Oh heavens, I get a little too busy for you guys for awhile and what do I find on my return?
Let me tell you my fortunate little experience with "Survival" books. Starts late gradeschool, on into my time at the Don Bosco Technical Institute, where I founded the "Bomb Club." Amazing all the noise we made on campus without 'The Shaft' (As we called the ever stalking principal) homing in on us.
So before school ended I guess my sophmore year, I built my own personal 'Big Bertha.' In case you didn't know, the real 'Big Bertha' was the "Paris Gun" that shelled some French city or another during World War I from an INCREDIBLE range, leaving Europe in fear of it into the beginning of the 2nd such war. Shortly before midnight on the 3rd of July, I walked on down to the nearby courthouse, set it in the parking lot, jumped in a nearby ditch and waited for the 4th of July to begin. I was wearing earplugs and muffs over them; who knows, I might be dear right now if I wasn't.
It was loud right through my ear protection, plus I felt the concussion down in the ditch. There were dogs barking all over the place, I could see miscellaneous lights coming on in the distince so I figured there would be cops in a few minutes. Rather than risk the exposure in the streets, I ran down the nearby bridal trail that would dump me a few blocks from my house, but also lead to another trail where I could seriously disappear if I was chased. (I grew up around this place.) At last alone on the street heading back to my house, my story was ready if some cop pulled up and asked what I was doing: "I'm looking around to see what might have blow up. Did you hear it?"
Oh darn, I couldn't wait for trash day. Such a problem to live in a neighborhood where people know you well enough that they're all guessing WHO was responsible for this. I didn't have the nerve to go running off to some anonymous downtown receptacle carrying this, I felt like there were so many eyes on me. So at the bottom of one of our cans, in additional to a bunch of water soaked powders, was a sack of books with titles like 'Steal this Book,' A Poor Man's James Bond,' etc.
Have you figured out why I call mine a "Fortunate Experience?" I still have all my fingers, my vision, my hearing, (Even with all that ear protection, damn that was loud) as did anyone else who was ever around when I was playing with instant death as a hobby. Outside of a bit of a mark on a near new parking surface, I didn't even create any real property damage. Not everyone has the good sense to give these things up when these things give them fair warning. Hell, not everyone has the good sense to wear serious ear protection when playing with instant death. Those books sure don't teach you anything about safety.
A 'Rocket Stove?' Basically an open blast furnace without the furnace. . . . More people die getting ready to survive this way than ever successfully survive this way. The Penny Stove is awesome. The rocket stove is best saved for some serious use, AFTER you seriously learn how to handle it.
Today I kicked, of all things, an empty plastic one quart oil container, field goal style. I discovered that my dishwashing soap in water wasn't releasing so much of the oil afterall. (I'm still working on ways to reuse the HDPE.) The spout was up, it blew an air blast 6 feet up so I felt it on my nose and smelled oil. Good thing I didn't have acetone or MEK in there before, eh? Amazing what can go wrong when you screw around. But did you learn anything from it?