I attended the La Plata county

Democrats Election Night Watch Party held at the Powerhouse. 

After a quick scan and survey I guesstimated there were about four dozen fellow liberals, mostly strangers to me. The vibe was library subdued. It clearly wasn’t a joy joy happy happy crowd.

I met an acquaintance en route to find an IPA. He wore a strained smile as we talked politics. 

I came New York style right to the point and asked. “What do you think will happen?”

He answered, “I’m nauseously optimistic.”

I retorted with. “I’m just nauseous.”

IPA in hand, I poked around the buffet table ignoring the healthy options in lieu of comfort food. Salty and greasy. I was so fidgety and anxious I ate standing up. While making small talk with a county commissioner, I glanced over at the big screen. “Oh Shit!” The vilest man on the planet jumped out to an 105 to 30 electoral lead over Kamala. 

I quickly took a seat when I felt my heart running at Daytona 500 speed. I gulped the rest of my beer, snagged a brownie and bolted for the door. It was time for me to leave this Election Night Funeral Watch. 

I drove back on dark and empty streets reminiscent of Covid times. When I got home, I popped another IPA and plopped down on the couch. My phone was buzzing from the Sambur family text chain, providing up to date and in your face election appraisals.

When my brother Mike texted. “Harris took CO. But The NY Times needle is moving toward a Trump win. OY!” 

Quickly followed by my nephew Keith’s “I think she’s cooked.” (Mind you this is the same nephew who texted me days earlier and assured me, “Uncle Jeff! Don’t worry! Kamala’s got this!”)

With that I shut off all my electronics and slowly sipped the IPA while staring at a blank and black TV screen. Eventually I trundled upstairs in a vain attempt at sleep. Many melatonin later, (after dreaming of a Harry Truman “Dewey defeats Truman” surprise win for Kamala). I flicked the coffee maker on at 5 am.  It was time to face the funeral dirge. We all know what happened next. A mandate W for the most despicable and deplorable President America has ever had. 

The people have spoken. Being a Democrat is now similar to being a Jewish American. We’re now all strangers in a strange land. 

I’m nervous, very

Nervous.

Here’s why I feel this way.

I’m more than concerned America will be shackled to another minority elected subpar president for the third time since the millennium. 

A pox on the Founding Fathers for the “Three/Fifths Compromise” of 1787, thereby wreaking havoc on America ever becoming a true democracy. Yes folks, I’m talking about the infernal Electoral College. See below for a historical explanation.

https://www.pbs.org/newshour/politics/electoral-college-slavery-constitution

I predict Kamala will win the popular vote by over 5 million. Unfortunately those bonus points won’t matter if the Harris/Walz ticket is on the short end of the 270 electoral votes required for the W. 

When Trump pulled off the Electoral upset in 2016, good natured Americans proclaimed, “This is not who we are!” Well Polly Anna and Pauly Andy apparently it is. The fact the head instigator of the January 6th, 2021  attempted coup  is within a hair combover lengths of pulling off upset number two exasperates me. It’s as if a significant percentage of the population has historical amnesia. 

BTW. 

3 years later, Jan. 6 by the numbers: More than 1,200 charged, more than 460 imprisoned for role in Capitol attack

Source ABC News. Maybe those charged and incarcerated will think twice before following a lying nicompoop again. Meanwhile their fat Fuehrer waddles free. There’s a lesson here. If you attempt a violent takeover of the US Gobment, you better have lots of shyster lawyers waiting in the wings to defend/delay judicial proceedings. For the wealthy, justice is not only blind, but good ol’ boy slow.

A few months ago I wrote this post. 

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2024/03/good-newsbad-news.html

My views haven’t changed. All one needs to do is substitute Kamala for Joe B. 

Good News: if Kamala wins, there will only be temporary civil unrest instigated by Trump (again). Eventually the traitors will be subdued and arrested. (Just like on January 6th, 2021)

Bad News: If Trump wins, Democracy is DONE! Then the purges, roundups and a general descent into anarchy will begin. Isn’t this what Trumpism is all about? Trump has bankrupted six of his businesses. The Federal Gobment will be his seventh. 

If the election becomes the second coming of “Gore vs. Bush” the Supreme Court of MAGA will cast the deciding votes once again. The deck is stacked against the Dems. 

How did a morally bankrupt scumbag like Trump ever get this far? What’s and who’s behind this movement? One I consider to be a bowel movement. 

Well folks I’ll tell ya. 

Sambini muse # one:

A society in which a father gifts his deranged thirteen year old son an AR-15 for Christmas is inching towards barbarism. 

“Merry Christmas Colt! (Yes. Dad named his kid after a powerful handgun). I want you to have this semi-automatic murder weapon to promote, “Peace on earth, goodwill toward man.” (Luke 2:14).Maybe when you’re fourteen, I’ll buy you a bump stock to accessorize it.”

In my reality our nation lost its civilized status after the Sandy Hook Elementary School massacre, (December 2012) in which 20 victims were innocent tykes between the ages of six and seven. Yet the school massacres continued with nothing more than “thoughts and prayers” for an answer. We’re a rooting tooting gun loving society in deep need of a shrink. 

In case you’re wondering.

How many guns per person in America in 2024?

With 120.5 civilian-owned firearms per 100 people, the United States has the highest rate of civilian gun ownership in the world—nearly double that of the second-place country, in fact.

https://worldpopulationreview.com › ...

Gun Ownership by Country 2024 - World Population Review

Sambini muse # two:

In 2016, Trump chose Pence the Pious as a running mate. Thereby shoring up his standing with many evangelical Christians. All was well and good between the odd couple until Mike miraculously grew a spine (Hallelujah!) on January 6th, 2021. Thus enabling him to stand up to the Bully. The VP then followed procedural protocols to rubber stamp the election results. 

Can you believe the mob of traitors and a motley crew of  Christian Nationalists began chanting “Hang Mike Pence!” Well wasn’t that a poke in the eye (which is preferable than a rope around the neck) to Mike the former Meek?

In 2024, Trump wouldn’t be taking chances on a VP going rogue and righteous at inopportune moments. He chose JD Vance (rookie OH senator) whose claim to fame was writing a waste of paper and ink book about the wonders of growing up white trash in the Buckeye State. Amazingly Mister Vance now has a sincere lack of empathy for the underprivileged. When pressed he’ll now exclaim “Let them eat cat!”

JD’s questionable writing skills didn’t get him this far. He’s the darling of those immigrant Tech Twerps from Silicon Valley. We’re talking about Elon Musk, Peter Thiel and David Sachs. A trio of alt-right illiberal thinkers influenced by growing up nerdy and reading too many sci-fi books. BTW. Elon, we don’t care if you’re net worth $195 billion (source Forbes 2024) a Dude jumping for joy while exposing his navel at a Trump rally is a bad look even for us commoners. 

Personally I believe Trump chose JD for his uncanny resemblance to his beloved son Donald Junior. Just a chubbier version.

Sambini muse # three:

I’m aware of the demographics of Trump’s All In hard core base is. Young and old blue collar white folks. What rankles me the most are the hypo-Christians, the people of color and the 24% of the Jewish voters who can turn their cheeks and plug their ears to Trump’s nativism, scapegoating, cruelty, racism and bigotry. 

Of all of these millions the one who pisses me off the most is a fellow member of the tribe. Trump’s very own speechwriter Stephen Miller.  He’s the coauthor of the infamous “American Carnage” inaugural speech. The other contributor was Steve Bannon who is now serving time in Federal prison on contempt charges. This speech was so wretched former President George Dubya proclaimed “that was some weird shit 💩”

Then it dawned on me while I was reading another Nazi Germany history book. Miller can’t help himself. He’s the kosher reincarnation of Joseph Goebbels who happened to be Hitler’s Minister of Propaganda. Look at these photos! Who knows? Maybe a reform rabbinical exorcism will right this wayward Yid? 

More muses from around the Web:

Trump’s incoherent explanation of the January 6th, 2021 attempted coup.

And at an event at the Chicago Economic Club this week, Mr. Trump said: “People were angry. People went there. And I’ll tell you what, they never show that, the primary scene in Washington was hundreds of thousands, the largest group of people I’ve ever spoken before, and I’ve spoken before, and it was love and peace. And some people went to the Capitol, and a lot of strange things happened there.”

Source New York Times 

On Trump’s hardcore supporters.

But in their defense of Mr. Trump — of his serial lying; his misogyny; his role in the Jan. 6 insurrection — they offered a range of explanations and rationalizations that did not align with any knowable reality.

Source By Michael Sokolove in a NY Times opinion piece on Bucks County PA

On Trump’s possible influence on shockingly violent events.

Perhaps it was a coincidence that, in 2016, reported hate crimes jumped by 226 percent in counties that hosted Trump campaign rallies. Perhaps it was a coincidence that hate crimes reached a 16-year high during Trump’s time in office, with a significant increase of violence against Latinos. Perhaps it was a coincidence that the Tree of Life shooter, who killed 11 Jewish worshipers in the worst incident of antisemitic violence in American history, ranted about the same migrant “caravan” that Trump hyped as a threat to the nation in the run-up to the 2018 midterm elections. And perhaps it was a coincidence that the young man who traveled 10 hours to target Mexican Americans in El Paso, killing 23 people, also echoed the president’s constant warnings of an immigrant “invasion” from Latin America.

JAMELLE BOUIE OF THE NY TIMES.

No liberal political post is complete without a quote from that Georgia Peach Pit. 

After Hurricane Helene, Representative Marjorie Taylor Greene, the hard-right conservative from Georgia, shared on X the widely debunked claim that government scientists could control the weather. “It’s ridiculous for anyone to lie and say it can’t be done,” she wrote in one post.

Source New York Times

Needless to say, I’ve lost faith in many of our fellow Mericans. Without the Electoral College, I’d be sleeping peacefully. Now I’m anxious about civil unrest and mass arrests. This is not how elections should be. One psychopath should not hold our country hostage with blatant threats of violence. Like everything else about the past nine years, it’s unprecedented. We can end Trumpism, right here, right now. Please vote Blue and do it often!

I’m the wandering wondering Jew and I approve of this message.

Jeff

The Sadness of Summer’s Passing.

In all my years of chanting “Come on Summer!” I’ll never understand how finally upon its arrival, the season seems to evaporate all too soon. 

I sense it’s slippage with these signs:

Wearing a sweatshirt instead of a tank top for my early morning hiking/camping departures. 

In preparation of their southern migration, the hummingbirds lingers longer at their feeders

The need to flick Sanctuary One’s furnace on 37 degree mornings.

The emergence of the Fall Leafpeepers. 

The shuttering of the US Forest Service and Bureau of Land campgrounds. I consider this luxury camping accommodation.

Worst of all (for me) the longer shadows coupled with shorter daylight. 

This past year it’s been different. There was a greater sense of urgency of getting “out there”.  I explored and hiked in  new places without ignoring my tried and true old buddy favorites. 

My time in Durango was limited to a few real showers, a clean up of Sanctuary One and restocking the essentials. IPAs, water, clean clothes, coffee and a packed refrigerator of food.

Selfishly I curtailed volunteer gigs and other commitments which in the past left me feeling socially unsatiated. However I did up my Trail Angel gigs and pika patrols. Two sure things for Sambini smiles. 

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2024/08/im-old-hippy.html

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2024/09/this-is-psa.html

The reason for my turning inward? From the fall of 2023 to the present, my body has been going through changes. I’m aging with a poor coping mechanism for this new reality. Here’s my biological breakdowns. 

The pricey prostate reduction procedure I had was neither a miracle or a cure. The prostate got smaller BUT now my bladder doesn’t want to play nice with its lean mean neighbor. Result? I’m worse off now than I’ve ever been. When I asked, the Doc if there’s anything he could do. His answer was something along these lines. “Prostates! Prostates! No bladders!” This is all very disappointing and not conducive to a good night’s rest.

The syncopal episodes continue to scare the poop out of me. Recently on a hike I felt the aura once again. I laid down in the dirt and propped my legs up on a log. When I stabilized after eating and drinking, I self rescued the 2 miles back to Sanctuary One. I knew I was hurting when chubby hikers wearing clunky hiking boots complete with striped cotton gym socks blew by me. 

Plus my high blood pressure issue hasn’t been resolved. 

I’m aware of the information out there too. Spending as much time alone as I do is poison to my general wellbeing.

And then there’s the pointless nosebleeds which for guy with a large proboscis could prove fatal.

I know it’s all interconnected somehow. 

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2024/04/dispatches-from-medical-piece.html

I find it ironic I was able to survive an insane bicyclist vs sedan collision, but can’t do much about my off-kilter innards. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I was bred to be a merchant and not an endurance athlete.

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2024/07/time-has-come-today.html

Eventually I’ll see a few Doctors, but I haven’t been impressed by the current “slam-bam-thank you Dude” approach to practicing medicine. (I hate it when the Doctors flip a fifteen-minute sand timer when he/she enters the exam room.)

This is why I’m on a medically motivated mission. With each arduous hike which ends at some scenic site, I ponder (while munching a PB & Boysenberry sandwich) “how many more times will I be able to pull this off?” I don’t know the answer but I refuse to sit around waiting to find out.

With all this in mind, I’m now on an extended journey in Utah. This was my attempt to extend the summer season. I might have gone overboard as there’s a BIGLY heat dome centered in the West. 

San Francisco topped 90 degrees this week. Those temperatures are rare there — and rarer still in October. (Source New York Times) 

While in the Southeast citizens are donning water wings.

Gee! I wonder what’s causing this?

It’s always something…

Stay healthy!

Jeff

This is a PSA

Pika Survival Announcement.

Shalom! This is Shlomo the Pika. A few of you may recall when Jeffy profiled me in this (see below) WW J  blog. It was my fifteen seconds of fame. (We Americans have a short attention span.)

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2021/10/acuweather-fahgettaboudit.html

 Jeffy was kind enough to paw over his I Pad so you get this straight from a pika’s kop (Yiddish for head). We Ochotona princeps are in the high altitude trenches of climate change. At times we’re struggling with toasty temperatures which can make us plotz! We don’t need additional external tsuris in our lives. OY! We have plenty.

So here’s the sad Megillah of “The Murder of Melvin the Marmot.

(There's a lesson in this somewhere for those who still care.)

On a popular trail up to a Colorado 14’er, my landsmen and I were making hay in preparation of the winter season. We live in a splendid shtetl (with views) where we all get along. Our marmot and chipmunk neighbors are fine vegetarian mammals too. One big happy mishpocha. 

One early morning, we were deep into harvesting mode. (That is after a few cups of espresso). From the periphery of our shtetl, the Pika early warning squeaks began. 

“Incoming! Incoming! A BFD (Big Freaking Dog) is heading our way. Owner is nowhere in sight. ETA. SOON! Run and hide!” 

Which is what we did, dropping our loads of vegetative material. We took flight. 

Alas, our mensch neighbor Melvin the Marmot wasn’t fluent in Yiddish tinged Pika-ese. He was too slow  (Honestly Mel was zaftig from all those treats some hikers pitched him.) He didn’t stand a chance. Melvin was bowled over by the BFD. There was teeth gnashing, some cur noshing and awful screams. Hikers hustled over to rescue Melvin. But by then it was too late. 

One brave hiker, pulled the mongrel off Melvin’s still warm, bloody mangled mess of a body. Then the hikers started to yell.

“Whose dog is this? Where’s the owner?” 

Eventually the canine caretaker (we’ll call her Ms. C for Clueless) emerged into the same time zone of her pika pest. The crowd verbally jumped her. 

“Your dog killed a marmot! Why wasn’t it on a leash or by your side? We’re guests here. These animals live here! WTF!”

There was no marmot murder remorse from this New Agey hiker. She looked dreamily up into the blue sky, placed the back of her hand on her forehead and made the lamest excuse ever.

“It’s OK! The carcass will feed the crows, ravens and the coyotes. There’s no waste with Mother Nature.” 

Which understandably produced a chorus of “F—K YOU!” 

Eventually, the tumult died down. Hikers proceeded on past Melvin. Ms. Clueless contained her blood thirsty hound to just one Zip Code away.

My clan went back to farming, but with a little less bounce in each step.

At the end of the day, my landsmen Pikas gathered around Melvin’s stiff and cold body. We recited the Mourner’s Kaddish. Then we began shiva. (The seven days of mourning for the deceased.) We all knew we could have easily been in that meshuggeneh canine’s mouth without our early warning system. 

Ms. Clueless was right on one thing though. Within a few weeks, there was little left of Melvin besides his bones.

If you aren’t Clueless, here’s the Talmudic lesson. Please keep your dog on a leash or train them so well, your fir babies are velcroed to your side. In this way, humanoids and canines will be good wildland guests. Not guests from Hell. It’s all part of the “Leave No Trace” principles.

Thank you for taking the time to read this.

Shlomo the Pika

BUT! Before I lose your attention, I’m happy to announce that Jeffy has been inducted into the “Righteous Among The Pikas Hall of Mensches” Trust me we don’t give these out in a frivolous manner. They are earned. It was Jeffry’s second pika post that put him over the top.

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2022/07/as-i-ponder-paucity.html

We celebrated Jeffy’s induction in a casual manner. (After all he’s still a minimalist) Veggie pizzas and IPAs (Idaho Pika Ale) were enjoyed by all.

Here’s our award winner’s brief speech. Like the man himself, it was honest, straightforward and direct from his heart. No bupkis tawk here.

“I’ll start this tawk with a Yogi Berra quote. “I just want to thank everyone who made this day necessary!” 

This is truly an honor for me. Seeing you guys in the High Country creates an instant smile for me. I’ll keep doing my part to get the word out to make people aware of your plight. For me and many other Pika fanatics the world would be a less joyful place without you. I love you little guys. You’re small, hermit-like, energetic and adorable. Like me!”

Last photos: Jeffy at his induction ceremony and the venue. (Pikas are the runts of all rabbits.) 

I’m an Old Hippy…

I’m an Old Hippy…

Back in those post-Woodstock Nation days, we shared. 

A bottle of cheap Boone’s Farm wine, pass it around. A quart-sized Schaefer beer, don’t guzzle it all! Let others take a sip. Of course we smoked pot. “Don’t Bogart that joint, my friend, pass it over to me.” 

When the infamous marijuana munchies would rear its funny bone side, someone would saunter off to the local bakery, purchase a chocolate layer cake for all to cherish. We attacked the brown blob of chocolate goo with our bare hands.  

I’m sure we passed around our share of colds, stomach bugs and who knows what else. After all it was the time of “If you can’t be with the one you love, love ❤️ the one you’re with.” 

Ahh I miss those feral days.

Now I’m older and hopefully a bit wiser.  (With a lot more wrinkles and less hair) I often ponder what happened to the notion of a “Woodstock Nation”? Was it another victim of greed, intolerance, selfishness and amnesia to the idea of generosity? Human traits which in my minds eye, are pretty abhorrent. 

Sometimes I lament, “where have all the mensches and mensch-ettes gone!” 

So I protest in my own little way. I continue to share. To perform random acts of kindness just because. That’s why I’m a four year veteran Trail Angel. My rounds take me to the Colorado Trail and Continental Divide Trail all within a days drive and campout from Durango. 

My gigs starts with a loaf of wheat bread, Jiffy creamy  peanut butter and a Safeway Select jar of boysenberry jam. I slather the ingredients onto the brown bread and repackage the completed  sandwiches into the plastic bread bag. Then away I wander on the CT/CDT scanning  the horizon for hungry hikers. 

The demographics of most through hikers are young, white, college educated and possessing a liberal/conservationist  minded attitude. This past year, I spotted two anomalies. White guys hefting 9 mm sidearms. NO SANDWICHES FOR THEM!!! 

I make contact with a ex-New Yorker direct approach. “Hello! Would you like a sandwich?” I can always tell the engineers/scientists crowd. Before they answer, they must process what I said. “What kind of sandwich? They’ll ask. I internally laugh at all this. It’s not like a major decision but for these folks, it is. They would make horrendous emergency service workers. 

Once we establish if the hiker desires a sandwich, the drill begins. Off comes my backpack, out comes the sandwiches all the while making small talk. “Where are you from? What’s your trail name? Has it been fun? What do you do in the “real world?” 

Lastly I’ll ask “Have you met many Trail Angels along the way?” 

Here’s the answers from the summer of 24 season:

“No, you’re the first.”

“There was one woman with chips and salsa and water.”

“One guy was willing to collect our garbage at a trailhead.”

That one got me. “Picked up your garbage? No water? No food? Just garbage collection? What was his trail name? Waste Management?”

Eventually it’s time for all to part ways. I click a “ show the sandwiches!” photo. Then display my retirement card (with contact info) in case they want a copy of the sandwich selfies. I rarely get feedback. It’s about the gratitude of the moment. I take this as another sign of our times. 

However I look at these brief interludes as an opportunity for me to practice my conversational English. A skill which goes into remission during my brief stays in Durango.

Honestly I find these aerobic machines to be interesting, inspiring people motivated somehow to undergo long stretches of discomfort, exhaustion and at times pain. I’m impressed by what they are accomplishing. 

Me? To hell with 20-30 mile days of being in motion! After 10-12 miles RT of hiking I’ll be turning back to Sanctuary One for a warm solar shower, a cold IPA, a Kindle book, a hot meal and a comfy bed. 

I do believe the world needs more Trail Angels. I find it disheartening to know Americans spent $136.8 billion on their pets in 2022 (Source American Pet Products Association including $.5 billion on pet Halloween costumes alone) yet only donated $326 million to American Food Banks in 2021. I believe Americans priorities (once again) are mucked up. It’s people who are capable of making this a better world, (if we desire to) not Fido.

Maybe even a return to a Woodstock Nation! 

Here’s a suggestion. If you’re heading off to a popular long distance trailhead, bring along a few spare sandwiches. Hand them out to surprised hikers. I’d like to hear your take of performing random acts of kindness just because.

Maybe we can start a movement!

Cheers from a soggy campsite somewhere in Colorado.

Jeff

Extra reading assignment. If you’re interested, here’s my origin story on becoming a Trail Angel.

https://jeffsambur.blogspot.com/2021/08/its-830-in-morning-and-youve.html

Last photo: every Pika is a Trail Angel