The Oppenheimer Report 1/27/20

Yesterday afternoon, Shauna and I had the pleasure of attending a small house concert at the home of Grant and Debbie Nickalls. On the bill  were their son, Jack Nickalls, and his musical partner Josie Robinson. "Jack & Josie" performed two house concerts last weekend in order to raise funds to defray travel expenses associated with their upcoming trip out to Alberta. Their high school band has made it to the final round of North America's largest educational music festival, MusicFest Canada. The finals competition will soon be taking place in Calgary. Vicariously, I’m excited for them, and hope they do well in the competition. Regardless, they and the band will be touring amid some of the most beautiful parts of Canada. I spoke with Josie a bit during the intermission to Saturday’s concert, and she was clearly excited about the opportunity to see the Canadian Rockies. Among other destinations, the trip includes visits to Banff, and Whistler, B.C. .  

Apart from the obvious talent of these two young performers, the thing I most appreciated about the above-mentioned concert is that Jack and Josie chose an eclectic mix of good songs to cover.  I was impressed by their song choices, and by their unique interpretations of those works. That they chose to cover songs like the Burt Bacharach/Hal David hit “I Say A Little Prayer For You” covered by Dionne Warwick, the Harry Warren/Mack Gordon classic “At Last” made famous by Etta James, and a wonderful interpretation of the old Ashford & Simpson classic “I Don’t Need No Doctor”, along with with several songs by contemporary alt country Canadian talent Colter Wall, and the oft-covered hit “Valerie” written by the talented British songwriter Amy Winehouse, shows a respect for and appreciation of many different kinds of songwriting. For me it was refreshing to see teenagers with such open musical minds.

I’ve seen Jack and Josie perform onstage before, most notably as openers for the William Prince concert last summer at Huntsville’s newly opened Canvas Brewery. I’ve also had the opportunity to watch Jack develop as a musician over the past several years. His growth, both technically and in his stage presence, has been fun to watch. Last summer, he performed his first original song during a live radio performance for Hunters Bay Radio; I was gob smacked. The song was really good, and I’m not surprised that “Stay Forever” was voted one of the top 5 local songs of the year in Hunters Bay Radio’s local Song of The Year Top 20 Countdown. I guess I was a bit jealous; the first song I ever penned was abysmal.

Several years ago, around the time Jack began to share his talent with a wider local audience, I guest-hosted a TALENT ON THE BAY show wherein Jack was the interviewee. During the interview, which was one of my first opportunities to hear Jack perform, we discussed the value of musical education. I think most music lovers in this community will agree that the Huntsville High School has spawned some remarkable young talent. I tip my hat and offer my thanks to all the enlightened local educators who made that happen. There are so many reasons why this is important. Forgive me, I know I sound like a broken record when I say this, but I see music as one of the few universal languages which everyone can understand, if they just listen. I am always better for having listened, be it to constructive criticism, Mother Nature, a cry for help, to my breathing, or, as I suggest here, to music. Believe me, I know it’s not so easy, and I would do well to take my own advice. As I become palpably more attention-challenged, I find myself struggling to just shut up and listen. It all goes by so quickly. At what I consider to be a tipping point in humanity, wherein I deem communication to be on injured reserve, music (all art really) might be one of the few life rings remaining for us to throw out. It is the selfless expression of creativity that embodies all that is good about us human beings, the thing that can bring us all together.

Shauna’s 95-year-old mom “E.T.” asks me all the time “do you think the music I present on MARTINI MUSIC is reaching anyone; do you think any younger people appreciate this music”.  I think the answer is “yes”, and Jack and Josie’s performance last Saturday night was proof of that. As long as good music is created and performed, it will be timeless, and there will be a receptive audience. Be it an aria from Pagliacci  or the Rolling Stones song “Jumpin’ Jack Flash, music draws us together on some visceral, fundamental level. Whatever it is that puts us all on the same wavelength was alive and well last Saturday night. Everyone at that house concert left happier than when they came. I think that is a good thing, and it is why Shauna and I spend so much of our free time promoting good music.

To Jack and Josie, and to all their bandmates from Huntsville, best of luck in Calgary. In my book, you’ve already won.

ARCHIVED The Oppenheimer Report - March 18, 1992

Tragic news in the Daily Mail … Fergie and Prince Andrew will separate. Stand in line girls “Randy Andy” is back! But he cautions: “No more bloody plebes!” And in a related story Tammy Faye Bakker tearfully announced plans to divorce her humpin’ hubby Jim. Sobbing cheap, mascara-saturated tears Mrs. Bakker confided: “I can’t share him with another man … loosely translated, “You can take the T.V. ministry business and shove it … I know where he stashed the loot!” Jim Bakker, recently spotted walking like Walter Brennan in “The Real McCoys” could not be reached for comment. Leona Helmsley, hospitalized after she learned that she will spend the next four years behind bars for tax fraud, tearfully pleaded with the judge: Who will change Harry’s “Depends”??? Nice try Queenie,  he’s IRS lunchmeat too!

p.2  On the Hollywood homefront: Richard Gere makes an especially generous gift to the SPCA with the proviso that the monies be target for small, abused rodents, Geraldo R. affectionately referred to by friends and enemies alike as “Butthead” has had yet another slab of his rear end cut off and implanted on his face, and what’s-her-face who plays what’s-her-face on “Murder That Bitch” was fined for impersonating an aspirin expert. Controversial and allegedly deceased rock star Jim Morrison was spotted in a Winn Dixie in Coral Gables, Florida buying sprouts, tofu, and mineral water. Take that Oliver Stone. Zsa Zsa Gabor is back in the news after reports she kicked, beat, and generally abused an L.A. policeman last week. A spokesperson for the LAPD had this to say: “Well, she won’t get off so easy THIS time … this time we got her on videotape!” And finally, a bitter fight is breaking out over Flipper’s estate, valued at between $20Million and $30 Million. Never legally divorced from his first with, Flipper was apparently married four times. Trial is set for June in People’s Court. Show biz can be so ugly. This is Hyman, good day!

The Oppenheimer Report 1/20/20

The other day, I noticed that one of my songwriter friends, and in my opinion, one of Canada’s better musician/songwriters, Noah Zacharin, was attending the 11th annual 30A Songwriters Festival held in South Walton County, Florida. I’d never heard of this festival before, but it is yet another reminder of how little I do know about the vast community of songwriters out there. This festival is a huge, three-day event, with headliners like Brian Wilson, John Prine, Tonya Tucker, and Don McLean, as well as hundreds of other performers playing at a myriad of local venues. For years it’s always been my dream to attend one of these big songwriter festivals, and to take in the live performances by some of the best songwriters in the world.  

Coincidentally, yesterday I learned that David Olney, a Nashville songwriter whom I began to follow and admire several years ago, passed away suddenly during his performance at one of the venues in that 30A Songwriters festival. Dave was in the middle of a songwriter’s round with 2 other writers, he stopped singing during his 3^rd song, apologized to his audience, then closed his eyes and quietly died of an apparent heart attack. Amy Rigby, who was one of the other writers onstage with him when he passed, said his end was very peaceful. From most accounts, Olney was a humble, wise, and generous ambassador for the craft of songwriting. His loss, especially in the Nashville music community wherein he lived, is seismic.

Back in 2005, about 13 years after I began to write this weekly report, I started posting it in blog form. On the blog site, I wrote a brief bio and in it spoke of my aspiration to be a recognized songwriter. I said that, while I felt there were a lot of great contemporary songwriters, much of the best current songwriting is being eclipsed by pop music mediocrity. I also said that my songwriting was something for which I aspire to be remembered.

I’ve been many things in my 64 years. I’ve enjoyed creative writing since I was a young teen, I’ve been a boater since I was old enough to swim, I love all watersports,  I used to be an avid snow skier,  a photographer who spent a good deal of my teens in a darkroom. I enjoy hiking, observing wildlife, collecting old postcards, attending live concerts, people-watching, reading, cooking, really bad reality television shows, and a dozen other things which are likely of little interest to anyone else. I believe songwriting is the best tool I have to express myself. It is the skill I have consistently developed for over 4 decades, and the one thing I for which I hope I will be remembered when I am gone. The field of good songwriters is vast and ever-expanding, so that aspiration may be wildly optimistic. Each week, I find it humbling to discover yet another songwriter who impresses me. I am always shocked to note that the most talented and prolific among them are typically doomed to obscurity. I suppose it’s like that with most art, and often true genius goes under-recognized for a long time. In a letter Shauna and I received from Jon Brooks around the holidays, he said (and I paraphrase) that he continues to search for the perfect love song to write, the one which will unite mankind in a peaceful harmony. The great songwriters do this; they strike a universal chord that resonates among us all. While Jon may also hope to realize the elusive dream of wider recognition, he has already succeeded well beyond my most hopeful aspirations in songwriting. Someone made a comment recently under one of my reports, wherein I discussed songwriting, and she referred to songwriters as the prophets of our society. I think all good art reflects our world, and I have profound respect for the artists and storytellers who do that effectively.

The longer I live, the less impressed I am by the things that I once aspired to achieve: money, fame, and a stadium full of adoring fans. These days, I’d be content to figure out a way of teaching love and acceptance. Unfortunately, I’m still very much the student myself. I want to connect with people in some positive ways. My dream, for well over 40 years now, is to write at least one really good song, one that will be meaningful decades after I am gone. David Olney wrote dozens of those songs. The late, great  American songwriter, Townes Van Zandt, once said of David Olney: “Anytime anyone asks me who my favorite music writers are, I say Mozart, Lightnin’ Hopkins, Bob Dylan, and Dave Olney. Dave Olney is one of the best songwriters I’ve ever heard – and that’s true. I mean that from my heart.”   

R.I.P. David Olney. Thank you for your selfless contribution to the craft of songwriting, you’ve left big shoes to fill.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer c2020  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The Oppenheimer Report 1/6/20

I don’t what is in the air, but a few mornings ago, I woke up in a positive frame of mind for the first time in a long time. Almost every morning during 2019 I woke up with a stomachache, plagued by a dozen unresolvable worries. The other day, I felt none of that. It certainly wasn’t because of the good news on television. I came home from my “Lyrical Workers” show last Thursday night to the news that Rump had just ordered a targeted bombing attack in Baghdad which killed a high-ranking Iranian military leader. I know nothing about foreign policy, but it sure seems like that attack with stir up a hornet’s nest in a rogue nation so widely deemed to be sponsoring terrorism around the world. It also seems to me that this might have been a horribly irresponsible public relations move to distract the attention of the American public from the impeachment hearings soon to begin in Washington. Wildfires are burning out of control all over the continent of Australia with no relief in sight, and there were horrendous floods in Indonesia. Politicians continue to ignore the ravaging effects of climate change, and if I take the time to think about it, my conclusion is that the sky is falling. 

I had the most unusual dream on that morning I woke up peaceful and unworried. I rarely remember my dreams, but I wrote that one down immediately upon awakening, because it was so obviously hopeful. In my dream I was in one of those impersonal, big box appliance stores, and out of nowhere, someone began to sing a gospel song. I can’t remember the song, but suddenly the entire store full of people began to sing along. It wasn’t a dream about religion, and I am reminded of that Lennon song “Imagine” which is played so often around the holidays.  In my dream everyone took turns singing and it was beautiful, and it bespoke unity and the promise of hope.  

As a songwriter, I’ve been in a dry spell for several years. I’ve written a few new songs but have been devoting most of my songwriting energy to the resurrection and rewriting old, half-finished songs. I rarely throw anything away. It’s strange to revisit verse one wrote as a younger man. I used to think that those songs should have a temporal stamp and are representative of the time in which they were written. For this reason, I have not rewritten many of my older, more imperfect songs, because they indicate the person I was at a given point in time. Everything is changing.

It doesn’t take a history buff to see the direction the world is heading. Leaders aren’t leading, societies are fractured and tribal, role models, at least the ones who make the front page, are anything but, and the preponderance of shoot-first-ask-questions-later social media-fueled disinformation is rotting the very fabric of the human tapestry. I can blame the news media, or religion, or video games, or wireless communication, or cell phones, or anxiety over climate change, but it really seems like we’re reaching the tipping point. When an angry schoolgirl from Sweden is our best hope as the voice of reason, we’re really screwed. Seriously, no wonder our children are pissed.

About a year ago I started a series of songs written in an unusual drop G guitar tuning I rarely use. I wrote the songs  “Better” “New Constitution”, and a love song about Shauna entitled “These Are The Things I Crave”. After my recent, hopeful dream I sat down with the guitar and came up with the music for another 4-5 songs along a similar theme. Perhaps I will have enough songs for an album about love and peace.  I don’t know who if anyone will listen to the songs I write, but I believe art reflects reality, and I have the opportunity to affect the reality I see. Love is hard; I’m still figuring it out. From my experience, it does have a trickle-down effect. The next time you have an opportunity to say something negative to or about someone, imagine one hundred strangers in a Home Depot, singing “Oh Happy Day.” Maybe instead you’ll find some positive or constructive to say.

 Written by Jamie Oppenheimer ©2020
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
jamieoppenheimersongwriter@gmail.com

Jamie Oppenheimer, Songwriter, Author, Blogger, Radio Producer, & Host has been writing THE OPPENHEIMER REPORT every MONDAY since 1992 and has published the articles on his blog since 2006. We are including Jamie's weekly reports, as a feature of #HuntersBayRadio, The Bay 88.7FM.

HuntersBayRadio.com #MusicYouNeedToHear #EveryOneHasAStory #GotLocal? #WeAreMuskoka #WeAreAlmaguin #TheOppenheimerReport #JamieOppenheimer

The Oppenheimer Report 1/13/20

As I try to do every weekday morning, shortly after 10am last Friday, I was listening to Tech 5, a show hosted by my friend Ben Harrison. Ben was talking about the first full moon of January, which I have learned is also known as a “wolf moon”. This first full moon of January, and in fact the first full moon of the decade, is apparently notorious for fomenting lunacy and strange behavior. I enjoy these five-minute Tech 5 shows because I often learn something new. They are often interesting,  often humourous, and they are almost always thought-provoking. What I find most entertaining is that Ben, an octogenarian, still has a young and inquiring mind. My dad was like that, and had an inquiring mind almost up to the day he passed, months away from his 99th birthday. He was a voracious reader, a lover of history, and a consummate student of life. Blessed with a disarming wit and charm, he made friends with people of all ages and from all walks of life.  He was genuinely interested in learning other people’s stories. 

Presently, we have Shauna’s mom, Ethel “E.T.” Taylor, visiting us from Toronto. Last Tuesday, we celebrated her 95th birthday, quietly in the comfort of our home. On air last week, I described E.T. as a force of nature. She’s intelligent, strong-minded, funny, and does not suffer fools well. In fact, when Shauna introduced me to her parents for the first time, Ethel reportedly turned to her husband Syd and whispered, “This isn’t going to last.” Shauna shares that intelligence and strength, and originally, it is what attracted me to her. As the producer of E.T.’s weekly “Martini Music” show on Hunters Bay Radio, I have come to appreciate her encyclopedic knowledge of the great music from her era. I have always maintained that, regardless of genre, good music and good songwriting are timeless. E.T. has introduced me to some remarkable bands and vocalists since we began to do the show. We have now produced 186 shows so far.

As a baby boomer, I have spoken at great length in past report about my experiences caring for my parents in the end stages of their lives. In fact, my experiences with the end stage care of my mom and dad were challenging. I know I’m not alone, but I was one of the first in my age group to deal with this. It made me feel isolated and alone. My mom’s five-year battle with Lewy Body dementia was the hardest emotional challenge I have ever faced. It was confusing, and very painful for everyone involved. Worst of all, I did not know anyone who could relate to our struggle. That said, I kept telling myself that both my parents were good to me, and whatever curveballs life threw me, I owed them a debt of gratitude for putting up with all my BS in my formative years. Now that they are gone, I am thankful I stepped up.

The other day, a young friend of mine was commenting about his struggles to raise his exuberant young son, presently nearing the end of his “terrible twos”. While I’m not a parent myself, I realize parenting, or any kind of caregiving can be a thankless task. It seems to me that, at least in North America, we are becoming less receptive to the lessons we can learn from our elders’ experiences. Other cultures value this asset more, and it concerns me. As part of the aging boomer demographic, I am perhaps more sensitive to that trend than most. I think that last Friday I was feeling a touch of the lunacy to which Ben Harrison referred in his “wolf moon” segment. It was, after all, the first full moon of the decade, and there was a lunar eclipse to boot. Maybe it has more of an effect on us codgers. I’m one of those that believes the full moon has an emotional effect on me. In any event, the message I want to convey in this week’s report is that there is something to be learned from everyone, the elderly included. They say no one gets out of here alive. I think the trick to leading a good life is to make it a mission to learn from, and embrace every phase of your life. And if you figure out how to do that effectively, would you explain it to me? I’m just howling at the moon.


https://www.space.com/19195-night-sky-planets-asteroids-webcasts.html
 Written by Jamie Oppenheimer ©2020
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
jamieoppenheimersongwriter@gmail.com
Jamie Oppenheimer, Songwriter, Author, Blogger, Radio Producer, & Host has been writing THE OPPENHEIMER REPORT every MONDAY since 1992 and has published the articles on his blog since 2006. We are including Jamie's weekly reports, as a feature of #HuntersBayRadio, The Bay 88.7FM.

HuntersBayRadio.com #MusicYouNeedToHear #EveryOneHasAStory #GotLocal? #WeAreMuskoka #WeAreAlmaguin #TheOppenheimerReport #JamieOppenheimer

The Oppenheimer Report 12/30/19

In this my last report of the decade, I wish all my readers a preemptive Happy New Year. Despite all the grim news, I remain hopeful that mankind will come to its senses, and miraculously we will all unify to solve the problems of the world. Albeit an ambitious goal, my New Year’s resolution is to do more good than harm.

I’ve never been a fan of New Year’s Eve celebrations, and in the past twenty years Shauna and I have not gone out to celebrate New Year’s Eve. Instead, we’ve elected to prepare a good meal at home and to watch the televised broadcast of the ball drop at Times Square. For several years, when I still lived in Buffalo, I hosted a big dinner, and afterwards, I and all my guests went downtown to watch Buffalo’s version of the ball drop. The weather was typically awful, and eventually that tradition fizzled like flat champagne.

When I moved up to Toronto, our last big First Night outing was legendary for its badness. It was a black-tie event at a recently opened high-end restaurant near our apartment building. Shauna and I knew the owner and wanted to show our support, but the night turned into a complete disaster. The party was an expensive, prix fixe, multi-course, (allegedly) gourmet dinner, including live music. At the last minute, our party of four turned into a party of three, and the evening went downhill from there. The food was terrible, courses were served out of order and horribly late, plates were dropped, and food was spilled in laps. The live music might have been tolerable, but the band was set up in a narrow walkway, removed from the diners and therefore inaudible. By the end of the night, the atrociousness of the evening became laughable. Looking back, most of my New Year’s Eve experiences have been less than satisfactory. I vowed that we would never again go out for dinner on New Years Eve.  

When I was a young teen, my introduction to inebriation occurred at a sleepover party at my friend’s house on New Year’s Eve. His mother told us that she would permit us to drink sparkling wine that one night, so long as we did not get drunk, and if we remained in the house for the entire evening. For the four of us inexperienced teens, that was a license to guzzle. Probably because it was so cheap, as our intoxicant of choice, we chose Cold Duck, which tastes a bit like bad soda pop. We went through several bottles of that rotgut alternative to champagne, and three out of four of us had a pretty good time. One drinker did not pace himself, downing four or five 7 oz. glasses before the rest of us had finished our first. That amateur became violently ill, and within an hour of his over-indulgence, began to projectile vomit all over the room. It was like a mob hit; there was barf everywhere. Nothing kills a good buzz like the smell of vomit. To rub salt into the wound, we had to clean up the mess. While I and the host of that ill-fated party hosed off our sleeping bags in the basement laundry room, we could hear our then very unpopular friend upstairs moaning about how he felt so sick that he wanted to die. At that moment, the rest of us might have been ok with that.  

My final New Year’s Eve disaster story involves a girl I dated in Buffalo, back when I was in my late twenties.  At that time, she was writing her dissertation for a PhD in Urban Geography at The University of Buffalo. We attended an abominable New Year’s Eve party at the home of one of her scholarly friends. I was not pleased about what promised to be a boring evening, and I made the stipulation that I would only go if she agreed to be my designated driver. I did not know one person at the party, and as I suspected, none of those arrogant university types, who made it their blood sport to make me feel like the stupid guy at the party, were in any way warm or hospitable to me. Anticipating their (possibly correct) assessment that I was the Luddite of the party, I sat alone in the corner drinking copious amounts of Meyers Rum and orange juice (which I brought). Finally, one friendly attendee took pity on me and began to talk to me. As luck would have it, he too liked Myers Rum and orange juice. He and I became fast friends and, as we got pleasantly plastered, we made light of the anti-celebration unfolding in front of us.  We discussed everything but academia and occasionally took pleasure in mocking the room full of self-important academics, for whom the highlight of the evening seemed to be lighting the Baked Alaska at midnight. Later, as we drove home from that abysmal party, my friend appeared to be a little nervous. She asked me a lot of questions about the man to whom I had been talking at the party. What did we discuss, did we talk about her, and what were we laughing about so heartily? It turned out that the man, with whom I had had such a good time, was the head of the UB Geography Department, and the most senior academic at the party. He was also her advisor. I’m not sure how he felt about the evening, but Meyers Rum sure made the party more enjoyable for me.

Again, Happy New Year! I hope the next year is a healthy and productive one for you. Make sure you make travel arrangements that do not include driving while inebriated, and whatever you do, have a good time! Be good to each other, and yourselves, and try do more good than harm.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer ©2019
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
jamieoppenheimersongwriter@gmail.com

Jamie Oppenheimer, Songwriter, Author, Blogger, Radio Producer, & Host has been writing THE OPPENHEIMER REPORT every MONDAY since 1992 and has published the articles on his blog since 2006. We are including Jamie's weekly reports, as a feature of #HuntersBayRadio, The Bay 88.7FM.

HuntersBayRadio.com #MusicYouNeedToHear #EveryOneHasAStory #GotLocal? #WeAreMuskoka #WeAreAlmaguin #TheOppenheimerReport #JamieOppenheimer

The Oppenheimer Report 12/23/19

To my readers, Merry Christmas, Happy Chanukah, Happy Three Kings Day, and  Merry Kwanzaa. Whatever you celebrate, I hope you enjoy yourselves. I for one will be participating in my annual ritual of attempting to watch every Christmas movie and TV special. This list includes, but is not limited to, “It’s A Wonderful Life”, “A Christmas Carol” (the Alastair Sim version of course), “A Charlie Brown Christmas”, “The Grinch Who Stole Christmas”, “Miracle On 34^th Street”, and at least one maudlin, Mystery-Science-Theatre version of a tacky Hallmark Christmas special. It would not be uncommon for me to watch some of those programs more than once during the week. I make no apologies; this is who I am.

To follow is another old Oppenheimer Report reprised from the vault for your reading pleasure. Clearly, I had something against Michael Jackson at the time. Again, this report is over 20 years old, and so it may seem a little dated:

The Oppenheimer Report – 12/23/96 …

The stabbings, beatings, shootings, and general hand-to-hand combat continue over the “Tickle-Me-Elmo” toy shortage. Major arenas in the Western New York Area and parts of Ohio are forming in this emerging, violent crisis, and Henry Kissinger has been called in to mediate. Yes, it’s a battlefield out there; a messy, bloody, in-your-face holiday hell hole, and if you’re going to venture out to the malls, you’d better carry your stun gun and wear a flak vest. Retail has never looked so ugly before.

Marge Schott, notorious bigot and one-time owner of The Cincinnati Reds, recently banned from pro baseball, at least for the time being, has been admitted to the hospital. Guess where she ended up? The Cincinnati Jewish Hospital. I guess she would say “those people” make good doctors. Taste the irony.

O.J. Simpson won the custody battle for his little boy and girl. I think that’s nice. Now those kids can spend Christmas with the guy whom almost everyone believes cut off their mommy’s head.  I’m sure those kids will grow up to lead normal lives. O.J. … the news story that keeps on giving.

Speaking of endangered children, Michael Jackson’s baby receptacle will receive $1.25 Million for producing The Gloved One’s issue, and she will continue to receive about $300,000 per year, as long as she remains “with” Jackson.  I assume this fee includes adherence to a gag order, prohibiting her from revealing any juicy family secrets. If she goes nine rounds, she could rake in a few million bucks, but personally, I think she got hosed. A few million bucks to carry the bleached one’s baby does not seem like adequate compensation. Try adding a zero to that number, and maybe include a lifetime supply of Prozac.    

Two celebrities died last week: film star Marcello Mastroianni and astronomer Carl Sagan. I watched Carl Sagan being interviewed shortly before his death. As usual, he put it all into perspective, dismissing his mortality as an insignificant event in the grand scheme of things. What an interesting man he was, and how he inspired us to use our imaginations! I loved his show “Cosmos”. Why is it that more people know who Michael Jackson is than know who Carl Sagan is? This is probably for the same reason that Michael Jackson gets paid over fifty times what the most prominent heart surgeon makes. Go figure.

To follow is part of a holiday song I wrote years ago, entitled “Nothing Comes For Free”:

“REINDEER ON THE ROOFTOPS, RED LIGHTS IN THE TREES

CHRISTMAS CARDS AND CAROLERS, SANTA ON TV

SHOPPING MALLS ARE MANIC, BUYERS ON A SPREE

TRAFFIC JAMS AND WAVING HANDS AS FAR AS THE EYE CAN SEE

ARMY BELLS ARE RINGING, CALLING YOU AND ME

RINGING FOR SALVATION BUT SALVATION HAS A FEE

ONE DAY CHRISTMAS KINDNESS AND GOODWILL FILL THE STREETS

THE NEXT DAY THINGS ARE DIFFERENT, I THINK YOU WILL AGREE

Cho:

IT’S WHISPERED IN THE SNOWFALL, I HEAR IT IN THE TREES

IT’S WRITTEN IN THE SKY TONIGHT, NOTHING COMES FOR FREE…”

Have a Merry Christmas everyone, and remember, Christmas shouldn’t be about gift giving.  Spend less money and give more love. From the North Pole, this is Santa’s favorite industrial real estate broker, signing off.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer ©2019
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
jamieoppenheimersongwriter@gmail.com

Jamie Oppenheimer, Songwriter, Author, Blogger, Radio Producer, & Host has been writing THE OPPENHEIMER REPORT every MONDAY since 1992 and has published the articles on his blog since 2006. We are including Jamie's weekly reports, as a feature of #HuntersBayRadio, The Bay 88.7FM.

HuntersBayRadio.com #MusicYouNeedToHear #EveryOneHasAStory #GotLocal? #WeAreMuskoka #WeAreAlmaguin #TheOppenheimerReport #JamieOppenheimer

The Oppenheimer Report 12/16/19

Last weekend, Shauna and I attended an annual Christmas party, held a few houses down the shoreline from us. I’ve enjoyed going to this party for the past 3 or 4 years, but this is the first time that Shauna felt well enough to join me. It was her long-awaited introduction to several of our year-round neighbors. She had a genuinely good time and so did I.

Historically, I have loathed Christmas parties, and this probably due to the fact that our office Christmas parties in Buffalo were legendary for their awfulness. Commercial real estate offices are generally competitive and rather high stress workplaces to begin with, and as a result,  most of the workers in our office would not have chosen to socialize with each other after hours. Insist that all the competitors gather in a social situation, and add alcohol into the mix and one has the recipe for disaster. Frankly, I’ve never really understood the concept of office Christmas parties anyhow. Don’t we see those people for most of the waking hours of our day, and wouldn’t we rather celebrate with friends and family? I used to go out for a beer after work with one or two of my co-workers, but I generally I had little interest in socializing with my entire office in a party setting.

For the last five years of my career as an industrial real estate salesman, when I moved up to Canada, I worked for one of the larger commercial real estate firms in Toronto. Every holiday season, the firm threw a big, fancy, black-tie Christmas party at some fancy club. To the completely unnecessary pomp and ceremony of a black-tie affair, add the over-inflated egos of more than one hundred commercial real estate brokers and salesmen, along with all their staff, and you have the ingredients for an anti-celebration. It was always one of the more uncomfortable social events in which I felt obligated to participate.  The last party Shauna and I attended before I left the firm was so bad it was ludicrous. There were long, rambling, self-absorbed speeches by intoxicated, arrogant big shots. As if that was not insufferable enough, in addition to the speeches, some officious organizer had the brilliant idea to tax the limited attention spans of the celebrants by having various salesmen regale the audience with parodies of Christmas carols. I was charged with writing those parodies, which were to include cryptic and amusing references to salespeople and staff. Nothing could go wrong there. I congratulated myself on my diplomacy in somehow managing not to offend too many attendees with the subject matter. Nevertheless, in an event which was already running very late, these unrehearsed “performances” of my parodies were abysmal. Everyone just wanted the whole thing to be over, including Shauna and I, but the there was one final nail to be hammered into the coffin. The grand finale of this disastrous Christmas party fiasco was the performance of a very inebriated secretary singing “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas”. She was so hammered she could hardly stand up and, amidst the horrified, stunned (and silent) audience of 150+ attendees, this woman blundered her way through her performance during what seemed like an eternity. Shauna and I desperately fought to stifle our uncontrolled guffaws, and it might have been the most embarrassing performance I’ve ever witnessed in public. Keep in mind, I’ve attended hundreds of open mics.

I don’t know why Christmas is notorious for these obligatory and insincere celebrations. To all of you who enjoy your workplace holiday celebrations, I don’t mean to rain on your parade. Far be it from me to judge how you celebrate.  My problem, especially with Christmas celebrations, is that the enforced routine frequently becomes an unpleasant obligation. Aren’t holiday parties supposed to be fun?

That said, the afore-mentioned annual holiday gathering down the lake which Shauna and I attended last weekend was great fun. Nobody got too hammered, nobody said horribly inappropriate things, and the spirit was one of community and good will. I think you will agree that when you find yourself loathing an annual social encounter, it’s time to find a better, more joyful way to spend the holidays.

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer ©2019
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
jamieoppenheimersongwriter@gmail.com

Jamie Oppenheimer, Songwriter, Author, Blogger, Radio Producer, & Host has been writing THE OPPENHEIMER REPORT every MONDAY since 1992 and has published the articles on his blog since 2006. We are including Jamie's weekly reports, as a feature of #HuntersBayRadio, The Bay 88.7FM.

HuntersBayRadio.com #MusicYouNeedToHear #EveryOneHasAStory #GotLocal? #WeAreMuskoka #WeAreAlmaguin #TheOppenheimerReport #JamieOppenheimer

The Oppenheimer Report 12/9/19

So this happened. Last Saturday night, as your ever-faithful Hunters Bay Radio cub reporter (hah!) and video correspondent, I was attending the annual Burk’s Falls Santa Claus Parade in order to post a live video feed to the Hunters Bay Radio Facebook page. I’ve made a few cellphone videos to record live local events, and they seem to be a hit with people who couldn’t attend in person. I enjoyed the parade, and when it was over, I chatted with a few folks before heading back to my wife’s car. When I tried to unlock it with the electronic key fob, nothing happened. I tried several times to no avail, and eventually used the manual key option to open the door. I could not start the car with the electronic key, and this is odd, because I’d recently replaced the fob battery. Mildly freaking out, I walked to the local convenience store to see if they had any batteries, knowing that the chances of finding a specialized wafer battery at a local convenience store were slim to none. With no success, I went back to the car and immediately called Shauna at home. I didn’t want to make her drive to Burk’s Falls to give me the extra key, but that seemed to be the only option. She decided to go online first to investigate possible options if your electronic key fob fails. By the way, the owner’s manual for my own car is provided as a CD, not a booklet, and contains 500 pages of information. A lot of good that CD will do me in my car!  There was, by the way, no indication on the instrument panel (as there usually is if the battery is dead) that the fob battery was dead.

We learned that sometimes the signal can get scrambled and then the fob will not properly “communicate” with the car. Add this to the constellation of technological glitches I don’t understand!  The online advice was to push the start button multiple times while holding the manual key as close as possible to the starter button. To my great surprise, this eventually worked, and it seemed to reset the fob so that it worked properly. That saved Shauna a trip out in the cold. With no indication that there was a problem with the fob, it simply stopped working, and this made me wonder what was wrong with using a simple ignition key? Had I been in the middle of nowhere, without cell service, I’d have been SOL. Car batteries can die as well, and during the winter any number of things can go wrong with a car, but why complicate matters with yet another temperamental electronic gadget? Anyhow, all’s well that ends well, and I was safe and home in no time.

I put out a notice on Facebook that I’ll be doing my annual show of weird Christmas songs Thursday, December 19th. Some selections will be unusual novelty songs I’ve dredged up over the years, and as well, some will be listener requests. I’ve already had some good suggestions that are new to me. The trick is to pick some songs that are truly under the radar. I will give special consideration to original songs from local and Canadian songwriters. Someone suggested Bob and Doug Mackenzie’s version of “The Twelve Days Of Christmas” which I have not heard in years. Of course that will be in the playlist. The audience participation shows are always great fun for me, and I look forward to airing this one. I already have 15 or 20 “keepers” for the playlist. December 19^th will be a busy night for me, because I’ll also be performing a rare live set on Silver Lake Joe’s “Live Drive” from 6-7pm.  Of course, I’ll be playing one of my two original Christmas songs. It involves an intoxicated Santa and his elf.

Remember that tip about the electronic key fob, and to replace your fob battery every so often. It might just save you some aggravation on a cold winter night!

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer ©2019
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
jamieoppenheimersongwriter@gmail.com

Jamie Oppenheimer, Songwriter, Author, Blogger, Radio Producer, & Host has been writing THE OPPENHEIMER REPORT every MONDAY since 1992 and has published the articles on his blog since 2006. We are including Jamie's weekly reports, as a feature of #HuntersBayRadio, The Bay 88.7FM.

HuntersBayRadio.com #MusicYouNeedToHear #EveryOneHasAStory #GotLocal? #WeAreMuskoka #WeAreAlmaguin #TheOppenheimerReport #JamieOppenheimer

The Oppenheimer Report 12/2/19

As some of you may know, I’ve been writing this weekly “report” since 1992. It started out as a New Year’s resolution to write a page per week about my opinions on current events. Now, almost 28 years later, I’m still writing it. Now that it is officially December, I decided to pull out some of the seasonal reports I wrote over the decades, partly because I think they might be of interest, and partly to take a break. During this month, I will be reprising several of those older reports. Never a big fan of Christmas, I tended to be a bit cynical, and going back 28 years, my writing was far more politically incorrect and sometimes offensive. I apologize in advance for the rants of a younger man. Some of the very earliest reports I won’t even reprint. To follow is an Oppenheimer Report I wrote ten days short of 20 years ago:

12/12/99 - The “Mars Polar Lander”, which apparently landed on Mars last week, has not been heard from since. At first, scientists were confident the unit would correct itself and begin communicating with Earth, but as of now, it’s a piece of one-hundred-million-dollar space debris.  Oops.  Coupled with the recent failure of another Mars probe, and the Hubble Telescope debacle, this latest NASA glitch highlights the difficulty in funding space exploration: it’s expensive, and when you screw up, everyone knows about it.

I read an article the other day about little boys who want Barbie Dolls for Christmas. Certainly this flies in the face of conventional perceptions of what little boys want for Christmas, but noted Barbie psychologists (you think I’m kidding here) agree this is nothing to worry about; that is, as long as your little boy is only three or four years  old. If he’s asking for Barbie and he is over six or seven, it might be time to enroll him in a military school. There, he can learn “the truth” about men and women. And speaking of gender identification, did any of you catch that piece on “Sixty Minutes” about the man who was politely pushed out of the Sacramento school system, after revealing his intentions to become a woman?  Most of the parents of kids in that school didn’t care, but the few who did got this man/woman canned.  I’m not going to go into my usual prolonged tirade on yet another subject about which I know so little, but I don’t understand why we choose decent people to stigmatize in our society. Why not focus on the real bad guys (pedophiles, rapists, killers, white collar criminals, etc.) to publicly humiliate, and leave those of ambiguous gender to sort out their complicated lives on their own. This isn’t an ax murder about which we are talking; he/she was apparently a well-respected and effective teacher. If this man chooses to be a woman, so what?  Will this cause some  repressed youth to bite the bullet and “come out?” Maybe, but probably not if he/she wasn’t going to anyhow. Perhaps we should encourage our children to bottle up their feelings until they explode in orgies of frenzied violence, but hey, that never happens, right?  I don’t think being gay or “gender displaced” or whatever, is a moral crime of any sort, and if that’s the kind of intolerance we’re teaching our kids, then heaven help us for the future. Remember folks, it’s the holidays, so be nice to each other.

A few comments on Christmas ... why not buy a video of Roseanne singing “Me and My Bobby McGee,” dressed like Dale Evans’ evil twin. I saw that performance the other night, and it was, well, REALLY awful. Take THAT Kris Kristofferson.  I have another great gift idea to fill the shelves recently purged of Pokemon paraphernalia: Mars Polar Lander toilet paper holders. I still do not really know what Pokemon is. Is it that little tooth-shaped yellow blob that looks like a mustard stain? Is that what kids are killing each other for?  I have received at least three versions of a game via the Net called “Elf Bowling.”  I can only imagine what viruses I have introduced to the hard drive of my computer by opening and playing this game, but it’s pretty funny. Santa bowls and the elves are the pins. Before each turn, the elves yell rude things to taunt Santa, and sometimes the pin return machine rips off one of their little heads. Also, various animals run across the bowling alley from time to time, blocking the path of oncoming balls. I mashed a frog on one of my turns. Lots of blood. Rumour has it, Christmas day this game will wipe out my hard drive. I wouldn’t be surprised.   Nineteen days and counting. Ho friggin’ Ho.- Jamie Oppenheimer

Written by Jamie Oppenheimer ©2019
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
jamieoppenheimersongwriter@gmail.com

Jamie Oppenheimer, Songwriter, Author, Blogger, Radio Producer, & Host has been writing THE OPPENHEIMER REPORT every MONDAY since 1992 and has published the articles on his blog since 2006. We are including Jamie's weekly reports, as a feature of #HuntersBayRadio, The Bay 88.7FM.

HuntersBayRadio.com #MusicYouNeedToHear #EveryOneHasAStory #GotLocal? #WeAreMuskoka #WeAreAlmaguin #TheOppenheimerReport #JamieOppenheimer