Original fiction, essays,and poetry coming tomorrow or the next day; it's been a bit of a wreck around here last week and this. Had to make a quick trip back to my parents to visit my 95-year-old grandma, who is sadly living her last days in this world. Fifteen hours in the car in 48 hours. Not fun, but had to be done. This woman made me sugar cookies special every Christmas for years and years, until her hands couldn't do it. Anyway. Don't get me started. I'll blubber.
It was nice to see my family, if only for a day, really. Breakfast with my sister's family, bonfire at my niece's, lightning bugs and coyote howls and s'mores, and best of all, a long trip down dirt roads late at night, deer in the headlights and possums in the road. It wasn't all bad.
Now for the topic at hand. I have been a survivalist of sorts in mind since about 1980. I never leave home without a knife and a means of making fire even now. My first aborted novel was a post-apocalyptic kind of thing. If I could build a bunker here in Revere to save my family from the end of civilization, I would. I'm as prepped as I can be. I have the skills to survive it. If it comes. So I laugh a little bit at the surburban folks panicking now. Like, have you paid attention for the last forty years?
Thank god the rednecks will all probably survive. :-)
SAN DIEGO — Six months ago, Jim Wiseman didn't even have a spare nutrition bar in his kitchen cabinet.
Now, the 54-year-old businessman and father of five has a backup generator, a water filter, a grain mill and a 4-foot-tall pile of emergency food tucked in his home in the expensive San Diego suburb of La Jolla.
Wiseman isn't alone. Emergency supply retailers and military surplus stores nationwide have seen business boom in the past few months as an increasing number of Americans spooked by the economy rush to stock up on gear that was once the domain of hardcore survivalists.
These people snapping up everything from water purification tablets to thermal blankets shatter the survivalist stereotype: they are mostly urban professionals with mortgages, SUVs, solid jobs and a twinge of embarrassment about their newfound hobby.
More here.
Or you can see lots of horrifyingly unnecessary survival crap all over the internets. Here's a sample:
Batten your hatches and watch Red Dawn and the Postman again, people. Or read one of my favorite books, Wolf & Iron, by Gordon Dickson. It may come to this, folks. The good thing is, if it does, I'm likely to stop obsessing over editing this fucking novel. :-)
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