MID LIFE CRISIS
I was reading the Arch Druid Dude yesterday and he was in top form. I like the Dude, his intellect far surpasses mine so I’m always assured of learning something new and important. We have major differences of opinion when it comes to the conclusions one can draw from the set of data on hand ( he is one to two century decline slow stairstep collapse, I’m waterfall collapse in a much shorter time frame- and you know I’ll write about THAT again real soon ), but I still find him an invaluable source (http://thearchdruidreport.blogspot.com/ ). We all know how he feels about survivalists ( if you haven’t had the pleasure of reading his version, you are a paranoid fool, to be nice about it ), but you can’t help but feel delighted when he makes a comment along the lines that “survivalists are men going through a mid-life crisis”. As soon as I read that and began to picture fat balding guys rubbing night vision goggles against their crotch and screaming in high pitched voices about how they were now Warrior Kings That Owned The night, I myself began giggling and guffawing. I don’t actually know if I myself went through a mid-life crisis. I like to think that if I did it was just finally getting a fire started under my ass to start writing seriously and with discipline about age forty or so. I can’t imagine actually having the energy to go through said crisis now as I’m pretty exhausted by the end of each day and wouldn’t want to add on chasing younger women ( the old ones are a lot easier to catch and act a lot more grateful when you do ) to my two hour bike commute, eight hour manual labor job and two hours researching and writing, not to mention all the chores at home made more difficult by the lack of electricity ( it’s not like I’m scrubbing clothes by hand, but a lot of little stuff the grid doesn’t make magically simple add up to a lot of time piddling with ).
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The infamous mid life crisis used to be buying a new sports car and divorcing the wife, trading her in for a younger model. I can see trading in the wife, although in the end she is still just another wife and they are all pretty high maintenance, but I find the need for a sports car a bit odd. Never one to fall in love with cars, outside my teenage infatuation with a few muscle cars and the old style Army Jeep, I never really bought into the Seventies youthful obsession with owning a car, cruising for chicks on the main drag on Friday and Saturday night or the bizarre logic that said car and cruising would get you laid. To my way of thinking, if I was without a car but had some cocaine, then I was guaranteed to get all the sex I wanted. Alas, I was too timid to carry drugs. So, what is it about the need for a pretty car? Okay, you want to revisit your youth, I get that. But why the car? You are still bald and fat, and I’ll wager you have ear hair ( I was talking about ear hair with a guy the other day, and I was wondering aloud if ear hair had an evolutionary purpose. If it marks a man in mid life, is this a signal to the opposite sex that he has begun to degrade mentally and physically? Stay away, he can still reproduce but he can’t fight and his days of providing are almost over? ). You is ugly, boy, and the car you drive isn’t going to change that. And a car, while it might signal your earning potential, is probably not the signal a female picks up on.
Perhaps Greer is saying that by embracing toys, a man engages in a mid-life crisis by going back to childhood, back to the simple joy a toy could bring. Obviously, Yuppie Survivalists are ALL about the toys. The end of the destination ( total prep ) doesn’t seem to matter as much as out doing everyone else in crap acquisition. Look, my toy pile is bigger than yours. I’ll win since I’ll die with the most toys. Cases of 223, cases of freeze dried food cans, always a new toy that a new survival writer discovers is the next must have toy. Look, we must all move to land that has a private natural gas well! Good God, really? I guess the need for bug out vehicles, bug out boats, bug out airplanes and bug out space launch vehicles is now passé. It is time to move to land that produces your own carbon fuels. Not that mundane, pathetic renewable energy plot of land. Oh, no, anybody with eight hundred bucks can now have enough solar panels to power a small microwave oven. We must be better than the masses, the POOR!!!! Those peasants must stay eating their gruel, we are God’s Chosen and shall dine on canned caviar under lights powered by natural gas generators. And when the generator dies, we shall uncrate another! And another! We have unlimited toys!
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Perhaps I’m missing something and it is all much simpler. It could just be that someone wakes up, realizes all that paper currency they make is intrinsically worthless and wants to provide real security for their family. I can see that. I can’t see following standard advice and outspending the national budget of a small subtropical African nation on a retreat, but then I’m a cheap bastard.
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