Writing: December 2011. Photo: Chiang Mai, Thailand. April 2011.
I am sat here slowly sipping from a small glass of hard cider that I made myself. Is it truly good, or is it good because I made it? Hard to say as I am not really a connoisseur of fine ciders. Even still, I made alcohol. I have more (and varied types) brewing as I write this. I pass random produce and strange products in stores now and wonder what sort of boozy beverage I can create. I ponder how I might go about fermenting these items and what sort of ingredients would be necessary to come out with a good result.
So I can do this now, make booze from benign food stuffs. With every year there are fewer Apocalypse-readying skills left for me to check off of the list that does not exist.
Sometimes, for fun, I ponder certain life choices based on a made-for-TV movie storyline in which some crazy shit happens that is out of my control and I find myself on the run as an outlaw. Of course, I’ve already screwed myself by getting a large, identifying tattoo on my left arm… even still. Should this scenario come to pass, and I am caught — because, let’s face it, outlaws are often caught — I have acquired both the skills and knowledge to make prison hooch with bartering value using just about any available ingredient under the sun.
It took nearly 40 years to get here, but I no longer undermine or take my generalist tendencies for granted.