So, How To Proceed

If you are convinced that society is headed toward collapse, what do you do?

Well, if you're me, you start making a list of things you're going to need.

You, on the other hand? You're probably curled up in a fetal position under the blankets, hoping that mommy will walk in and make everything better. I say "mommy" because your daddy probably checked out of the picture long ago. But I kid. I'm a kidder.

We start making a list of things we need.

Water, shelter, food, stuff you can barter, and guns to protect it. And when all of that becomes too big to fit in a backpack, then you need to start thinking about the bigger questions. Where do I hole up with all my stuff? Where do I find land to grow the food and a population of serfs to till it?

Because if things collapse, feudalism is going to start looking pretty damned good to a lot of people.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

You start making a list. The first problem I confront is, how do I assure myself of a supply of water?

Turn on the tap? I live in a town where my water comes from public utilities, on a hill where the stuff has to be pumped up to a little standpipe nearby. If power fails, then the pressure in the pipes will get lower and lower until there is no water.

Then I face the basic, existential problem of thirst. In three days -- assuming Mad Max style biker gangs don't get me first -- I die from it.

So, how to prevent it? Make a list.

On my person, I need canteens. I actually have some from my days in the Army, and Web gear to put them on.

In my house, I need a several-day supply of water. Trip to Costco, bitches.

Into the future, I need something renewable, for Costco will get looted soon enough by the same crowd that looted it during Hurricane Katrina when they ran out of disposable baby diapers. Yeah, remember that? A Cat 4 hurricane was approaching and these idiots didn't even have a supply of baby diapers stacked up, or forgot about something called CLOTH. Morons. Children. If I lived in a hurricane zone, I'd be more prepared than Charlton Heston in The Omega Man. I'd be in a smkoing jacket playing chess with a bust of Caesar in my fortress (occasionally interrupted by the need to spray automatic weapons fire on the mutant vampires below). But I digress.

For renewable water, the best thing I've hit upon is to collect rainwater. This means I need three things.

1. A rainbarrel big enough to get me between rainstorms.
2. A method of filtering that water to get out leaves and debris, etc.
3. A method of purifying the water from biological contaminants. In other words, some bleach. Since a little bleach goes a long way, I need a few bottles of it in my cellar.

The rainbarrel has been ordered. Home Depot, bitches. 60 gallons, which ought to be enough to last between rainstorms here in New England, provided I don't take Caligula-style baths every day.

For filtration systems, I'm torn between the Big Berkey, which has a huge capacity, and is shiny, but real expensive; and the Platypus, which is cheaper but less capable. I'm leaning toward the Platypus because a) I'm not made of money, and b) it is portable, if I need to bug out.

And I'm betting that long term, I'll need to bug out, because of the problem of population density, which I'll post about in the next few days.

You know, unless between now and then it all collapses.