Later, after she attended junior college, she moved to New York City and worked as an illustrator for the fashion industry. I’ve seen some of that art and she had talent. She supported herself and lived the life of a swinging single in one of the world’s most exciting cities, but eventually, she gave all that up to marry the wrong guy. She had two girls with that man, and when she divorced him there was a nasty custody battle. Not too long afterwards, she married my dad, who was five or six years her senior, and a long-time friend of the family. Through their union I was born. Shortly thereafter, my eldest sister Joanne was killed in Buffalo when she was hit by a truck as she ran across a busy street. She was thirteen. My mom was devastated, and her life changed a lot in a very short time.

 

I look at a photograph, and knowing all the events that transpired when the shot was taken, I extrapolate beyond the flash of a camera smile. I see the unknown, the mysterious. Perhaps I see things that were not really there, I don’t know. I was very close to my mom, and she was not a shy, introverted person. She was honest with me and she was an excellent role model. Mom was an active and productive member of her community, sat on many boards, was generous with her time and money, and volunteered at a nearby hospital, on the ward that tended to children who had cancer. I just wish I had a clearer vision of her journey. Everyone has a story to tell, a history that explains their journey, if we are present to listen. As the years roll by, and as we log some hard miles on our travelling souls, the journey tempers us. It is tempering me. I know my mom was an interesting, creative, intelligent, woman, and I also know that the circumstances in her life changed her considerably. When I allow myself to be sad - and I rarely indulge myself in that emotion when it comes to my parents - it is because there is so much that, in retrospect, I would have liked to have known. I was too young and self-absorbed when I should have been asking questions.

 

LAUGHING

 

I WAS LOOKING THROUGH SOME SLIDES OF THE 50S AND 60S
BACK WHEN YOU AND MOM WERE IN YOUR HEYDAY
RIDING WESTERN SADDLE IN THE PALM SPRINGS DESERT
LAUGHING AND LOOKING LIKE YOU’D LEARNED TO SEIZE THE DAY

 

BUT CELLULOID IMAGES FROZEN IN TIME HAVE BEEN KNOWN TO LIE

WHAT LURKS BENEATH THE FLASH OF A CAMERA SMILE?
I NEVER KNEW WHAT YOU WERE FEELING, FOR I WAS JUST A BOY
BUT I WONDER ABOUT IT EVERY ONCE IN A WHILE

 

WERE YOU LAUGHING, LAUGHING THROUGH THE PAIN
WHEN YOU LOST HER CLEARLY SOMETHING DIED INSIDE
LAUGHING, LAUGHING, BUT ISN’T IT A SHAME?
I DON’T REALLY SEE YOU BUT I KEEP LOOKING JUST THE SAME

 

THESE DAYS I LOOK AT MY LIFE WITH BEMUSED DETACHMENT
NOTHING TURNED OUT AS I THOUGHT IT WOULD BE
WHAT TELLS REVEAL A SOUL THAT’S GONE ASTRAY
GOALS, AMBITIONS, DREAMS THROWN INTO A ROILING SEA

 

HELPLESS I LOOK FOR MEANING IN THIS FREEZE FRAME REALITY
LOOKING AT PHOTOS OF YOU FOR A GLIMPSE OF ME
YOUR SMILE BELIES THE DISCONTENT YOU TRY TO HIDE
I’M LOOKING AT TWO PEOPLE I COULD NEVER SEE

 

alt verse:

(MAYBE WE ARE ALL PRODUCTS OF OUR MANGLED HISTORY

WE PUT ON SMILES LIKE COSMETICS TO SHADE OUR IDENTITES
BECAUSE OF YOU I’VE NEVER TRUSTED  FACES I SEE
BECAUSE OF YOU I’VE NEVER REALLY LOOKED AT ME.)

 

WRITTEN 3/6/14

 

-Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2016 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

 

The Oppenheimer Report 5/2/16

My friend, James Carroll, passed away last Wednesday afternoon, and the loss has been much harder than I thought it would be to process. Slowly, over the past year or so, I have grown to know and respect the man, as I came to realize how much he had accomplished in his relatively short time on earth. I became very close to him as a friend in a very short time. I was with him frequently over the past four months, and Shauna talked to him on the phone for an hour or so almost every night. I’m not really sure why, but it’s as if James chose us to be his lifeline at the end of his day. It was our privilege. From about the time he was diagnosed in December until his demise last week, we were in contact with him a lot. Now, it doesn’t take much to bring my grief to the surface, and I find myself crying at the drop of a hat. I’ll hear an old ad with James’ voice on Hunters Bay Radio – James was still recording ads for the station as recently as a month ago – and that will bring me to tears. Over the past several days, the Hunters Bay Radio hosts have been dedicating their shows to James, and those shows have been meaningful and therapeutic for Shauna and me. Hunters Bay Radio is a community radio station, and James Carroll was in so many ways the voice of this community. Everyone at the station who knew him is a mess, because in one way or another, James touched all of our lives. He was intelligent, generous, kind, funny as hell, charitable, and humble.   

Shauna and I called him “Menschy”, a derivation of the Yiddish word “Mensch”, which means a good man, a man of integrity. James called Shauna “Punim”, which is Yiddish for “face” or, as it was used to describe Shauna, “cute face”. His nickname for me was not fit for print. Knowing we were Jewish, James would spout Yiddish-isms at will. He’d roll his eyes and exclaim “Oy Vey!” with his usual dramatic flair, and it always made me laugh. He found something personal to discuss with all of his friends and acquaintances which demonstrated that he was interested in their lives. When Shauna created a Facebook tribute page so that people could reconnect with James, we had no idea how important that would become. There are now just under 700 members, with membership growing by the minute, all extolling the virtues of their friend, fellow actor, radio personality, charitable community member, and the many other things James was in his life. Each post added a new dimension to his complicated personality. On my radio show "Lyrical Workers" last week, the day after he passed, I wasn’t sure I could get through the whole show without breaking down. In between sets, I took Shauna’s advice and read some of the Facebook posts on air. That got me through it.

As the Program Director, Producer, and Host or many shows at Hunters Bay Radio, James was responsible for creating and editing many of the programs that aired. Among others, he created/hosted shows like “Motown Monday”, "Martini Music", "Oh Canada", the Friday night "Hunters Bay Radio Top 20 Countdown" show, and his shows were always entertaining. He had an encyclopedic knowledge of music and his interviewing skills were excellent. Last summer, he interviewed Jose Feliciano, as well as Blood, Sweat, and Tears front man, David Clayton Thomas. On a community radio station like Hunters Bay Radio, James was the prominent voice of the station, and he was an inextricable member of the community.

I met James when I first walked into the radio station back in the early part of 2014. At that time, I was extremely self-absorbed and nervous about performing some of my original songs live on the air. I met him briefly, along with station manager, Jeff Carter, but I did not really grow to know the man for another year. When I began to host my "Lyrical Workers" show on Thursday nights, James was running the board for the Thursday night “Live Drive” shows which aired an hour before my show began. We got to know each other then and I really grew to love him. James was so affable, intelligent, and such a wonderful storyteller. We developed a close friendship. We had something in common; we were the only two Americans at the station. There have been many tributes to James Carroll thus far, and one need look no further than his JAMES CARROLL - A TRIBUTE page on Facebook to see how universally loved he is. I came into his life as it was ending, but I see why so many people loved him from so far back. There are some people who simply shine brighter than the rest of us, and that intangible quality is difficult to put into words. James always made me feel significant, and I will miss that humble, interesting, intelligent, and loving man, deeply.

            .

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2016 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 4/25/16

Mom and Grampy

A little over 16 years ago I wrote this one ...

4-2-00 - This year’s Academy Awards ceremony has come and gone, and the best thing I can say about it is that Billy Crystal was funny for about twelve minutes. After that it was the usual, ridiculously long awards ceremony. “American Beauty” won the most awards, and that lady who played a man in a woman’s body in “Boys Don’t Cry” won for best female lead ... two films which again prove that one need not spend eighty million dollars to produce a winning movie. On that note,   I DID see part of “Bride of Chucky” the other night on The Movie Network, and why this movie was never nominated for an Oscar is a mystery to me. Here’s what I gleaned, from the twenty-five minutes I watched...

Chucky is a little plastic doll who somehow - and sadly, I did not see any of the previous Chucky masterpieces - had a malevolent human spirit transferred into his lifeless little body. He’s quite the little devil, with his mischievous expression, patchwork of facial scars, and diabolical habit of brutally slaughtering people. By the time I began watching the movie, Chucky had  already put a few notches on his belt. He was imprisoned in a cage by a very mean woman with whom he exhibited some kind of enigmatic, sado-masochistic  tension. The plot thickens when this caretaker buys Chucky a girl doll to be his bride. Spurned by this callous rejection, Chucky throws a hissy fit,  saws through the bars of his cage with his new doll bride’s wedding ring, then attacks his shedevil caretaker while she’s taking a bath. Though she puts up a pretty good fight,  Chucky prevails by throwing a live electrical appliance into the bathwater. Sparks fly, she  convulses, thrashes about, and finally, after a very entertaining fifteen or twenty second medley of blood-curdling death screams, she reluctantly expires.  Now the film really takes off. Chucky tries  unsuccessfully to transfer the shedevil’s malevolent spirit into the body of his plastic bride by uttering some ineffectual incantations, but not until he plucks the eyeballs out of the dead shedevil’s head and plugs them into the doll does the doll “become” the shedevil. The transformation is now  complete, and Chucky’s new bride “becomes” the personality of his now-expired and somewhat charred shedevil caretaker. Are you with me? Concurrently, the doll bride undergoes some cosmetic changes, which make her to look a like a Marilyn Manson fan. Chucky now has the love of his life, and off they go on their honeymoon of murder and mayhem.  B.O.C. proves to be infinitely more creative and even more devilishly homicidal than Chucky, and our hero realizes he has finally found his soul mate. The lovemaking scenes were, well, unique.

Usually, in these kinds of high school “slash and screw” movies, there are a series of violent murders, typically with a kitchen knife, pick ax, chainsaw, scissors, railroad spike, garden shears, or whatever other sharp pointy object is handy. That gets old fast. These little dolls are much more creative. My favorite murder scene involves Chucky’s bride and two of the more unsympathetic characters in the film. While the two characters are having sex, Chucky’s bride somehow causes the ceiling-mounted mirror over their waterbed to shatter, thus showering the two with cascading shards of broken glass. The piece de resistance is the Sam Peckinpah slow motion shot of the waterbed exploding in a maelstrom of bloody water, engulfing the two flailing victims. Kudos to the director of Bride of Chucky ... this one is a keeper.

You can take your Oscars and shove them where the sun don’t shine. I’ll take “Bride of Chucky”  over  “Snow Falling on Cedars” any day. There are so many good movies  I have yet to see.  For instance, “I Dismember Mama” or ANY of the “Hellraisers,” “C.H.U.D” (cannibalistic humanoid underground dwellers), etc.,etc. ... there just aren’t enough hours in the day to see everything I want to see. Thank goodness for VCR’s!

 

And to the people who organize the Academy Awards ceremony ... next year, will you please give us the abridged version?  Nobody wants to sit through four hours of this tripe.                  

                      - Jamie Oppenheimer

The Oppenheimer Report 4-18-16

My sister Jill and I (circa 1959)

This is one of my earlier reports, back when it was called "The Hyman Report". It was written approximately two years after I began writing the weekly reports, and several months before I married Shauna. In those early years, I was a little more inclined to go for the cheap laugh. To follow is a prime example of my earliest attempts to write humor. As I said, because very few read these earliest reports, I wanted to reprise some of them now ...

THE HYMAN REPORT - 2/28/94 .....

Today's subject is soap operas, because I had the good fortune to watch almost an entire episode of one the other day. I think the one I watched was called "The Vain And The Bulimic" but there are a lot of other good ones too ... "The Vacuous And Without a Clue", "The Wretched And The Incontinent", "The Plump And The Flatulent", "The Inbred And Overpaid" ... and they all represent legitimate T.V. at its best. This is just a hunch, but I'll bet more women watch these shows than men. Then again, who knows.

 

I was watching with someone who not only knew what was going on, but actually tapes the show daily so as not to miss any of the car accidents, abortions, and disfiguring lover's quarrels ... there's at least one of these in every episode.

First, there's Rex - he's the leading man - who has porked just about every female on the show - and now, he's got illegitimate children running around marrying each other. Big problems. We're trying to get one of those marriages annulled right now but it's hard because they have to dig up the dead mother, one of Rex's ex's, to see if this really WAS one of his, or rather the son of one of the forty-two other men she slept with (she died having sex with #42  ... they made an episode out of it ... she vapor-locked aspirating a large piece of kielbasa during foreplay ... the scene took TEN minutes). Rex is also called "Mumbles" because he can't seem to annunciate. Frankly, I can't understand how he got the acting job in the first place, unless the script called for a mumbling, middle-aged stud with bushy eyebrows ... I have this image of women all over North America with their ears pinned to the T.V. because they can't understand what Mumbles is saying ... pearls of wisdom like, "I won't be able to live with myself if illegitimate daughter #2 marries illegitimate son #3! ... I'll have to fall off a balcony in a drunken stupor, or drive my car off a cliff, or drown in a whirlpool bath or something ..."  I forgot to mention, Mumbles is rich, and that's how rich guys die. In the soaps, they NEVER die choking on their own puke or shoveling snow. This bothers me.

Then, there's the baby who got stolen in the hospital by a woman who had it out for the mother, and I'm not sure why, but we still don't know who the father is, even though there are ten guys who say they are. The problem is, one of the men has just been diagnosed with leprosy, so we all hope it wasn't him. That baby has enough problems ... did I mention that the mother was a nun?

It's never a dull moment on the "Vain And The Bulimic". But as engrossing as this show is, I can't afford to get addicted to daytime T.V. First you start off watching one, then you're juggling three; then, before you know it, you're hooked and you're discussing them with fellow cretins ... Did Alexis lose BOTH her big toes? .... Will Brock find the mysterious gypsy woman who saw Fellicia maim Sergei with the hedge trimmer ... will that glass eye fit? ... does Alicia know that it was Evelyn who bit off Gordon's penis during the car accident that stormy night? ... Did Mumbles have bad orthodontia as a boy?  Wait til you see the one I'm gonna write!  -r.h-

The Oppenheimer Report 4/11/16

 

I wrote this report on March 21, 1995 …

 

Today, the topic is phone sex. Every night on T.V., I see ads for phone sex and I want to understand this phenomenon. When I turn on the tube late at night, there she is on my T.V. screen ... "Hi, I'm Sabrina ... (attractive young blond with a killer body, wearing a revealing red satin teddy and straddling her bed as if she's riding in the Kentucky Derby) - Do you want to get to know me? Call 1-900-GET-LAID and take me for a test ride." Chuck Yaeger stand back.

I am really not all that interested in having sex with my phone, but I know that there are a lot of lonely people out there who, for whatever reason - perhaps because they've struck out at the bar scene, or they're shy, or they have leprosy, or whatever - would be happy to have sex with anyone or anyTHING, as long as it was quick, anonymous, didn't require commitment, and could not, under any circumstances, give them a communicable disease.

So, what happens here? You, the phoner, calls the phonee, and for three bucks per minute (which, incidentally, is probably more than a real life hooker gets turning tricks in Times Square) you are "aroused" to the point of "supreme personal satisfaction"  when said phonee whispers x-rated stuff in your ear like: "Oh baby, you're my magic wand, yes ... ooooh you get me so hot ... oooh you've touched that special place ... ohhh ahhh ooooh, etc. etc." Depending on your nationality, maybe she even bleats.

Frankly, I never liked phones. I might be the only person who could call up for phone sex and experience performance anxiety. That would be my luck. There are a couple of observations I'd like to make at this point. First of all, that deep, sexy voice on the other end of the line, the one for which you're paying more than some lawyers charge on an hourly basis, probably isn't the nubile blonde you see in the ad. More than likely, she is a hairy, Twinkie-hoovering manatee, with serious B.O. and the disposition of a wharf rat, who lives in a trailer strewn with the debris generated by her brood of twelve welfare scum adolescent trolls, three of whom are on juvenile probation for aggravated assault. These phone sex jobs don't exactly attract the cream of the crop. Secondly, aren't videos and magazines a better deal? It's the gift that just keeps giving. I know it's a tough call, but in my humble opinion, not based on personal experience of course, bopping the baloney to a video or making the scene with a magazine is arguably a better value than getting your rocks off to the voice of some poxied trollop, long distance. Then again, I'm old fashioned; I believe in human contact.

Finally, there is the issue of privacy. You wear a disguise, you buy a video or a magazine ... no one knows. You call up Jabba Galore, and the phone company knows, the FBI knows ... really, anybody who wants to can find out. Also, your ten year-old can call her too. I'd like to see him/her walk into Marty's Adult World and buy a porno magazine or a video. They have rules about stuff like that.

 

All I can say is, thank goodness I'm happily married. Life is getting too complicated for the lonely.

                           JWO Jr

 

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2016 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 4/4/16

Mom and Dad circa 1963

A belated April Fools Day! ... I hope you all played a prank on someone. As I said, I've decided to reprise some of my earlier reports, which most of you have never read (I started writing these reports weekly in January of 1992) and which sometimes reflect an interesting period in history. Hardly a historian, I do sometimes have a different take on current events. To follow is an oldie from 1997. I picked this one for two reasons: 1. There is a reference to Donald Trump, although it is nowhere near as nasty as in earlier reports. 2. This was the report that came out shortly after Lady Di was killed in a car accident...

T
he Oppenheimer Report – 9/2/97

Last night on the news, it was reported that over 28,000 people have died in the United States during the past year in road rage-related deaths. People get stressed out and uncontrollably angry in their cars and then they act out in dangerous ways. If you ask me, it’s a problem here in Canada as well. This has become such a widespread problem that a new breed of shrink has emerged: the auto psychologist. Now, for a modest fee, a professional psychologist will accompany you in your automobile and "work you through" your road rage. As you confront the trials and tribulations of city driving, a shrink will coach you on appropriate and inappropriate behavior to vent your anger. Swearing is good, shooting is bad. Of course this has me wondering what's next. Will we now see other specialists, such as dentists, or maybe proctologists, accompanying us on our daily commutes? "I need to have that hemorrhoid removed, but when do I find the time? I know, I’ll have it done in the car on my way to work. I can foresee some serious problems here.

 

Burger King had some problems last week when it was determined that one of their meat suppliers had sent them a load of unsafe beef. In all, millions of pounds of beef had to be destroyed, and for a day or two, Burger King was selling only chicken and fish. "Excuse me miss, I’ll have the Chicken Whopper with cheese, and could you hold the poisonous bacteria ..." If you think you’re paying too much in bank service charges, consider this news. Royal Bank of Canada has recorded record profits this year, in the neighborhood of $1.32 billion, and the Bank of Montreal was not far behind with a nine month profit of about $1 billion. Those ATM charges add up. That’s almost as much money as Don Trump has. Trump was on Letterman the other night, boasting about this and that. Letterman asked him how much he is worth and he said he has no idea.  He did say that at one point in the recent past, his net worth fell to about negative $900 million. Presently, he’s "in the black" and worth somewhere between $1.5 and $4 billion. Easy come, easy go. So Don, how come all your ex-wives drive Yugos? The lawyers for Goldmans and the Browns, the families of the two O.J. victims, are fighting over who gets how much of the money they expect to extract from Simpson. That’s disgusting, isn’t it? We Americans have really turned into a nation of litigious eels. Split the money 50/50 and put this wildebeest out of its misery, you bottom-dwelling pond slime. Jeesh. If you’ve been made a little more apprehensive about air travel in the wake of all the latest air disasters, consider this interesting statistic: in North America during 1996, 535 million people flew on 7.8 million flights. Given those numbers, a crash here and a crash there doesn't seem so bad. That is, as long as my flight doesn't crash.

 

On a more serious note, Lady Di, Princess of Wales, died over the Labour Day weekend in Paris. She, her fiancée Dodi Al Fayed, and his driver were killed when the armor-plated Mercedes in which they were traveling crashed at about 120 MPH. Though all the facts are not in, it has been reported that the driver was legally stewed to the gills ... three times over the legal limit. This guy had the equivalent of about 11 ounces of hard liquor in his system. Apparently, he was trying to lose the ever present "paparazzi," who were surrounding the limo on motorcycles and trying to steal photographs of the beleaguered couple as they sped along the city streets. What a pack of wolves! Of course, Diana is now a martyr, having been hounded by the press until her untimely death, and there is already a backlash against what many consider to be the predatory and invasive media. In all, seven photographers are in custody at this writing, and all may face serious charges if it can be proved that they contributed to this tragedy. A bodyguard named Trevor Rees-Jones was also in the car, and survived the crash, but he is still in serious condition. I’m sure everyone is eager to hear what he will have to say. I know I am. By some accounts, Lady Di was one of the most popular and widely recognized women in the world. Isn't that ironic?

 

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c1997 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 3/28/16

Who knew the Easter Bunny was related to Krampus?

First of all, let me wish all my Christian friends a belated Happy Easter. I used to enjoy decorating the eggs, and of course, I loved Easter egg hunts. Every year, I reprise the story about my Mom hiding thirteen hard-boiled eggs around our house in Buffalo on Easter. We only found twelve, and Mom did not remember where she hid the thirteenth. It turned out she hid it in a table lamp, which we found out several months later, after it began to smell like a decomposing animal. That was the last of our Easter egg hunts. The other day, I was checking some online news source and read a story about some guy in the Philippines who had himself nailed to a cross, and he has done this annually for the past 30 years. What the hell! I thought Easter was about bunnies and chocolate. Asked what the experience meant to him, his answer was that it hurt. No shit, Sherlock. I thought self-flagellation was a little over the top, but now there is a new benchmark for crazy Easter antics.

 

Former Toronto mayor Rob Ford died last week after an 18 month battle with cancer. Clearly, Ford was a controversial mayor, and his out of control behavior and his admissions of substance abuse made him the laughing stock of the world. Before the omnipresence of cell phones, video cameras, and YouTube, this kind of behavior was easier to conceal, but these days, public figures have to be more careful. One night on CTV News, I remember watching Ford, captured on a security camera, drunk and urinating in a public place. His life unraveled for the world to see, and it wasn’t pretty. Ford was like the car accident everyone slows down to see, and I couldn’t help feeling sorry for him and his family. Of course there has been plenty of internet nastiness, kicking the man after he was gone, and he did prove to be an embarrassment for the City of Toronto near the end. Still, I wonder how history will treat him. For all his faults, he wasn’t all bad, and did represent the little guy.

Someone posted a YouTube video that I watched yesterday, and it suggests that there is a conspiracy by the big drug companies to block efforts to find a cure for cancer. While I take the information in the video with a grain of salt, it got me thinking. It is interesting that so much money is pumped into cancer research with so little to show for it. Yes, there are success stories but it seems as if the incidence of cancer is on the rise. Whether it is increased microwave transmissions, or the preponderance of unhealthful food we eat, or the water we drink; something is feeding this disease. If the business of treating cancer with radiation and chemicals is worth trillions, what if someone came up with a cheap and effective cure for cancer? Would drug companies embrace it, even if they stood to lose trillions of dollars in profit? Every day, I hear or read some new theory about a diet or holistic remedy that may be more effective in the treatment of certain kinds of cancer. One remedy, which suggests that changing the PH balance in the body is effective, calls for sufferers to swallow two tablespoons of lemon juice, mixed with baking soda. This concoction may kill cancer cells while leaving healthy cells in tact. If natural remedies might work, why is there NOT more research targeting these potentially life-saving therapies? In the video, it was suggested that a promising new, low cost drug developed in Canada was not approved for testing, because there was no profit to be made from its distribution. If it turns out that any of this is true, it is pretty disturbing news. First, I learn that I cannot trust my leaders, which was a huge shock to me, and now the medical community is suspect. Next thing you know, I won’t be able to trust reality television!

 

Isis claimed responsibility for the suicide bombing attacks in Brussels last week, as well as an attack at a soccer match in Iraq. A branch of the Taliban is claiming responsibility for the Easter Sunday attack in Pakistan. It’s a strange world we live in, and between the media and the religious fanatics, and all the nutballs running for President, I’m getting a little stressed out. I penned a new song a few weeks ago, entitled One to Ten and the following is one verse and the chorus from that song:

 

One To Ten

Jihadi John in the desert

About to take his pick

Dress those boys up like janitors

Send 'em to the River Styx

 

Cho:

I don’t know I can’t say

I wonder to which God does this man pray

And I can’t tell my enemies from friends

I can’t seem to calm down counting from one to ten.

 

I’ve got to stop watching “the news”.

 

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2016 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED