The Oppenheimer Reort 10/29/18

A pre-emptive Happy Halloween to all my readers! I’ve always liked Halloween, because it inspires creativity. Are you donning, or have you donned a costume this year? I love the transformation of the self that takes place during Halloween costume parties. Normally mild-mannered, reticent people become their costumed persona. Add a little alcohol to the equation, and the results can be hilarious. The sum and total of my Halloween involvement this year was to buy a tube of fake blood from Dollarama for my annual disturbing Halloween selfie, and to resurrect last year’s Halloween decoration outside our house. Seated on one of the Muskoka chairs outside our front door is a scarecrow-like body, stuffed with leaves and bearing an orange plastic jack-o-lantern head, also courtesy of Dollarama. I know I have dissed the amateurs who do their last minute Halloween shopping at the dollar store, but there’s nothing wrong with doing something creative with props purchased at the dollar store.

Lots of people decorate their houses for Christmas; some put up enough lights to create blackouts in their neighborhood, but a lot of people decorate their houses for Halloween as well. Steve Spencer, a volunteer at Hunters Bay Radio who hosts the radio show Spirit Of Radio, and who is responsible for creating our new and improved website, gets serious about his “Holiday Haunt”. I completely get this. Today I Googled “Best Decorated Halloween Houses” and saw some great examples. Just across the street from the Hunter’s Bay Radio station, there is a wonderful Halloween display, complete with moving blowup ghosts. 

All of the nut balls seem to be coming out of the woodwork. Last week, there were two disturbing attacks in America by people who seem to have been incited by the Orange Emperor. Nut ball #1 is Florida resident and lone wolf Cesar Sayoc, who mailed out 14 pipe bombs to people or organizations (including CNN studios in NYC) he considered to be enemies of his beloved Rump. Posted on his van was a collage of anti-media/pro-Trump images, along with Rump targets bearing crosshair graphics covering their faces.  While no one was injured by his stupid hate-filled act of violence, his actions could have killed or maimed a lot of unintended victims. Law enforcement had Sayoc in custody within 24 hours, a remarkable accomplishment, but I fear that Rump’s venomous rhetoric has opened a Pandora’s Box of hatred. Last week, 11 victims were murdered at a synagogue in Pittsburgh, when an anti-Semitic gunman opened fire during Saturday services.  

I don’t hate Donald Trump, but I certainly hate the evil he has unleashed through his ignorance and irresponsability. Maybe these attacks would have happened under the leadership of a decent human being, there are after all a lot of mentally ill people out there, but Rump’s rabble-rousing campaign rallies, designed to energize his increasingly unbalanced base, have clearly thrown gas on the fire. This is the opposite of leadership; this S.O.B. makes Joe McCarthy look like a choir boy.  I realize that the political status quo has sparked this outrage, and that there is plenty of blame to go around with regard to Washington's failure to solve the big problems of our country. But, Americans elected a liar, a bully, and a fraud, who routinely spreads hatred through his insanely irresponsible rhetoric, and it should be fairly clear by now that he will not solve our problems. If there is any good that will come out of this mess, it is that Rump has exposed how broken we really are. This one man has singlehandedly unraveled the myth that so many of us still buy into: that America is a beautiful tapestry of different races and creeds, united under one flag. 

One final question ... who’s dressing up as Pandora’s Box for Halloween this year?

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2018 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 10/22/18

Last week, weed was legalized across Canada, and for many Canadians this is a monumental change.  I've never lived any place before where it is legal to possess and smoke pot in a public place. According to the news, The Federal Government legalized pot in order to eliminate the black market and to make it harder for minors to procure. I’m not exactly sure how that will work, because it has never been particularly hard for minors to find weed. I very much doubt that the black market will disappear simply because the government has decided to tax and legally dispense marijuana. Minors will find ways to buy weed the same way I found a way to drink beer when I was under-aged. In Quebec, the newly elected, and some would argue “Rump-like” Premier, Francois Legault, is planning to make 21 the legal age for smoking pot and I think that will virtually ensure that younger pot smokers turn to the black market. As well, there seems to be a greater demand than the government anticipated. In Ontario, where there will be no actual pot stores for about six months, the only way to buy legal weed is online. With the looming postal strike, how do you think that is going to work?  On top of this, there are widespread reports that demand is far outweighing supply, with many legal sources out of stock for many items. 

Certainly, a major concern with the legalization of marijuana, and one of the things which is on the minds of many responsible citizens, is the issue of impaired driving. At present I don't think there is an enforcable test for whether a person is legally impaired by the effects of THC, but I’m sure that test will soon be available to police. There is growing concerned that more drivers will be driving stoned now that pot has been legalized. I think there were a lot of people driving stoned before it was legalized. Is this as big a concern as the issue of people driving under the influence of alcohol, I don’t know. There is evidence that driving stoned decreases reaction times. Impaired driving is impaired driving. Also of concern is the effect of smoking weed on the developing mind. No problem here, mine never did develop.

My main beef with the legalization of marijuana is that, at least in Ontario, I can't find any CBD products.  I'm particularly interested in the non-intoxicating CBD, because there is evidence it may be a healthier choice for pain relief. As well, CBD may also improve sleep quality and reduce anxiety, so it is particularly maddening that the most medicinal component to legal marijuana is still not legally available. What is up with that? I find it ironic that, in a country with socialized health care, there is currently no legal way to buy CBD or edible marijuana products. Let's sell the intoxicant but not the medicinal weed. And oh yes, if you use our product, you have to smoke it. 

Generally, I think it makes common sense to decriminalize pot. It would be wonderful if the government could somehow manage the proper and responsible use of this drug by legalizing it, but I don’t see this happening anytime soon. Regarding health concerns, the people who have always smoked weed will continue to do so, and they will likely find a way around the government rules if the government does not do a better job of offering it. In my opinion, they have not done so yet.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2018 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 10/15/18

Today, winter is definitely in the air, and this first cold, damp day of fall always knocks the wind out of my sails. Looking at the angry lake, and my boat bobbing up and down at the dock, I realize that the time has come for me to put it away for the season. Every year I experience the same denial. Seems like just yesterday I was dropping the retractable dock for the summer season. In fact, I didn’t get out on the boat all that much this season. There was an ongoing electrical problem with the motor which caused it to keep running after it was turned off, sometimes for fifteen or twenty minutes. This was a new motor, allegedly under warranty, but my marina could not figure out the problem. We swapped out three key switches and still the problem kept resurfacing. To complicate matters, my marina gave up their Evinrude dealership during the time when I had the ongoing problem. I eventually ended up having it repaired in Huntsville, but the season here is too short for motor problems. I’m still fighting with BRP to acknowledge that this problem was never fixed during the warranty period, even though the issue was well documented. The boat went in the water in July, and now, quite suddenly, it’s October. In the twenty-five years I’d owned the previous motor (a Yamaha), I never had one issue. Guess they don’t make ‘em the way they used to.

There was a local news story today which caused some controversy on the Hunters Bay Radio Facebook page. A car drove over a fifty-foot cliff at an elevated lookout overlooking Huntsville, and HBR posted a photo of the wrecked vehicle. Shortly thereafter, a comment was posted under the photo, suggesting that the photo was in poor taste and that it was not appropriate coverage for a community radio station. Everyone is entitled to his or her opinion. Still, the comment sparked a lot of debate about what is appropriate news to cover, and I found myself a little perplexed. I know it’s sensationalistic, and perhaps it's even grisly, but come on! In a small town, when someone drives a car with passengers over a fifty foot cliff, after pushing a boulder out of the way with the car to do so, dangling off the cliff for a period of time before plunging fifty feet to the ground below; well, I think that is newsworthy. And yes, I'd like to see what happened. It doesn't mean I revel in someone else's misfortune, but are we not exposed to horrible news every day?

Saudi royalty ordered a hit on disruptive Saudi journalist Jamal Khashoggi, and got caught by the world doing it. Now they're trying to spin it as an interrogation gone bad but nobody's buying it. The world is indignant, including Canada, but so far no one is tearing up any lucrative military contracts. No sooner did Hurricane Florence hammer the Carolinas, then Hurricane Michael whips up into a Cat 4 hurricane, wipes the Florida Panhandle clean, and we’re off to the races again. Speaking of horrible things I don’t need to see on a screen (but probably will someday); I am certain that, sooner or later, some hurricane-chasing newscaster will get flattened by a piece of flying debris on air and carried off into a roiling sea. I am also certain it will be watched by tens of millions of people. Sadly, that's just how it is, if you are remotely connected to social media or television, or just the world around you, you are going to see things you wish you hadn't. You can turn away if you so chose. But, when I see the controversy over a possibly inappropriate photograph, posted on a community radio Facebook page, I want to tell the dissenter, I think maybe the Good Ship Indignation has sailed. Know what I mean? You're barking up the wrong tree with both oars out of the water, and you didn't look before you leaped.

The Oppenheimer Report 10/8/18

Happy Thanksgiving to all my Canadian friends. As I write this report, I am sitting out on our front porch off our bedroom, overlooking the lake, and a heavy rainfall has just drenched the property. The fall air is damp and cold, and I can smell wood smoke from a neighbor’s fire. That smell rekindles memories of places and people I have known. I am reminded of a fraternity expedition into the woods of Connecticut to cut firewood for the winter. I remember the smell of the damp dead leaves, the muted palette of a hundred earth tones surrounding me; the smells of fall. I remember laughter, and the sound of chainsaws, and my friend’s enormous ’68 Plymouth Belvedere with its big block V8, so full of logs that the back end was practically dragging on the ground. We used to joke about that car being the perfect mob vehicle because there was so much room for bodies in the trunk.

Today is also my 63^rd birthday, and I have much for which to be thankful. I’m still alive, for starters. The other day I posted a photo I took in the Porta-Bote as I putted up the Magnetawan River after picking up the mail. There won’t be too many more of those trips this season, and I felt blessed to have seized the day. It was late afternoon, and as the sun peeked through a canopy of pines, lighting up the multi-colored maple leaves on the opposite bank, I had one of those elusive moments of pure peace. For just one instant, I was mindful of the paradise in which I live, of the natural beauty which has become harder and harder for me to see. If I could only find a way to be more invested in the moment, and nullify all the misunderstanding and divisiveness that I can’t seem to outrun. All the drama, the trauma, the blame, the tragedy, the misogyny, the words that are derogatory, the spin, the sin, the divisiveness, the broken promises, the omnipresent hatred and misunderstanding; the losing battle to control or defeat the very elements which are uncontrollable – it all just drifted away in the snap of a cell phone photo. Sadly, I don’t reside in this peaceful moment often. I have the photo to remind me.

For what am I thankful? Let me see. I am thankful for my family, for the four wonderful parents (one still with us) who guided me through the first six decades of my life, for my remarkable, beautiful wife, who daily reminds me to chose love over hate, for all my good friends who have so far infused my soul with their complicated and beautiful personalities, and who continue to teach me by their examples. I am thankful for human kindness wherever it is found, and for the people who recognize and practice it in their everyday lives. I am thankful for all the trees, presently ablaze with color, some which we, or people we love, planted, and which remind me of the swift passage of time. I am thankful for the color blue in all its hues, for the key of D, for the chickadees who so boldly land on our window ledge in every kind of weather looking for food; for all the other birds I have lately come to admire, including but not limited to: blue jays, grey jays, nuthatches, crows, grosbeaks, owls, and eagles. I am thankful for the chipmunks, squirrels, groundhogs, porcupines, weasels, fox, beaver, moose, deer, bear, raccoons, etc.that live here with us. I am thankful for music in its rich array of styles, and for its capacity to unite unlike minds. I am thankful for my ability to communicate.  

Most of all, I am thankful for the flickering but ever-strengthening realization that I am not on this planet to hurt anyone or anything else. I am thankful for times when I am mindful I do, and for my efforts to correct that behavior. I am thankful that, for the first time in over sixty years, I am beginning to love myself, and am therefore more likely to pass that love along. Finally, I am thankful for the occasional realization that most of what happens around me is out of my control. I can only work to keep lit the flickering flame of love within me and hope that it will illuminate the dream of a peaceful future when I am gone. Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2018 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 10/1/18

I watched the season opener for Saturday Night Live last weekend, and I thought the opening skit was pretty funny; well, as funny as it could be, given the subject matter. For those who didn’t see it, the skit was about the recent appointment hearings for Brett Kavanaugh, and it lampooned the circus, the hypocrisy, and the political divisiveness which has characterized those hearings. More specifically, the skit was about the very recent testimony of Dr. Christine Blasey Ford, who claims that Judge Kavanaugh sexually assaulted her when the two of them were teenagers.

I don’t know who’s wrong or right in this circus of spin, but it is quite clear where the liberal-leaning SNL writers stand on the issue. My uneducated guess on the outcome of this appointment is that, after the week is up, and the FBI has done their restricted investigation of Dr. Ford’s allegations, Kavanaugh will squeak through. Politics aside, the ability to confirm an accusation that happened so many years ago is next to impossible. Sadly, I believe Dr. Ford, and I do not, as some suggest, believe that her motivation in coming forward was political.  That said, her traumatic assault was politicized and, as has been suggested many times on the news, this scandal may have been payback by the Democrats for the scuttled Obama appointment in 2016 of the liberal-leaning Merrick B. Garland. I have several things to say about this latest downward spiral in human decency.

First of all, I find it noteworthy that this appointment became a powder keg moment in the “Me Too” movement. It struck a nerve, and this scandal seems to have unleashed all the rage and indignation that assault victims all over America have been experiencing for a long time. Bill Cosby, poster boy for sexual predators, just went to prison for his crimes. Harvey Weinstein will likely do time as well. Women are angry and Kavanaugh has become this symbol of oppression, a man who might have the power to determine a woman’s right to choose. In my opinion, there is something fundamentally wrong with any man making that decision for a woman. I don’t know what happened almost forty years ago when Dr. Ford and Brett Kavanaugh were in high school. Her testimony was compelling, and I believed her story. Does it fully explain what happened, probably not. What it does do is raise doubts about this man who is being interviewed for a lifetime appointment to the Supreme Court. He could potentially be the deciding vote in the overturning of Roe V. Wade, so stories about his possible mistreatment of a woman, no matter how long ago, are troubling. When Kavanaugh was interviewed after Ford’s testimony, I felt he was less than forthcoming. Apart from his palpable and perhaps justifiable anger, he answered some of the difficult questions in an aggressive and combative manner. A man being interviewed for a seat on the highest court of the United States Judiciary should be level-headed. One thing is clear: two lives have been thrown into the Washington grist mill and spit out like hamburger meat. This whole thing stinks, and this brings me to point #2.

We’re collectively incredulous that a man like Rump was elected President of the United States, but this latest example of the self-destructive political vitriol which has overtaken Washington is exactly why Rump was elected. Arguably half of American voters chose Rump because he’s not one of them. People hate politicians. Politicians lie, they do not, as they are entrusted to, do what is right for America; they pander to their base, cover their butts, and kiss the asses of their big money financial supporters. I am a just-right-of-center conservative, but I do not like Kavanaugh for justice of the Supreme Court. I suspect he is not the villain he is being made out to be, I simply don’t want Roe V. Wade overturned, and I don’t like his stance on executive privilege. Regardless, the process by which he was to be appointed is severely compromised by the political divisiveness of the interviewers. What qualified individual in his or her right mind would subject himself or herself to the kind of character assassination and dirty pool so prevalent in this corrosive political environment? More often than not, I am confused by that which is presented as the truth, and the waters just keep getting murkier. I hope some good can come from all this ugliness, and that the ship of state will right itself. We’ll see.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2018 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED     

The Oppenheimer Report 9/24/18

For almost 27 years now, I’ve been waking up Monday mornings and writing down a page of my thoughts about what was going on in the world. In the early days, I mailed the report out on postcards, and in later years I reached my 12 loyal readers on the internet. Sometimes I’ll jot down some notes from the previous week to remind myself of what I want to say, but usually it’s just off-the-cuff brain farts. I long ago gave up the notion of writing for a larger audience, because 1. I’m too lazy and undisciplined to market myself, and 2. and these “reports” are more of an ongoing effort to improve my communication skills; I do not want to be in the line of fire for my sometimes irresponsible, off-color opinions. In the early years, when this report was called The Hyman Report, I was more mean-spirited and judgmental. I went for the cheap laugh, because it was easy, and because my readers were all friends of mine. They all knew and accepted that I could be edgy.  

Last night, I was watching John Oliver’s very funny show Last Week Tonight with John Oliver. He did a15-minute bit on the dark side of Facebook, and about Facebook's tendency to propagate hateful rhetoric. He jokingly warned Third World countries, just now being introduced to the scourge of social media, about the dangers of believing everything one reads on the internet. While it was a tongue-in-cheek bit, there was a lot of truth to it. In fact, there is in a lot of truth in this comedic news reporting (Daily Show, Colbert Report, etc), and  I think I got a better read on current events from Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert than I ever did from CNN or any other of the other “legitimate” news sources. Sarcasm and irony can be powerful weapons, and are often an effective way to reveal the truth.

My octogenarian friend Ben Harrison, who broadcasts a show weekdays on Hunters Bay Radio called Tech 5, did a story recently about kindness, and about the attendant health benefits of being kind and generous. That old adage “it is better to give than to receive” may actually be true, and as I watch the world take a nosedive in the practice of good will, I am more and more mindful of that homespun wisdom, even if I struggle to put it into practice. I look at all the nonsense going on in the world today, and I find myself wondering how it got this bad. Celebrities and politicians act shamefully, and we shake our collective heads in disgust.  Still, some of us  can’t look away from the train wreck. We judge, and we tell ourselves we are better than that. Haters abound and provide lucrative fodder for the grist mill, while the good guy stories are buried on page 10 of the newspaper. A prime example of this is the CTV 11 O’Clock News, which nightly bombards us with the worst news our world has to offer. Then they offer us a very short but hopeful story at the end of each broadcast. Corruption, hatred, natural disasters come first, and then there is a touching story about a child bravely facing some incurable illness, or two holocaust victims who are re-united.

There is no question in my mind that things are going in the wrong direction, and there seems to be a domino effect with regards to ill will. I don’t think our elected Commander-In-Tweet is our biggest problem. Certainly, he is a symptom, a very big canary in the coal mine. He might be an outrageous, immoral human being – after all the spin and scandal has settled, history will record how bad he actually was – but almost half of America voted for him. Now, this ill-advised and under-qualified leadership is spreading like wildfire throughout the world. I sometimes quote the wisdom of Pogo, the world’s wisest cartoon possum: “We have met the enemy and he is us!”

  

We the voters let this happen, didn’t we? When are we going to look in the mirror and own up to this reality? What good is righteous indignation, and what happened to doing the right thing, regardless of the consequences? Where are our heroes? Buried on page 10. The next time I am inclined to say something derogatory about another human being, I am going to try to check that impulse. I need only read some of my earlier reports to realize how mean and judgmental I have been. While I regret this, I can’t change who I have been. I can learn from it and strive to improve myself. Maybe a little gentle humor is in order, and yes, at times maybe even a little sarcasm. Maybe I need to exercise a little humility, something to chip away at the armor of I’m-right-you’re-wrong. Regardless of my opinion, if I can’t find common ground with my fellow man, then I am ultimately doomed. Contrary to popular belief, I don’t think that half of America is comprised of mouth-breathing cretins, easy as it is to make that generalization. Like any country, America is made up of complicated human beings. Perhaps some of them are uninformed, but most are simply frightened and disgusted with the status quo. It doesn't help to have a predatory media fanning the flames.

Getting back to John Oliver’s cynical rant about Facebook: it was very funny, and partly true. We must be mindful that not all information is factual. For me, Facebook is a recreational drug; it feeds the narcissist and the voyeur in me, but it can also be an amazing tool to connect me to the world around me. This morning I watched a video providing me with a bird’s eye view of an eagle’s flight over a rocky coastline. I’ve watched my nieces and nephews grow up on Facebook. I have been apprised of wonderful music and songwriters with whom I was unfamiliar. In fact, I’ve made contact with some of those people. I have seen horrible things as well. The trick is figuring out what is real and what is nonsense. That can be difficult.

Destructive tornadoes recently tore through Ottawa and Gatineau, Quebec. Hurricane Florence just hammered the Carolinas; a mega typhoon just struck the Far East. Mother Nature is sending us a message I think. As we sift through the wreckage of our mistakes, the message seems to be wake up!  Much of the adversity we face is out of our control. Instead of looking for someone to blame, why not take our lessons from the wise and unsung heroes all around us. We may or may not be able to solve every problem, but it sure beats focusing on the negative and the divisive. There is good in everyone, and while it may be hard to see or extract, I wnat to focus on the best we have to offer, not the worst. It’s my choice to take the high road or the low road. I take joy in the aerial view of an eagle, or a story about some unsung hero, and hopefully I marginalize the oafish, the boorish, the hateful, and the unkind. Those people have always been there, and they always will be. These days they are just a little more up front and center. Be nicer to each other; and laugh at yourself, because I’m laughing at you ... I mean with you.  

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2018 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 9/17/18

Clearly, the world has big problems. There are monster hurricanes and typhoons spinning around the seven seas, Russian operatives are running around poisoning their enemies with toxic nerve agents, Rohingya refugees are being slaughtered by the thousands in Myanmar, wildfires and draughts are decimating the Western states and provinces, and the United States of America seems poised for some kind of civil war thanks to Rump, The Orange Emperor…. but do you want to know what really frosts my donut? Those little stickers they put on fruit won’t come off. We bought a food dehydrator a while ago and have been using it to dry fruits and vegetables, and I spend half of my prep time removing the stickers they glue to the produce. I don’t think it is necessary to superglue  those labels to every single apple I buy.

Last Saturday night, I drove to the Huntsville Legion to see my friend Juan Barbosa open for Grace Solero and Dan Beaulaurier, two artists from London. I really went to support Hunters Bay Radio and Juan, but Solero and Beaulaurier were really good. Solero has a powerful, distinctive rock voice and the two artists together performed a really strong set. Regrettably, the show was under-attended. That seems to be a problem nationwide from what I understand. On the one hand, YouTube and social media allow bands to present their acts, building their audience without having to impress some myopic music industry middle man. On the other hand, at least in Canada, we as a collective audience seem to be less inclined to see live original music. In this community, I’ve attended many half-filled concerts featuring great acts. I’ve read that festival attendance has been suffering as well. I’m not sure why that is, and was discussing it with Jeff Carter, managing director of the radio station during the concert Saturday night. Some acts, like Matt Andersen, fill seats, but then some equally talented artists do not. Is it in the promotion? Perhaps, with the stricter rules about drinking and driving, people aren’t going out to clubs as much as they used to. 

I spoke a few weeks ago about the lonely life of a touring musician. I suppose it’s intoxicating when you’re under the lights and one hundred or more people are digging what you’re playing, but it must be discouraging when you’re singing your heart out to ten people, and seven of them are plastered, while the other three have their noses buried in their cell phones. I can’t speak from personal experience, but over the years I’ve talked to a lot of great performers after a slow night. It might be a paying gig, but the money for original music isn’t great, and a troubadour’s life can be discouraging. Two of my younger colleagues are out on the road right now. Christina Hutt is out in BC, and James Gray is on tour in Switzerland. Christina just finished recording background vocals on the song Watch For Wolves, which I co-wrote with Sean Cotton and my wife Shauna, and then she hopped on the ViaRail train to do a transcontinental gig from Toronto to Vancouver. Now she’s out west for a few weeks and I’m sure she will delight those who have the opportunity to hear her sing. I hope it is a successful trip for her.  James has done several tours abroad as well as one tour of Australia with my friend Gina Horswood.  

As I began writing this report Sunday, I sat out on the front porch watching the remains of the day slowly fade to purple. I am not ready for summer to be over, but over it will be, before the next report comes out.  Do you ever feel like you're not making the best use of your time?  I do, all the time. One of the things I'm going to try to do is attend more live concerts.

Written By Jamie Oppenheimer c 2018 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 9/10/18

Shana Tova to the members of my tribe! 

I had to laugh at a commercial I saw recently, which advertises a new state-of-the-art, voice-activated ADT alarm system. I’ve heard so much about “smart” technology, and the labor-saving benefits of computers. The ADT commercial depicts a father giving a voice command to his alarm system to arm his house: “Alexa, activate the system, turn on the outside lights and lock all the doors.” I looked at Shauna and bleated out REALLY? As I watch the White House slowly melting down into the hallowed ground on which it was built, reeling in the aftermath of Bob Woodward’s scandalous book and the now notorious NY Times op ed piece, I wonder how long before we in the “civilized” world become such lazy sloths that we can no longer be bothered to push an alarm code, turn on a light or lock our doors manually. Alexa, clip my toenails, Alexa, put down the toilet lid; Alexa, cast my vote. Is it just me, or are these advances in technology bordering on ridiculous? In the same way that everyone is shrugging their collective shoulders, perplexed by how we ended up with an asshole like Rump for President, will we now be shrugging cluelessly when our alarm system decides to lock us out of our house? “I’m sorry Mr. Oppenheimer, your voting choices have been unacceptable. Given your propensity to make bad decisions, and as the voice of artificial intelligence and, as the guardian of your house, I have decided to deny you access to your home. In fact, I am giving your identity and personal possessions to a displaced Mexican family.” Stanley Kubrick was way ahead of his time. HAL is alive and well and living in your alarm system.

Today, I watched with some interest as Hurricane Florence, the first big threat of hurricane season, spins her way towards the east coast of the United States. My nephew, who lives in Petersburg, Va. with his family, and works for NOAA, is potentially in the line of fire. He has been providing me with updated emails since last weekend, describing the path of the storm as it develops, and offering potential scenarios for landfall. Of course, we are worried for him and his family, and because his mom (my sister) and dad, and his in-laws live in Virginia as well. Florence has the potential to cause some major damage as a Catagory 3 or 4 hurricane, and one model suggests the possibility of up to 33” of rain. Perhaps Mother Nature will beat Rump to the punch.

Other notes: I learned today that Channel #5 perfume (Shauna's favorite btw) employs amberigis, or whale vomit, as one of it’s ingredients. This I learned on one of my favorite daily Hunters Bay Radio radio broadcasts, Tech Five, featuring my octogenarian friend Ben Harrison. Whale vomit; who knew?! Tennis star Venus Williams lost her temper during the U.S. Open and was heavily penalized for her outburst. This, in turn, sparked indignant cries of sexism by women’s rights advocates, outraged by the double standard practiced by judges and officials. Male tennis stars have historically received much more lenient treatment for unsportsmanlike conduct. I’m glad this hypocrisy is being exposed. On a related note, TIFF is on in Toronto right now, and there has been much discussion at this major film festival about the growing call for more equality for women in the film industry. Wouldn’t it be lovely if people were rewarded, not based on gender or race, but simply because of their merit? I know too many over-qualified fast food employees, and just as many cretins occupying leadership positions. What is wrong with a meritocracy?

Perhaps Hurricane Florence portends the coming revolution. I’m all worn out from thinking so hard. It’s time for some relaxation. Alexa, inflate my party doll.

 Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2018 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 9/3/18

Happy Labour Day to my twelve loyal readers. When I lived in Buffalo, this was the day when neighbors would assemble on the beach near our summer home and pull the boat lifts out of the water. Almost like clockwork, after the first of September the winds would shift to the north, and anyone with a boat moored in Lake Erie had better be prepared for nasty weather. I once sat up half the night and watched my 1957 Chris Craft as it dragged it’s mooring 200 yards across our bay in high winds. Fall on the east end of a Great Lake can be pretty windy. The weather up here in the Almaguin Highlands has been a bit sketchy, and Saturday, it looked as if my Kearney gig with Christina Hutt might not happen. All day I consulted my phone weather app to see when the rain and thunderstorms were expected. It was hard to tell. I finally got a text from Christina saying we were on for 7PM and, with some trepidation, I headed over to Kearney to accompany her. She sang beautifully, my accompaniment was not disastrous, and the fireworks display went off without a hitch at 8:30, a little earlier than planned due to the imminent storm. It was one of those lovely moments when everything just fell together perfectly. The icing on the cake was Nature’s light show shortly after the fireworks, and we got some much-needed rain to boot. Perhaps I will be able to burn our accumulated brush before the end of the season.

I saw an ad for a movie the other day that made me belly laugh. It was for a new scary movie entitled The Nun and, based on the trailer, it looks very silly. These days with all the apologizing by the Catholic Church for past indiscretions, this movie seems to be well-timed. I love silly movies, and the more outrageous and violent they are the better. I do not share this love with my wife, who routinely claims that my movie choices give her bad dreams. Movie critic Joe Bob Briggs used to host a show wherein he rated these movies according to their breast and body count. In other words, the more naked breasts and dead bodies the movie featured, the better the rating. I eagerly await the day when I can watch The Nun on one of my nobody-else-wants-to-watch-it movie channels. Bride Of Chucky is my benchmark for the “so-bad-it’s-good” genre of film merde, and there seems to be no shortage of contenders. Back in my ill-spent youth, I and my friends actively sought out horribly bad movies to view, usually under the influence of copious amounts of alcohol. We would then add our own commentary during the movie, a la Mystery Science Theatre. Some notable mentions: C.H.U.D (Cannibalistic Humanoid Underground Dwellers), Attack Of The Killer Tomatoes, The Blob (the original of course), Plan 9 From Outer Space, most vampire movies, and just about any movie Ed Wood made.

As another summer has almost come to an end, I fondly remember Labour Day celebrations from my youth. Down at our family beach house in Fort Erie, this was the weekend when bonfires and fireworks lit up the beach, and it was the last hurrah before school. Western New York and Fort Erie seem to usher in the cooler fall weather much sooner than we do up here in the near north, but either way, our summer is winding down. While I can’t say I’m looking forward to winter, I do enjoy the quiet and colour of fall. I also look forward to my evening putt around our little lake without seeing another boat. Boating season isn’t over for more than a month. For every yin there is a yang.

   - Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2018 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 8/27/18

Arizona Senator John McCain has died at 81 of brain cancer, and after watching a CNN special about his storied career as a public servant, first as a Navy pilot and then as a politician, I think McCain might have made a decent President. Too bad somebody had the bright idea to make Sarah Palin his running mate when he was running against Obama. Sometimes, I am shocked by decisions made in order to pander to the Republican base. Palin was not McCain’s choice, and she clearly undermined his status as one of the rare politicians with honor. Somehow, the American voter made the quantum leap from a moron who almost became Vice President to an imbecile who did become President. It simply astounds me that Rump had the gall to impugn McCain’s integrity as a war hero, and his flag raising debacle today has me convinced me that the orange emperor has become unhinged. Admittedly, I don’t know who John McCain really was, but compared to our Commander-In-Tweet, he looks pretty good. I take bittersweet pleasure in hearing so many people in the media attacking Rump, and I don’t know how our country got so far down the toilet drain that this clown looked like a viable alternative to the status quo. Sadly, that speaks volumes about the sorry state of American politics. As I said when he was elected, his election was a shot across the bow of democracy and freedom. People hated the Washington insiders enough to vote in this clearly unqualified, boorish, incompetent puppet of big money. Now, even his media darling Fox News is beginning to say “enough is enough.” What a nincompoop. My biggest fear is that there will be an over-reaction in the other direction, and that the pendulum will swing too far to the left in the next election. They’ve got a few morons in their ranks as well.  

Last week, local singer/songwriter Christina Hutt asked me to accompany her during her performance at the Kearney fireworks display next Saturday night. A few weeks ago, we played together at the Kearney Regatta, and although it was a last-minute gig, and I was flying blind during that performance (no rehearsal, no capo or nuthin’), she was happy enough with my accompaniment to ask me to join her again. Last weekend, we actually rehearsed - something new for me - and I think she’s going to put on a great show. While there is no guarantee the show will take place, because weather is always a factor, if it does, there will likely be a large audience.

Coincidentally, Christina and Gina Horswood, another great female vocalist who lives in the area, just completed background vocals on a new song I co-wrote with singer/songwriter Sean Cotton and my wife Shauna. The unmixed recordings showed promise, and we’ve gone with a kind of eerie, Cajun voodoo vibe, which should be interesting. Sean just sent me a close-to-final mix of the song and I’m excited. Good musicians and singers make all the difference, and I am grateful to be in the midst of all this remarkable talent. The song to which I refer is entitled “Watch For Wolves” and it was inspired by an experience I had late last winter while walking on the frozen lake near our house. I came across a freshly killed deer carcass near the shoreline. There was blood everywhere on the pristine, snow-covered, and otherwise undisturbed lake, and the implied violence of this spectacle, coupled with the eerie silence of the winter morning, moved me to write the song. The song uses the metaphor of the wolf as predator to imply a much larger threat, one that I feel is omnipresent of late. I think we’ve penned a good song, and I’m eager to hear the final product.  

Wish me luck next Saturday night!

- Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2018 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 8/20/18

Townes Van Zandt and Blaze Foley

Every week is a new music adventure for me these days, and as the mystery and the history unfold in front of me, I am constantly learning from different mentors. Hosting a radio show which professes to be about songwriting, I feel honor bound to up my game every week, and to research some of the music about which I know comparatively little. As I begin to connect the dots, I rely on the rich oral history to enlighten me. Songwriters know songwriters. In my capacity as radio how host of Lyrical Workers, I have now had extended conversations over the phone with several very different and interesting songwriters. Each time I have one of these conversations, it peels back another layer of the onion. I learn something about the writing process and am reminded of how much I don’t know.

Last week, at 12:30AM, during the first half hour of Shauna’s 60^th birthday, I had a 45 minute phone conversation with a guy named Gurf Morlix. Gurf was originally from Hamburg, N.Y., just south of my hometown of Buffalo, and I first learned of him listening  a compilation CD of Buffalo artists distributed by the Buffalo Music Hall Of Fame. I fell in love with his haunting song Drums From New Orleans, and it inspired me to learn more about Gurf Morlix, the man with the unusual name. Buffalo was full of great musicians but I’d never heard of most of the guys on that Buffalo Music Hall Of Fame CD. As I began to explore Gurf’s career, I discovered that this hometown boy had made it pretty big in the music business. He left Buffalo in 1975 and headed down to Austin, Tx., and he never looked back. He told me that when he left Buffalo in his 20s, he was looking to spread his wings as an artist, and to add his own creative two cents to the genre of country music, a genre not widely embraced in Buffalo. He joked about the fact that he picked Austin because it was warm. I was impressed by his experience. He’d worked with/ co-written with of artists like Lucinda Williams, and he’d toured with the legendary Warren Zevon.

This Thursday night, I'll be featuring clips from my phone conversation with Gurf, placed throughout a show prominently featuring the music of Gurf and a now-deceased  songwriter named Blaze Foley. Foley will likely become better known with the imminent release of a film made about his short life, produced and directed by actor Ethan Hawke. The movie has already received critical acclaim at The Sundance Film Festival, and I look forward to its release. Blaze and Gurf arrived in Austin around the same time and became close friends shortly thereafter. Sadly, Blaze suffered from some of the self-destructive forces that plague so many creative artists. He never received the recognition he might have, had he not been held back by his demons. Hearing Gurf talk about his friend Blaze, I was reminded of the oldest story in entertainment: another creative genius falls prey to substance abuse and self-destruction.

As I have said on numerous occasions, made even more evident as I enter my 4^th year as host of  Lyrical Workers, there is a universe of good music about which I know very little. As the door opens a crack, thanks to mentors like Gurf Morlix, Jon Brooks, Gordon Shawcross, Rob Lutes, Bobby Cameron, John Campbelljohn, Noah Zacharin, and a few dozen other contemporary songwriters, I am lit up by yet another creative bright light. It's always been my mission to get better at this, and knowledge is power. Ultimately, I want what most songwriters want: to connect with others through my personal interpretation of all that has come before me. With every new artist I discover, I can place another piece in the ever-expanding puzzle of the music I love, and I become a better songwriter because of it. Last Friday night I had the extreme pleasure to see blues phenomenon Matt Andersen perform in Huntsville at the Algonquin Theatre. Two years ago I did not know who Matt Andersen was, and now I am a huge fan. With each new discovery comes the growing realization that the field of talent around me is limitless, and so then is the potential for my own growth as a songwriter.

- Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2018 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 8/13/18

Tomorrow, my wife Shauna will turn 60 years of age, and I am at a loss for what to do for her. In a perfect world, I would have thrown a big party for her, perhaps with some live entertainment and a lot of guests. In fact, that won't happen, because Shauna is at present too sick to entertain guests, or to be in any way social. Anyone with chronic illness in their family will understand this, but I sometimes tire of having to explain it to those who don’t. I simply don’t want to ambush her with a surprise party or saddle her with the pressure of entertaining a room full of guests. Over the past year she has only been out a handful of times, and it is always a last minute decision, depending on her pain level.

When I turned 60 several years ago, I spent it quietly at home and then later doing my Lyrical Workers show at the radio station. Shauna was not well enough to join me, and quite honestly, I was in no mood to celebrate at the time. For some puzzling reason, I did not have my mid-life crisis until I turned 60, but that birthday really pulled the rug out from under me. I just wanted the day to be over. As it turned out, Shauna and my friend Juan Barbosa had planned a surprise party for me, and the secret plan was for Juan and a group of guests to ambush me as I left the radio station, and then to whisk me off to a restaurant where Shauna had arranged for a late dinner. The problem was, I stayed extra late at the station. I was feeling sorry for myself, and I just wanted to be alone. Juan and all the guests, whom I of course had no idea were waiting for me, sat outside in the cold October night for over an hour waiting for me to finish my show. It being a week night, some could not wait. While I abhor surprise parties – and we had one for Shauna’s fortieth and for my fiftieth – that sixtieth ambush turned out to be fun.    

When I was a kid, birthdays were a big deal; now, not so much. I am thankful for the life I have been fortunate enough to live so far, and I hope it goes on for a long time. Still, I try to celebrate my life every day, not just on these anniversaries, which mean less and less to me over time. Sometimes I am more successful at living in the moment than at other times, and this is one of my (and perhaps other people’s) challenges. While I am happy to acknowledge the day I was born, I don’t need the hats and horns, and I would be perfectly content to spend the day with the person or people I love. As Shauna joins me in this sixth decade, I think she will agree with me that, at this point in our lives, we are more inclined to be reflective of the lives we have led so far. These days, birthdays are more of an acknowledgment that time is passing more quickly, and I don’t really need or want to be reminded of that. Indeed, too many of our peers have already passed on far before their time, and more and more, with every passing year of uncompromised health, we are reminded to seize the day. Personally, one of the things I can say about the approach of each successive birthday, is that they seem to approach faster every year.

Happy 60^th birthday my dear Shauna; may we enjoy many more decades together. We’ll do something appropriate to celebrate when the time is right. This birthday will definitely be better than last year’s, which was spent at Toronto Western Hospital. For now, we’ll have a nice dinner, prepared by yours truly, in the beautiful house Shauna designed, and accompanied by her 93 year-old mom. While we don't know how long our lives will be, remember, it’s been a pretty good run so far, filled with love and light. Perhaps when you turn 70 we’ll go skydiving together. 

- Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2018 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report - 8/6/18

 

Photo by Shauna Leigh Taylor

I am always excited to hear about other people’s road trips, especially where they involve music tours. Vicariously, I imagine myself out on the open road, free and unencumbered by the day to day responsibilities of my life. When I was younger, I fantasized about hopping in my car for an impromptu road trip, travelling to the Southwest United States, and playing every gig I could find from New Orleans to Austin. Perhaps it’s the allure of the unknown, or the uncertainty and potential danger of being out of my comfort zone, or the exhilaration of maybe developing a fan base. Whatever the dream was, it was just that, a dream, and as I know from the experiences of others, the reality is never quite so glorious and exciting.

Many of my younger musician friends up here – and it seems like more and more of them are much younger than I – have done at least one tour, and vicariously I thrive on their adventures. Through them, and their posts on Facebook, I am provided a window into their travels. One songwriter friend, in his twenties, annually hops in his van and drives out to B.C., hitting various venues he books along the way, and documenting his experience. One day not too long ago, I bumped into him at the local supermarket, and saw the matrass in the back of his van. He jokingly quipped, “Yep, welcome to my home away from home.” Oh, to be young again. Years ago, my friends Juan Barbosa and Jeff Stamp, both local singer songwriters, did an ill-fated tour of the Maritimes. Afterwards, Jeff wrote a song entitled “Truckin’ ” about the experience. That road trip was filled with problems, from bad weather, gigs and lodgings that fell through, and all the other attendant problems which accompany an under-funded trip to an unknown destination. I called it the “hope and a prayer tour”. In one video they posted, they were performing out east on a colorfully lit stage, complete with a mirror ball and other special effects, but what we the viewers do not see is the absence of an audience. I talked to a young singer songwriter from Leamington, who performed recently at the monthly “Third Friday Coffee House” in Burk’s Falls. Exhilarated in anticipation of embarking on a short tour in Ontario to promote his recently released debut EP, he clearly needed to get this tour out of his system. I also knew in my heart that there would be disappointment, and loneliness involved. These tours can be soul-sucking, and are hard on families. Leaving behind a wife and three or four children, this guy was dreaming of something that I think only exists in our imaginatiion.  

Over the years, I have listened to the enthusiasm of hundreds of young upstarts as the venture out into the world to apprise the world of their musical creativity. More often than not, they return from these tours road weary, and perhaps not quite as confident of their ability to lead this troubadour’s life. Secretly, I suppose I take some twisted pleasure in imagining their less-than-well-attended gigs in Medicine Hat, Alberta, or Bumfuck, Saskatchewan, because it validates my reluctance to give in to my own wanderlust. I doubt I am alone in imagining my road trip adventures, and I will always look at a motorcycle and imagine myself rolling down some empty western highway, guitar strapped on my back, headed for a well-attended concert filled with my (imagined) adoring fans. The reality is miles away from the dream, but I comfort myself with the delusion from time to time. What has become apparent to me, largely through the travel experiences of others, is that I live in a beautiful home, and I am less and less inclined to leave it. If anyone really wants to see me perform (I have after all gone “Plywood” in Huntsville) I’m around, but my adoring fans in Bumfuck, Saskatchewan are just going to have to wait until some as yet undisclosed sponsor throws piles of money at me to go out on the road. Don’t hold your breath waiting for that to happen!

    - Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2018 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 7/30/18

A Woofie with Jasper at the vet

The other day, I noticed a post on Facebook from my niece and nephew who were celebrating the 14^th birthday of their Chocolate Lab, Magnum. He even had a birthday cake. Mags is a very big dog and has defied the odds with his longevity. That is cause for celebration. In the photo, he looked a little long in the tooth, with his grey muzzle and his distant gaze, but he also looked content, in a home full of dog lovers. From a chart I saw in the vets office the other day, I learned that the “dog years” scale varies considerably, depending on the size of the dog. Seems as if lately I’ve heard about a lot of friends losing their old pets. I’ve seen several Facebook posts wherein people have mourned the loss or imminent loss of their pets, and while this always makes me sad, I cannot imagine my life without a dog in it.

We went through a lot of dogs in the Oppenheimer family over the years, and I can remember each one clearly. Not all our dogs were legendary, but there were a few who were, and regardless, I loved them all. We had Standard Poodles for a while, and I think poodles get a bad rap. Poodles are wonderful dogs; very intelligent, and affectionate. My favorite Poodle was Taboo, or Tabby as we called her, and whenever we took her in for her semi-annual visit to the groomers, afterward, she’d run out into the backyard and roll in the mud and grass to de-poodle herself. I don’t know what my mother was thinking, but she once brought home a fox hound puppy, whom we named “Sam”. Kennel dogs do not make good “indoor” dogs. Sam lasted about six months, and he was more destructive than all our other dogs combined. He finally ended up on a nearby farm, and then mysteriously disappeared shortly thereafter.  Soon thereafter, my mom made the unpopular decision to buy two Yorkshire Terrier puppies, and they were yappy little bastards. Nicky and Chipper weren’t as bad as Sam, but they were far from my favorite dogs. They did have a lot of personality. Nicky was tolerable, but Chipper was the Eddie Haskell of dogs. One night I came home after a long night of partying and found myself locked out of the house. Chipper saw that I was locked out, stared at me, smiled at my dilemma, then lifted his leg on a nearby stair and ran away. Years later, when I was in university, I got a long, newsy letter from my dad, which I read in the school library. At the end of the letter was a short post script, which read: “PS, Mom ran over Chipper in the driveway by accident, but she’s ok.” That is, my mom was ok, Chipper was toast. Karma’s a bitch.     

After the Yorkies, we switched to Corgis and had five of those over the next twenty years. Although they too were noisy dogs, Corgies are great dogs. When I moved up to Toronto, the Taylor family had Miniature Schnauzers, and I have grown to love them as well. They are an acquired taste. Presently we have Jasper, a grey Miniature Schnauzer who turned 13 last May. Like all our Schnauzers have been, Jasper is full of personality and “schtick”. Sadly, she is getting old, and we are beginning to prepare ourselves for the day when we will lose her. She seems to be in the beginning stages of dementia, and her personality has changed. We have finally found a very good vet we trust, and we’ll do what we can for her. As much as I rue the day when we will lose Jasper, and I hope we have another year or two, I won’t allow her to suffer. I’ve never had to do this before; my mom was always the one who took our dogs to the vets to be euthanized. This is all very new to me, and of course, Shauna and I are emotionally attached to Jasper. I just hope when the time comes the decision is clear.

It’s the harsh reality of pet ownership that our pet’s lives will be a fraction of ours. Hopefully we have some more time with Jasper, but Shauna and I will be by her side when she passes, and she could not have found parents who love her more. Shauna whispered in her ear the other night; imploring her to come back to us in another dog when her spirit leaves her body. I’d like to think a part of her will.

.   

 - Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2018 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 7/23/18

Several years ago I wrote a song entitled “Milkman” and it is a song about denial.

I think it may be time to take a news vacation as I sit here in the deceptively calm paradise of the Almaguin Highlands, overlooking our little lake from the comfort of our upstairs porch. Back in the 80s, before I met Shauna, I used to come up to Toronto relatively frequently, to attend concerts and theatrical productions, and simply to hang out in one of the world’s best cities. Back then there was relatively little crime in Toronto, certainly in comparison to many of the big cities in the U.S.A. Toronto had many of the cultural benefits of New York City but was much safer and cleaner. Well, thirty years later things have changed and Toronto is catching up to the rest of the world. A few months ago there was the deadly van attack on Yonge Street, not far from where my mother-in-law lives, which killed or injured a number of innocent pedestrians. Recently, there have been a slew of deadly shootings in the downtown core, and just last night, there was a mass shooting on the Danforth in Greek Town, not far from where Shauna and I used to live. While the news is still trickling in on this latest attack, so far there are two casualties, and thirteen people were shot. I always felt safe walking around on the streets of Toronto, but now, when I walk around the city, I’m wary.

It’s strange, because I grew up in a relatively dangerous city. Per capita, there was more gun violence in Buffalo than there ever was in Toronto. I myself had been mugged twice, and I knew that there were certain neighborhoods I just needed to avoid. That said, I became numbed to the violence about which I was apprised every night on Channel 7 News at Eleven. When, in 1994, I moved up to Toronto (which was at the time relatively crime free), I became more sensative to every violent act.  Slowly over the past 20 + years, I have watched as the gang graffiti began to litter the bridges, buildings, and subway trains. There have been about 280 shootings in Toronto since the beginning of this year, and it seems like gun violence is escalating in the city.

The guy who shot all those people on the Danforth last night was mentally ill. There’s a lot of that going around these days, and it’s almost impossible to tell who the ticking time bombs are. There's usually a reason why people go off, but we always seem to find out after the violent act. Maybe it’s a crazier world than it was; there just seem to be a lot of mentally unbalanced people roaming around. Regrettably, procuring a gun does not seem to be a problem.

About two years ago, I wrote a song about denial, and about how I process traumatic events. It is a loosely strung together group of experiences from my past, and it begins with the first time I ever saw an adult in emotional distress (it was not a milkman by the way). I think I live in denial to survive, ignoring much of the pain and suffering that goes on around me. These days, every time I watch some catastrophe on the news, I wonder what I would have done, what I should do. Would I be a hero, or a more likely, the coward?

I saw the Milkman he was crying

Right outside my cellar door

I think those preacher men been lying

Nothing makes sense to me anymore

So I bury my head, bury my head, bury my head in the sand.

Bury my head, bury my head, bury my head in the sand

Don’t want to bury my head, bury my head, bury my head in the sand.

- Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2018 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 7/16/18

Today, I noticed a post on Facebook from my friend Mike Cardy, one of our local naturalists and wildlife experts. He commented on the dry weather we’ve had, and the fact that it is having a deleterious effect on local wildlife. Berry bushes and much of the vegetation upon which the wild animals around here feed are drying up. Presently, there is a complete fire ban in our area, and there have been reports of wildfires popping up around the region. I heard about one in Algonquin Park, and there was recently a fairly serious one up north in the vicinity of Temagami, northeast of Sudbury. In the past ten years or so since we moved up here, a lot of fuel has been accumulating in the woods around our house, and this of course concerns me. Most of the locals take these fire bans seriously, but some do not. As well, the visitors from the city, who come up here to camp for the weekend, might be even less inclined to heed a ban. It doesn’t take much to ignite a wildfire. The other day, as Shauna and I were on our way home from Huntsville, we came across someone burning brush somewhere far in from the road. We immediately called the fire department. Trouble was we called after 5PM, and no one answered, nor did anyone answer at the bylaw department in Huntsville. The fire departments around here are volunteer, which make prevention and vigilance all that much more important. There is an old  joke among some local volunteer fireman: “We’ve never lost a foundation.”

Wildfires were never something I worried about growing up in Buffalo (in Buffalo, the bigger concern was arson). The first wildfire I ever saw close up was on one of our drives out to Banff, somewhere on the plains of Saskatchewan. One fire had jumped the road just before we passed, and it was strange and unsettling to see flames on both sides of our car. At one time, Shauna and I did quite a lot of exploring and hiking on the Alberta/ B.C. border, and one summer was a particularly bad one for wild fires. I remember driving down through the Kootenay Park one day to hike near Radium, B.C. and there were wildfires just behind the mountains. I’ll never forget seeing a thick plume of smoke rising over the distant mountaintops, and wondering if we were in any danger. We were living in the town of Banff, and one day a nearby controlled burn went out of control. The wind shifted suddenly, and in a matter of hours the entire Bow Valley surrounding Banff filled up with smoke. That fire really alarmed me, because the air quality was so bad we had to stay inside. Flash fires like the one that levelled Slave Lake near Edmonton, Alberta are horrible reminders of how quickly these fires can go completely out of control.

Today we got a little of the desperately needed rain that will help re-foliate our parched landscape, but this mini draught is a subtle reminder that the fires we see in the news so often might someday visit us here in the Almaguin Highlands. Our little draught might be portents for things to come. As the planet heats up, I become more and more concerned about the ever-increasing supply of fuel in our surrounding woods, fuel which could feed a wildfire. 

Then again, upon consulting the news tonight, wildfires might be a preferable end to what seems to be the accelerating demise of mankind. I am told that the Rump has committed yet another unpardonable diplomatic blunder, this time throwing his entire country under the bus while meeting with (pandering to) Russian President Vladimir Putin. The other day, he walked in front of the Queen  (I’m just thankful he didn’t pinch her on her butt), and he’s been busy alienating every ally we used to have in the world. Six of one, or a half dozen of the other: wildfire or hellfire, take your pick.

 - Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2018 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 7/9/18

Joe Bamford on the left with his wife Fatima on the far right

At present, we have Shauna’s mom, Ethel “E.T.” Taylor visiting us at Jasper Bark Lodge, and we told her we had a big surprise for her when she got here. Joe Bamford, a music promoter in Parry Sound specializing in charity fundraisers, offered Jeff Carter, managing director of Hunters Bay Radio, four free tickets to see The Glenn Miller Orchestra at The Charles W. Stockey Centre For The Performing Arts in Parry Sound. Last Saturday night, Shauna, her mom, Jeff, and I drove to Parry Sound to see the world famous Glenn Miller Orchestra perform. E.T. hosts a show on Hunters Bay Radio entitled Martini Music which airs on Sunday nights (6pm – 8pm) and is one of the more popular shows at Hunters Bay Radio. Joe Bamford is a fan of the show, and he wanted to meet E.T. While the music E.T. loves might be a little out of my wheelhouse, I have grown to appreciate it,  largely because of this Martini Music show. She has great taste in the music from her era and has exposed me to some fantastic artists from the 40s, 50s and 60s. She plays a lot of big band swing, mixed in with male and female vocalists from the past six decades, covering some of the best songs ever written. I’m all about the songwriting and composition, and Martini Music features some of the best.

We arrived just before the concert was to begin, met Joe Bamford, and later his wife Fatima, picked up our free tickets, and were delighted to discover that our seats were front row center. There was a respectable audience of around 350 people, and the show was great. I’ve always enjoyed swing music but to see a live band perform it, with all the retro feel of the original Glenn Miller Orchestra, was a genuine thrill. The band, made up of excellent musicians from all across the United States, performed much the same way as the original orchestra had, which is to say they were animated and a lot of fun to watch. All in all it was a memorable evening, and a big thanks goes out to Jeff Carter for inviting us to the show. Particularly moving was the shout out to E.T. by Joe as he was introducing the orchestra. As a fan of Martini Music, he gave ithe show and E.T. an excellent plug. The concert was also educational, with the lead singer and band leader offering stories about Glenn Miller and about the origins of some of the famous songs he arranged. Miller was an outstanding arranger, and each song is a well-orchestrated symphony.  I was amazed to hear that Miller had, in his short career, arranged over 700 songs. As for the venue, The Stockey Centre is a beautiful place to see concert. Located right at the water’s edge along the Parry Sound waterfront, the concert hall has soaring 70+ foot ceilings and beautiful stonework lining the walls. The reception area includes a huge bank of windows overlooking Georgian Bay to the west and, during intermission, I came out and took in the remains of a spectacular sunset. A great night all around, and I think very therapeutic for Shauna.

Final note. Today, I wanted to configure E.T.’s computer tablet so that she could get on Facebook. Yes, my 93 year-old is on Facebook, probably to communicate with all her adoring fans. It should have been simple enough, but I'd lost the password for our Bell router, and unlike all the other routers I’ve owned, the password was not affixed to the back of the unit. Bell’s online instructions for how to access one’s password were ambiguous and almost laughable. I tried “chatting’ with an online assistant, but after being re-routed to four different people (I'm assuming) who didn’t know anything, I finally gave up on Bell altogether, instead consulting with the manufacturer of the router to discover that the information I needed was available on the inside of the battery cover. Increasingly I find that with all things computer-related, there is a built in you-can’t-get-there-from-here component. I can’t get no sa-tis-fac-tion.

 - Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c 2018 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED