The Oppenheimer Report 9/5/16

 

To follow is a report I wrote just about 20 years ago, and I think it is worthy of a repost, especially considering that it is likely  only 12 people read it the first time around ...

 

The Oppenheimer Report - 9/14/96

 

The other night, I was surfing the tube, looking for something to watch for half an hour that wasn’t completely depressing, and I was rewarded with a documentary on Barbie ... the doll, that is. Of course I had to watch.

 

Forget that Saddam Hussein is very close to provoking a war with the United States, forget about the increasing use of heroin among young American adults, as reported by Dan Rather ... we have some really important news here. Barbie has big boobs ... and Ken is a rich, apathetic twit without a pecker.

 

When I first started watching this program, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Admittedly, I came in about a third of the way through the show, but I think I caught the drift. Basically, it was a commentary by several so-called Barbie experts about what Barbie has “done” through the ages;  what she was feeling, whether sex was on her mind (tough call, because  Ken doesn’t have any genitalia), and who she “became” as time went on.  Is she a gum-chewing, licentious, conniving (albeit well-dressed) she-devil, or a sensitive, intelligent wonder woman, preoccupied with helping others? Does she get depressed? People were actually discussing these “issues” with a straight face.

 

They even went so far as to cover interviews with women who sought to be Barbie. That was frightening... that they have Barbie look alike contests...with real women choosing to compete in them!  I recalled seeing a show about some woman who had had multiple plastic surgeries in order to make herself look like Barbie. I don’t know how any of my readers feel about this, but I think what we have here are some people with way way too much time on their hands. Surely, Barbie has provided hours of fun and entertainment for her billions of adoring young (and old) fans. Still, at the end of the day, is not Barbie a plastic doll, with detachable limbs, painted eyes, and synthetic hair punched neatly  into her empty plastic head? I don’t get it. Does Barbie worry about world peace? I think not. Is she an insult to the feminist movement in America and abroad, because she represents everything that is shallow and superficial about women? I haven’t given it much thought, but what kind of person would? Does she “do” Ken? My goodness, is NOTHING sacred??  Besides, I always thought Barbie was saving herself for marriage.     

 

There are all sorts of Barbie Dolls, and Barbie has changed over the years  to reflect the times.  I have a few suggestions for Barbies that I think would  typify these turbulent 90's ...

Since everyone is so serious about attaching real feelings and emotions to this doll, how about  ...  “ Pregnant Teen Barbie”, “Crack Whore Barbie”, “Single Mother on Welfare with Six Kids Barbie”, “Dominatrix Barbie”, “Wasted Rock Star on Heroin Carrying the Ashes of Her Dead Husband  Around in a Backpack  Barbie” ... you get the idea.

 

At one point during this  programming gem, it was suggested that Barbie might one day be responsible for world peace, and I do think this is possible ... in fact I have a suggestion. Why don’t they paint Barbie onto all the missiles they’re about to lob at Saddam and his unfortunate  countrymen. Then she can make her small contribution to world peace ... but Mother Teresa she will never be. -Written by Jamie Oppenheimer

 

 

This Thursday night from 6-7PM, and before my weekly radio show Lyrical Workers (8-11PM), I will be playing a live set on air at Hunters Bay Radio. For those of you out-of-towners who might be interested in listening, the performance will be available online by clicking on one of the following links: http://www.muskokaonline.com/, http://www.huntersbayradio.com, http://tunein.com/radio/Hunters-Bay-Radio-887-s223886/, and http://74.119.88.66/test.htm  

The Oppenheimer Report 8/29/16

Last Thursday afternoon, my lovely wife Shauna accompanied me to Hunters Bay Radio to watch the live on-air performance of Noah Zacharin, a Montreal singer / songwriter whom we have both come to admire. After that “Live Drive” show, Shauna did her social media posting for my show in the station, while I did my radio show. It was fun to have her there with me, and it’s the first time she has actually seen me do my show. To follow is the Facebook review I posted about Noah Zacharin’s  performance …

Have you ever seen a musician perform live for the first time, expecting that musician or songwriter to be good, only to be floored when you finally saw the performance? The first time I heard Noah Zacharin’s recorded music was on fellow singer songwriter Douglas Eldon Mclean’s Monday night blues and folk show, which airs Monday nights on Hunters Bay Radio. I was impressed enough to download one of Noah’s album’s - Big Daddy Z – and I quickly realized that this man is a formidable songwriter. When I met him in person last Thursday at the Hunters Bay Radio station, for his “Live Drive” performance, my first impression was that he was a soft-spoken, introspective man. When he began to perform, his wry wit, humour, and intelligence began to trickle out, and then he simply sucker punched both Shauna and me with his talent. The reticent man was anything but when he began to perform, and both Shauna and I were die-hard fans by the end of the set. Noah’s skill as a guitarist, and his extremely thoughtful, beautifully crafted lyrics, left me slack-jawed by the time his 45 minute performance was over. There are good pickers everywhere in my ever expanding musical universe, and I’m learning that there are a lot (too many in fact) of talented, under-recognized songwriters as well. Noah is decidedly both. Last night at Hunters Bay Radio, Shauna and I looked at each other right after Noah’s set, incredulous at what we had heard. We went home and reviewed the entire performance on the Periscope video Hunters Bay Radio puts up after these shows. I realized how much I’d failed to absorb during the live performance, because there’s just so much going on with this guy. If you are unfamiliar with his work, do yourself a favor and consult YouTube for a performance or two to get up to speed. Two of my favorite songs in the Thursday night show were “Can’t Wake Up” and “Ten Tons Of Road” but all the songs he played were noteworthy. In the past year or so, as my education into the art of song writing has taken an end run around the masters I have always admired, I have been exposed to artists such as Jon Brooks, Rita Chiarelli, Rob Lutes, Jason Isbell, Ryan Bingham, Gene Maclellan, Steve Goodman, Dave Gunning, Mose Allison, Scott Nolan, Chuck Brodsky, Rick Fines, Suzie Vinnick, and John Stewart, to name but a few. It has become glaringly apparent to me how much I do not know about the exceptional songwriters, past and present, floating around in the music universe. Until I began to air my radio show, and began to research songs I like, I was in the dark. It is because of our local community radio station, Hunters Bay Radio, and other like-minded alternative radio stations, forums that go against the swelling tide of soul-less, auto-tuned pop, that I have grown some perspective on how much good music there is out there. Now I can add Noah Zacharin to my ever-expanding list of gifted songwriters. Thank you Noah for that delightful performance last Thursday night; what a pleasure it was to finally meet you! And thanks to Hunters Bay Radio, and all the other community and college stations out there that continue to present these wonderful artists. Noah, I look forward to seeing you perform again, surrounded by a large and receptive audience at a festival or concert hall. I am becoming harder and harder to impress these days, but last Thursday night, you did that, in spades.

 

I write these reports, and I write songs, and I do my little radio show about song writing, in hopes that I will grow, improve, and learn. I become a better songwriter by watching, reading, and listening to the writers I admire. There is so much wonderful literature, poetry, music, and fine art out there to be appreciated, but I think much of it is eclipsed by that which is deemed sellable, or “mainstream”. Certainly, all art is subject to the tastes of the individual, but in my opinion, the cream is not always rising to the top. My goal is to become a better songwriter, and to perhaps bring some much deserved attention to those artists whom I admire. But enough about me, what do YOU think of me?  

 

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2016 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 8/22/16

Thousands gather at River Mill Park in Huntsville to watch The Tragically Hip broadcast
(Photo by John A Macdonald)

Last weekend marked the fifth Burk’s Falls Country Jamboree music festival and, for the first time ever, there were two stages. On the main stage were the traditional country acts and on the second stage, located in the nearby Burk’s Falls Legion, were various different kinds of acts, including rock, folk, and local singer songwriters (the category wherein I fall). After years of hearing about the band, Friday night, under a bright orange harvest moon, I finally saw and heard The Good Brothers perform live. These guys have been a part of the Canadian music scene for around forty years, and they were exceptional, far exceeding my expectations for an entertaining night.  A relative newcomer to Canadian music, I’m always trying to learn something about Canadian songwriters, and I always ask friends, and even perfect strangers, what song would they like to hear on my radio show and why. Not only does this ensure an eclectic mix of music, but some of the recommendations have become new favorites of mine. Some of the songs are amusing as well  ... for example: “If My Heart Had An Ass I’d Kick It For Loving You”, by Gerald Collier. The other day, I was talking to a technician working on some Wi-Fi issues in our house, and when he heard the Good Brothers were playing locally, he volunteered that one of his favorite Good Brothers songs is a tune called “Honk On Bobo”. Of course I looked it up, and  I love the message. It will air on this week’s show, with an explanation about how I learned about the song. My musical education continues to be random, interesting, and I hope entertaining to others.

 

Millions of Canadians tuned in to CBC on Saturday night to watch the final concert of the legendary Canadian rock band The Tragically Hip, broadcast from their hometown of Kingston, Ontario. We recorded the concert and watched it after a full day of music at the festival. I didn’t think I’d make it through the entire concert, but once it began, I could not turn it off. I’ve been a fan of The Hip for about 25 years, and front man Gord Downie is one of my songwriting heroes. Much of The Hip’s music weaves a lyrical tapestry of the country where they live, and the band is hugely popular throughout Canada. News of Downie’s terminal brain cancer has saddened so many, and this final concert was, of course, bittersweet. There were many outdoor gatherings set up to view the broadcast on a big screen, and I’m so glad that CBC found this wonderful way to ensure that all those who could not attend one of the final concerts in person were able to see the very last live concert so well filmed. By the way, kudos to CBC for their spectacular Summer Olympics coverage as well; it might have been the best sports coverage I have ever seen. One of the main reasons I am so supportive of the local music community, and of Hunters Bay Radio, is that I feel music brings the community together. I know I am idealistic to believe this, but I feel music transcends gender, class, race, politics, and all the other things that divide us. As yellow journalism continues to poison our perception of the human community, I think a lot of Canadians are proud to have a band like The Hip who are at once so uniquely Canadian, but also such a cool, fantastic band on the world stage. As I become more and more aware of my mortality, I continue to write songs in the hopes that when I am gone, one or two of those pieces of me will live on. It is sad that Gord Downie is so ill and will probably pass on before he turns 60. Of late it seems as if many of the best and brightest are being taken before their time. My friend James Carroll comes to mind. Nevertheless, when Downie leaves this earth, as we all will some day, he will have left behind a rich legacy of his poetic lyrics, and he will be appreciated and enjoyed by millions, long after he takes his last breath. How many of us can say this?

Speaking of The Tragically Hip … one final note in the “small world” department. One of the bands that played last Saturday night was a band from Gravenhurst that we love called Bet Smith and the Currie Brothers. I bought my ’62 Kay Red Devil guitar from Andrew Currie who, along with his brother Rob owns the wonderful Currie's Music Store in Gravenhurst. The last track on Man Machine Poem, which is the thirteenth and last album The Tragically Hip will ever record with Gord Downie, features a drum track created by Andrew and Rob Currie, and recorded at the music studio in their store. The song was built around that drum track and, in Gord Downie’s own hand writing, Rob Currie is listed in the credits of that final album. I think that is very cool.

 

  - Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2016 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 8/15/16

Last week, our wireless hub crapped out and we were without internet service. After spending approximately three hours on the phone with various Bell technical assistants, we finally (we think) narrowed it down to this piece of wireless equipment. As one of my local friends sarcastically pointed out, these are “white boy problems” and last Thursday I picked up a new wireless hub while I was in Huntsville. Problem solved, hopefully. Last week, I made reference to my ever-increasing alienation from the world of new technology. While I have become reliant on the internet to communicate with my friends and musical colleagues, I seem to spend an inordinate amount of my time trying to figure out computer glitches and wrestling with new software and applications. Now, our wireless printer does not work because it will not communicate with the new router, so one technical problem is fixed, causing another problem.

 

The other day, one of the morning DJs at Hunters Bay Radio played a controversial hip hop song that prompted a complaint from one of our listeners. The song was a request, and it is in fact a mainstream song by a mainstream artist. Nevertheless, the language is offensive, and there is talk of drugs and sex. Some would argue that the song also deals with the sublimation of women, and this is a legitimate gripe. To the offended listener’s defense, the song was aired on a prime time morning show, there was no warning about the explicit language in the song, and it probably should not have been aired in the time slot it was. Call it an error in judgment; the DJ apologized, and it probably won’t happen again. That said, I’m one of those that is inclined to err on the side of free speech. Art is a reflection of our culture, and I like to think that that reflection is all encompassing. Don’t shoot the messenger.

 

I’m not a fan of rap music, although I do like some of the hip hop I’ve heard. I may be a racist – I probably am - I have few black friends and I don’t know much about African American culture. I fear what I don’t understand. Even though I grew up in downtown Buffalo, which has a large African American population, I am just as ignorant of that culture as the next white man. One need look no further than the news to see that racism is a huge problem in our society. The recent findings in Baltimore about systemic racism in the Baltimore police department is just one of a thousand examples of how far we have NOT come. I talk a lot about love and acceptance in this report, and I should take my own self-righteous advice. I actually liked this song in question, and I see why it is popular. The rhythm is inescapable and the lyrics deal with a culture about which I know very little. It is offensive to some, maybe many, but I suppose not to the large audience for whom the song was written. When I write a song, I write about what I know. For a rich white boy, this is light years away from the life about which Snoop Dogg knows. Hunters Bay Radio is a community radio station, and one of its many directives is to play a wide variety of music. It’s not all going to be easy listening. DJs air all sorts of music that is not for everyone. I’ve played a more than a few offensive songs on my show ( Jon Brooks’ Song entitled “The Only Good Thing Is An Old Dog” comes to mind, written from the point of view of a serial killer). Fortunately my show airs at a more acceptable time slot. Language changes over the year, morals and the concept of decency have changed as well. The argument that children are listening is a legitimate one, and maybe the timing was bad, and of course, we need to be mindful of what crosses the line. My line might be different from yours, but these days I don’t know how you keep your kids away from offensive material; it’s everywhere we look. Try as you might, you will likely never keep your kids away from the internet or its influences. Anyone with a cell phone has access to a surprising amount of bad things. I’m not a parent and sympathize with those trying to make sense of our increasingly messed up society to their kids. I will say that censorship never worked for me and only served to make the offending “art” more intriguing.  

 

I hope Hunters Bay Radio does not lose listeners because of one or two offensive songs. The station plays some of the most interesting music I have heard in a long time, on any radio station. Personally, I would rather err on the side of diversity than to completely sanitize our programming.    

 

  - Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2016 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED    

The Oppenheimer Report 8/8/16

The other night, we were watching TV and we saw the most bizarre ad I have seen since the “Flobee” vacuum haircutter. Say you’re out at your favorite fast food restaurant, and you’re just about to finish gorging yourself on that three decker Gazunga Burger. As you hoover that last, giant mouthful of antibiotic-riddled beef, covered in mayonnaise and Wonderbread, in your feeding frenzy, suddenly, you aspirate a giant piece of grizzle and begin to choke. The only other guy in the restaurant is the clueless twenty-something at the counter, busy texting his girlfriend about his latest Pokeman adventure, and he doesn’t even notice your loud gagging noises. Thank goodness you brought your DeChoker! Forget the Heimlich Maneuver, there is now a personal accessory one can carry around for those lonely choking episodes, and it’s small enough to fit in a medium-sized suitcase. Some marketing genius has figured out that, along with the epidemic of gluttony and morbid obesity in our society, there is an opportunity to capitalize on the increasing number of choking episodes. This DeChoker looks a little like those penis enlargement devices that mysteriously pop up (no pun intended) in my email from time to time. Perhaps sales were down on the enlargers, and with a few minor tweaks, voila … penis enlarger = dechoker.

The Rio Olympics began last week and, as always, there were glitches. There were reports of people not being able to attend scheduled events, because they were tied up in long lines and security, and of course there were the ongoing fears about the zika virus, dirty water, and crime. I suspect that this Olympics will be like most of the rest; wildly over-budget and peppered with scandal. Frankly I don’t know why the world doesn’t just agree to hold it in one place every year (say the Antarctic), and save the gazillions spent on infrastructure. Last night, we watched the Canadian beach volleyball team lose to Latvia in a nail-biter, and we also caught (Canadian) sixteen year-old Penny Oleksiak swim to silver in the 100 metre butterfly competition (her 2^nd medal in 24 hours). We’ve watched some of the women’s rugby competition, a few of the diving competitions, and also some of the gymnastics. As always, I become an armchair judge during the Olympics, and it’s always entertaining to see if the real judges agree with me.   

Has anyone else seen the Cadbury chocolate commercial that has been running with the coverage of the Rio Olympics – the one with the animated, Smurf-like space creatures? Who decided that this was the way to sell chocolate? They remind me of that creepy, animated, gyrating internet baby from the 90s, remember that thing? I don’t know exactly when this happened, but I suddenly find myself residing in the land of fuddy duddies. Pop culture has taken an end run around me and I feel completely lost and in the dark. In the blink of an eye I fell into the adult diaper demographic and, as the world revolves around me searching for Pokeman targets to destroy, I stare at my uncooperative computer trying to figure out why I can’t open  music files. Seriously, I feel like a fool, and I spend an inordinate amount of my time trying to figure out the latest new technological “advances”.

Last weekend, Hunters Bay Radio held their second annual Radio-thon fundraiser. Shauna and I were in attendance both days, and there were a lot of local musicians performing live on air. Although we only held the Radio-thon for two days this year – last year it was on for three days – we raised more money in those two days than we did the previous year in the same amount of time. Hunters Bay Radio is a not-for-profit enterprise, and we rely heavily on public funding and private donations from our listeners. Nobody likes fundraisers, least of all me. I remember how I used to loathe the people begging for bucks at Buffalo’s PBS television station. I imagine some of our listeners feel the same way about these Radio-thons.  Nevertheless, the bills don’t pay themselves, and funds raised go towards improving and maintaining our aging equipment. Right now we need an emergency backup generator to keep the station up and running during power outages. My thanks to all the volunteers and employees at HBR for their selfless efforts to keep this station running. I think Hunter’s Bay Radio is a very cool little radio station, and I’m glad we’re a part of it. Our ambition – and Shauna is the one who helps the most in this department – is to get the word out that this is an artist-friendly radio station, reminiscent of a time when music and talk radio were held in higher regard. We all need goals! 

- Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2016 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED    

The Oppenheimer Report 8/1/16

Cardboard Boat Races at the Kearney Regatta

Happy long weekend to all my Canadian friends! As always, summer is flying by, and I can’t believe we’re in to August already. In a little over month, the summer cottagers will begin to clear out, and come September, we will have the lake practically to ourselves. Contrary to my inclination towards reclusiveness, I find myself spending a lot of time in Huntsville this summer. That is not where I want to be on a hot sunny day. 

Last weekend, we entertained my best friend from Buffalo and his wife, who battled the notorious cottage traffic on Hwy 11, on one of the busiest weekends of the summer, in order to spend a couple of days with us. What a pleasure it was to have them here, and to spend a day on the boat with one of my oldest boating companions. On any given weekend, during the summers of our ill-spent youth, Bob and I could usually be found on the choppy waters of Lake Erie, he in a 16’ Starcraft, and I in my 13’ Boston Whaler, searching for the ultimate cabin cruiser or lake freighter wake to jump. He’s now doing his jumping in a vintage, twin screw 27’ Magnum, and I own a very seaworthy 20’ fishing boat, but neither of us does much serious jumping anymore. It took me an embarrassingly long time to figure out that, surprisingly, I am not immortal. Shortly after I moved up to Toronto from Buffalo, I kept my boat at a marina near the Toronto Harbor, and one brisk fall day, I took it out for a ride by myself. Then in my late thirties I still did not have the good sense to wear a life preserver, but at least I had the kill switch attached to me as I headed out into the fall swells of Lake Ontario. I spotted a large ship leaving the harbor and decided to jump its wake. Call it an ill-timed attack of nostalgia, I don’t know what possessed me to be so stupid, but for just one moment I threw caution to the wind and headed across this enormous ship wake. Once I had committed to the jump it was too late to stop, but I knew in the last split second before I hit the wake that it was a mistake. The boat and motor left the water, I went airborne, and it was definitely the highest jump I have ever achieved in that boat. I ended up on the floor of my stalled boat – thank goodness for kill switches - looking up at the stern of the departing ship long enough to see several of the crew members laughing and pointing at my idiocy. Short of my bruised ego I came out of it without a scratch. It took me thirty-eight years to retire from wave jumping, but that little adventure sealed the deal.

While I do not often perform my songs in public, this is a busy several weeks for me. I played a set of my songs at the Kearney Regatta this past weekend, and just before they headed back down to Buffalo, our guests Bob and Laura were in attendance. I’m not sure they had ever seen me perform in public before, and I was flattered that they chose to join me. In the “small world” department, I have to mention a little story about that performance. My songwriter friend Doug McLean was in charge of sound and stage for that Kearney venue, and he performed just before me. Accompanying him was a fellow musician named Mike, and while I was getting ready to go on, Mike commented on the 1962 K “Red Devil” I was going to play, and he said “Gee that guitar looks familiar.” One doesn’t see those guitars all that often, so I was intrigued. It turns out that Mike was the former owner of the guitar, and recognized it from some of the custom work he had done to it, including the replacement of the tuning keys. What are the chances that I would meet, much less perform for, the guy who had formerly owned my 44 year old electric guitar?! Mike had sold the guitar in Collingwood many years ago, and when I asked the music store owner from whom I’d purchased the guitar, he confirmed that he had picked it up from the Collingwood area. Next weekend for the Hunters Bay Radiothon fundraiser I am to play several songs live on air and then the following weekend I will play on the smaller of two stages at the Burk’s Falls Country Jamboree, along with a long list of other local artists. I’m using that K more and more these days, as I become more comfortable with its heft and long neck.    

Yes, I watched the conventions in the States with some interest. My intuition is that now that the dust has settled, and no matter how much Hillary is deemed to be the untrustworthy representative of the status quo, she will be the candidate of choice for the majority of American voters. If anything good can be gleaned from all of this, it is that the American political system needs reform. The remarkable success of both Trump and Sanders is I think a not-so-subtle reminder that the American voting public is angry about the way things are. While it may be that we end up choosing the lesser of two evils, the optimist in me is hoping that this “uprising” will finally lead to some real progress on campaign reform. Despite all the rhetoric about the rigged system, we still have the option to vote for the candidate who is not the demagogue. Regardless of the glaring flaws in our system, I think democracy and freedom are still ours to lose, and I hope, perhaps naively, that we the electorate will eventually find that leader we need to move ahead. While I don’t think Bernie was that guy, his popularity and message were to me encouraging for positive change. In the meantime, and while it is a long time until November, I think we’ll end up settling for Hillary. I predict Trump will self-destruct when he enters the debate phase, and his latest faux pas regarding that gold star mother simply illustrates his arrogance, pettiness, and disregard for diplomacy. The best line in the Democratic Convention: “Don’t boo, VOTE!”     

 

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2016 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED    

The Oppenheimer Report 7/25/16

As I discussed in an earlier report, I tend to buy my vehicles new and keep them for a long time. We put about 200,000 Km on our 1997 Jeep Grand Cherokee, and then turned it in on a 2006 Acura MDX. Last week, we traded in the Acura for a 2016 Honda Pilot. These are similar cars, and they both feature the very reliable Honda 3.5 litre V6 motor, but the MDX was a “high performance” vehicle. This meant it required high test gas, something I won't miss. The Acura was a great car, especially in the heavy snow, but its time had come. Over the years, I have developed a sixth sense about when my cars are about to become very expensive to operate, and the MDX was approaching that stage. It was a relatively trouble free car for the ten years I owned it, but when the air-conditioning failed, that was a red flag. The car needed brakes, there were developing suspension problems, and the alternator, starter motor, radiator, etc. were likely to fail soon. I had briefly entertained the idea of repairing everything that was wrong or about to go wrong with the car, but then came to my senses. Some people advised me to sell the car on my own, because dealers never give us market value for our trade-ins. Years ago we did that with my mother-in-law’s car, an old Cadillac Seville that we mistakenly assumed was a valuable classic. We did ultimately sell the vehicle, but for only a fraction of what we thought it would fetch. Most of the potential buyers turned out to be flakes, or liars, or both. As well, the car had been sitting unused for a long time, and that is not good for any car. I vowed that I would never go through that experience again, if I could avoid it. The bozo who finally bought the car, for next to nothing, had the audacity to call my elderly mother-in-law up months later to say he felt he’d been ripped off, because the car needed a lot of work. We made no misrepresentations.Caveat emptor. I am reminded of a recent high profile news story about that guy in Hamilton, Ontario who was selling his pickup truck. He took two potential buyers out for a test drive and they murdered him in cold blood. The world is becoming a more dangerous place (just ask Donald Trump) and I don’t need to stack the deck by selling vehicles to strangers.

 

Sixteen years ago today, I penned a song entitled “Jordan” about an experience Shauna and I had, the day her 48 year-old brother Jordan passed away. At the time, Jordan was living in Toronto with his parents while he underwent treatment for a brain tumor. We were rushing back from Banff because we’d received a phone call that he'd taken a turn for the worse, and we wanted to get home to say goodbye. We did our best to make it home in time, and as we approached the outskirts of Winnipeg, in the early morning hours, there was a terrific storm. I’d never seen so much lightning. The sky was lit up almost constantly with strange, horizontal lightning bolts cracking the heavily clouded sky. Shauna was filming the spectacle on a Sony Handycam videotape recorder - the kind with a flip out screen for viewing - and during one flash of lightning she looked at me, as pale as a ghost, and told me she had seen Jordan clearly on the screen of the video camera. He seemed to be dancing in the clouds. Of course there was no evidence of this on the recording, but I know my wife, and I believe she saw what she saw. When we arrived at our hotel in Winnipeg, the clock in our room was flashing 5:16AM. A smoke alarm went off in the room, which was strangely coincidental, and we had the eerie feeling that these were all signs that he was gone. Sure enough, we learned several hours later that Jordan had passed away in the early morning, and although no one was in the room with him at the moment he passed, we could narrow the time down to between 5:15 and 5:30AM. When we finally got back to our apartment in Toronto, all the clocks in the apartment were blinking 5:16AM. How strange is that?

Next Sunday, weather permitting, I will play a set of my songs at the nearby Kearney Regatta. I have some new songs I want to try out on an audience, but as well I will be playing some of my older songs. My songs are like journal entries, and they reflect my state of mind at time they were written. I think I might play “Jordan”. I don’t think I have ever played that song to a live audience.

“… In Regina we bought those tee shirts, and it gave us both a laugh/ As we travel these roads you’re everywhere, your humor will ever last/ Some people say they saw you, you were dancing in the clouds/ Who knows where the illusion ends when the spirit cries out loud …”

 

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2016 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED    

The Oppenheimer Report 7/18/16

While the angst-ridden worry wort in me wants to talk about the latest terrorist atrocity in Nice, France, which followed the terrorist attacks in Atlanta, Orlando, Belgium, Iraq, Afghanistan, etc., I believe the twenty-four seven news outlets have fairly well exhausted those stories. I wonder sometimes if the news was any less atrocious fifty years ago, when we did not have all this “information” at our fingertips. No wonder I bury my head in the sand with a good book, or really bad reality television.

The other day, I found myself in Huntsville on a Wednesday evening, because Shauna’s beloved Blackberry Bold cell phone had finally given up the ghost. I don’t know what it is about Blackberrys, but some people become very attached to them. Personally, I don’t get it. We were scrambling to upgrade her to a similar phone, which was soon to be discontinued, and doing so proved to be a challenge. Her cell phone plan had to be changed,  data transfer was complicated by upgraded software conflicts, and it was, in short, a silly day of you-can’t get there from here tech issues. After five or six hours of nonsense, and at least one employee at Bell who did not do his job (preceeded by three hours Shauna had spent on the phone with Bell), at 9PM, I left the store in Huntsville, new phone in hand. I was fit to be tied. I’m rarely in Huntsville on Wednesday nights, but  when I am, I like to go to Sean Cotton’s open mic at one of the waterfront bars. I arrived at the Pub on the Docks, hungry and stressed, and Sean immediately waved me over to his table. He was sitting with some mutual songwriter friends, and we began to jaw about music. What had begun as an aggravating day turned into an enjoyable night. I even got up and played a few of my originals with Sean’s expert accompaniment. While I don’t particularly like hanging out in bars anymore, the music is my inebriation.   

 

While at this open mic, I bumped into my friend Jacob Kriger, a young man who recently joined the Hunters Bay Radio staff. Jacob has taken on many of the responsibilities previously handled by the late James Carroll, and he’s been doing a great job so far. Recently, I discovered that Jake is an aspiring songwriter, and a few weeks ago, I made a rough recording of several of his original songs. We began to talk about the difficulties in becoming a recognized songwriter, which eventually led to a discussion about compromise. Do we sell out when we play cover tunes, or when we draw from earlier influences to try to please the audience? Jacob worries about finding that balance between what is original, or what is simply derivative. I think this is a common concern among artists. I am almost forty years Jacob’s senior, but I wrestled with the same questions when I was in my twenties. My contention is that a true artist brings his or her own unique take to any and all the music that came before him or her. I know my songs are derivative of everything I have heard and all the music I appreciate. There is nothing new under the sun, no matter how much we may think we have re-invented the wheel. It has all been said, but we can add something to the discussion.

Have you heard about the new Pokeman Go application people are loading onto their cell phones? It involves some kind of interactive game wherein the player uses the GPS on his or her phone to “capture” various targets based on their location, and in so doing scores points. The problem is, this is becoming yet another way people become distracted by their phones when they should be paying attention to something else. Already there have been reports of car accidents, robberies, and the clincher … two men in California who walked off a cliff and presumably fell to their deaths, because they were so distracted by the game. No doubt those two geniuses will be new candidates for the Darwin Awards. I believe the new Sodom has less to do with moral weakness and more to do with stupidity. I am as guilty as the next bonehead of becoming distracted by my phone, but don’t you think maybe things are getting out of control!? Our brains are being re-programmed. Perhaps this is why Trump is a front runner for President of the United States. Just sayin’.

 

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2016 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED    

The Oppenheimer Report 7/11/16

The other night on my Lyrical Workers radio show, I played a song I’d first heard on the Dr. Demento show over 25 years ago. By a British group called The Piggies it is entitled  My Baby’s Got Rabies … “Not gonorrhea, syphilis or scabies / My Baby’s got rabies, she’s absolutely mad about me.” I love comedic songwriting, and I’ve even thrown my own hat into the ring from time to time. Tunes like How Come It Hurts When I Pee and, my all-time favorite, Swamp Queen, come to mind. I am seriously outranked when it comes to funny songwriting, and here are some of my favorites, in no particular order: Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah by Allan Sherman, The Lumberjack Song by Monty Python, Talk To My Lawyer by Chuck Brodsky, Don’t Eat The Yellow Snow by Frank Zappa, and Dance Ten Looks Three from the musical A Chorus Line,  to name but a few. I have a pretty good collection of novelty songs I can pull out when I need to wake my audience out of their approaching slumber.

The much-needed rain showed up late Friday, and it poured cats and dogs. Somewhere in the late afternoon we could hear a thunderstorm slowly rolling in, and it began to blow hard while I was down at the dock. When the lightning started I ran for cover, and within a few minutes there were branches flying through the air. We lost power for 24 hours and the storm washed out part of our driveway. Radar has been unpredictable with these storms, many of them pop-up thunderstorms which seem to appear from nowhere. Of late, it’s been feast or famine with the rain. One minute I’m pouring buckets of water on my new trees to keep them from dying in drought-like conditions, and the next, I’m figuring out who to call to fill and re-grade our washed out driveway.

Saturday morning, I volunteered (in a small way) to participate in the Huntsville Bathtub Derby. I’d never been to a bathtub race before. Towing my landscape trailer behind my car, I “paraded” the Hunters Bay Radio tub down the main street in Huntsville in a rather silly parade of tub floats. These tub races have been held on and off since around 1995, and they are a big draw. Various sponsors advertise a floating tub, and the pilots, navigating their outboard-powered tubs, compete in various elimination heats, battling for first prize. "Compete" might be the wrong word. Struggle precariously to stay afloat while ramming into each other might be a better way of putting it. An encouraging number sink. I think that’s why the event is so popular. Anyhow, we did the bare minimum to dress my trailer up like a float, tying a few helium-filled balloons to the trailer, and slapping on a few magnetic Hunters Bay Radio signs to the sides of my car. We then we transported the Hunters Bay Radio entry to its appointed race site, parading down Huntsville’s Main Street in the teeming rain. Despite the deluge, which lasted through almost the entire parade, over one thousand came out to watch the races. As I suggested, I think the draw was the potential for disaster. 

I recently read a book entitled Gumptionade, and written by my high school classmate Bob O’Connor. I am skeptical of self-help books, but thought I’d give my classmate a little support. I enjoyed the book, which was both humorous and instructive. Gumption, I learned, is about doing what needs to be done, when it needs to be done, and Bob uses examples of his own personal struggles to illustrate his points. A lot of it is common sense, but he gives the reader a road map for getting “unstuck”. He discusses the distinction between success and excellence, and suggests that success is often the product of timing, serendipity, and luck, while the pursuit of excellence is a more difficult but rewarding goal.One of my favorite lines in the book is "Be less wrong." I laughed a bit to myself, because a few weeks ago, I bought a new gas grill, unassembled. The box had been sitting on my porch for three weeks, but the task of getting rid of the old grill and assembling the new one just seemed daunting to me. Yesterday, I mustered some gumption and began the process. With the help of my neighbors I’ve moved the old grill, and will soon take it to the dump in the trailer, which is conveniently still attached to my car. It feels good to get this out of the way. Do I get a gold star?

 

Final note: my best friend’s black lab Sadie passed on last weekend, and she will be sorely missed. Sadie was a legend to all who knew her. To Bob and Laura, if you’re reading this, you were the best mom and dad a dog could hope to have.  

-Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2016 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 7/4/16

Banff 2005

As I begin to write this report on Canada Day, I am listening to the radio and Hunters Bay Radio is airing all thirteen Tragically Hip albums.  Regrettably, it is raining which is not great for outdoor events, but we need the rain up here. There has been a fire ban for weeks, and there was some question about whether or not the fireworks displays would be permitted.  

Last Monday’s dedication to James Carroll turned out to be a very positive and uplifting gathering. About forty or fifty of James’ friends gathered at the Hunters Bay Radio studio for the unveiling of the stone bench. Local stone mason Rudi Stade offered his services for free, Jim Allen and Donna Mathias from Huntsville Treasures and Trophies provided the engraved plaque, and Shauna and I paid for the materials. We also planted a sugar maple tree outside James’ office window on the east side of the building, and during the dedication, whoever was so inclined scattered some of his cremains around the roots of the tree. Many people who attended the dedication stood up in front of the group and shared a “Jimmy” anecdote. Earlier in the day there were signs that James was screwing with us. There were a few mysterious technical glitches at the radio station that day, and Shauna could not get the printer to print off a copy of the poem she’s written for the dedication. The weirdest thing involved Shauna’s car. Because we had Shauna’s 91 year-old mom with us, we decided to drive into town in Shauna’s car. The air conditioning does not work in my car. We got about five miles from home and her car started to lose power. At one point it began to free rev and would not move at all, and I was sure this was some kind of catastrophic transmission failure. Horrible timing! I was eventually able to get the car moving, very slowly, and with the flashers on, somehow, we managed to limp into Huntsville in time for the ceremony. It seems a little strange that the car would fail at that particular moment, when we were pressed to make it to James’ event. He was adamant about not wanting a funeral service, and while this was not really a service, perhaps he was messing with us. Of all the times for Shauna’s car to fail so completely, it seems strangely coincidental that it would happen when we were going to James’ bench dedication.

Activist, writer and human rights advocate Elie Wiesel died last weekend at the age of 87. A Holocaust survivor and champion of human dignity, the Nobel peace laureate wrote extensively about his survival at both Auschwitz and the Buchenwald concentration camps. He witnessed unspeakable atrocities, he watched his father starve to death, and he lost everyone in his family but his two sisters. Wiesel represented a voice for the six million Jews whom some still deny were exterminated by the Nazis, and he was a spokesman for justice regardless of race or creed. To me what is most remarkable about this man, is that his message is one of atonement, and forgiveness, not bitterness and hatred. We could all learn a lesson from this man.Yad Vashem, the Israeli Holocaust memorial, is a reminder that we should never forget, but history continues to repeat itself. Cambodia and Rowanda are more recent reminders that evil is alive and well in the world, and while we concern ourselves with a relatively small group of crazy Islamic fundamentalist, there are much, much bigger evils in the world that seem to have been buried in the history books. I’d like to believe that in this age of information such atrocities are harder to forget, much less commit, but look who is running for President of the United States! Guys like Trump feed on the two worst characteristics of human beings: fear and ignorance. 

I watched a story on the news last week about Methylene blue, a relatively inexpensive drug that has been around for almost a century, and is widely used to treat blood disorders. Turns out that new research suggests it might improve brain function in stroke victims and Alzheimer’s sufferers. Give me more stories like this and less stories about why I should hate Muslims.

Speaking of the land of the free, and the melting pot of the world, Happy Fourth of July to all my friends stateside. I have fond memories of dangerous boating adventures to watch the fireworks display in Buffalo. Miss Liberty may be a little worse for wear, but she’s still standing. Here’s to freedom, and may we never lose it!          

 -Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2016 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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