The Disaster Diaries: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Apocalypse
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Sam Sheridan has traveled the world as an amateur boxer and mixed martial arts fighter; he has worked as an EMT, a wilderness firefighter, a sailor, a cowboy at the largest ranch in Montana, and in construction under brutal conditions at the South Pole. If he isn't ready for the Apocalypse and the fractured world that will likely ensue, we are all in a lot of trouble.
Despite an arsenal of skills that puts many to shame, when Sam became a father he was beset with nightmares about being unable to protect his son. With disaster images from movies, books, and the nightly news filling his head, he was slowly being driven to distraction. If a rogue wave hit his beach community, would he be able to get out? If the power grid went down and he was forced outside the city limits, could he survive in the wilderness? And let's not even talk about plagues, zombie hoards, and attacking aliens. Unable to quiet his mind, Sam decides to face his fears head-on and gain as many skills as possible.
The problem is each doomsday situation requires something unique. Trying to navigate the clogged highway out of town? Head to the best stunt driving school in the country. Need to protect your family, but out of ammunition? Learn how to handle a knife. Is your kid hurt or showing signs of mental strain? Better brush upon emergency medicine and the psychological effects of trauma. From training with an Olympic weight lifter to a down and dirty apprenticeship in stealing cars with an ex-gang member, from a gun course in the hundred-degree heat of Alabama to agonizing lessons in arctic wilderness survival, Sam leaves no stone unturned. Will it be enough if a meteor rocks the earth? Who's to say? But as Sam points out, it would be a damn shame to survive the initial impact only to die a few days later because you don’t know how to build a fire.
A rollicking narrative with each chapter framed by a hypothetical catastrophic scenario, The Disaster Diaries is irresistible armchair adventure reading for everyone curious about what it might take to survive a cataclysmic event and those who just want to watch someone else struggling to find out.
scared to act. We have to be motivated. Never in history has a people been so healthy and lived such long and free lives as we do now, here in the first world. And yet, in part because of the media and the twenty-four-hour news cycle, people are as afraid as ever. Humans are naturally drawn to scary stories for a variety of reasons. The government pushes fear through a combination of good intentions, cover-your-ass politics, litigation concerns, and Machiavellian manipulation (although much
call handy, but usually I can hang a curtain. Casey’s smile faded. We began tapping on the walls, listening. “These are usually going to be concrete masonry blocks, they’re the cheapest, and if it’s from the 1920s . . . It’s good that you don’t own this house,” Casey chuckled. Having a bathtub overhead, that didn’t matter much. But the masonry without reinforcing was a problem. This had been a little one-story beach cottage in the 1920s. It was highly unlikely that it had the proper
about all your medications. Can you survive without the prescriptions? Can you fix the problem with diet? I was diagnosed with a thyroid disorder, early-onset Hashimoto’s, about four years ago. I was prescribed Synthroid, which I had to buy every month. Remember, in the grid-down scenario, the local pharmacies are going to run out of everything in a few weeks. Instead of the medications, I removed wheat and gluten from my diet for about a year and my most recent blood tests showed my thyroid
score on the game; you can’t watch the game with texting friends. Our attention is spread thinner and thinner. “The GPS means that you don’t have to think or plan beforehand,” said Jeff, “and so you have no context.” There are famous cases of people following the GPS right off a proverbial cliff. A Canadian couple drove to Vegas, and on the way back, following the GPS, they somehow ended up driving down a long dirt road in the Humboldt forest and got stuck in the mud. The husband set
easy that it’s almost not worth doing; he could just tell me how to do it, but I insisted. — The junkyard was dense, a working place, with grease-soaked pavement and shattered glass, maybe an acre of derelict cars lying in neat, tight rows. They seemed thoroughly picked over—could anybody really have missed anything valuable? But if you needed a part for your car, this was a cheap place to hunt for it. We wandered between the rows, crunching glass under our sneakers, angling sideways to