“If the world ends-and not even if the world ends, but if we have trouble-getting contacts or glasses is going to be a huge pain in the ass,” he told me recently. Huffman, who lives in San Francisco, has large blue eyes, thick, sandy hair, and an air of restless curiosity at the University of Virginia, he was a competitive ballroom dancer, who hacked his roommate’s Web site as a prank. I figure that, with that, I can hole up in my house for some amount of time.” He is less focussed on a specific threat-a quake on the San Andreas, a pandemic, a dirty bomb-than he is on the aftermath, “the temporary collapse of our government and structures,” as he puts it. Survivalism, the practice of preparing for a crackup of civilization, tends to evoke a certain picture: the woodsman in the tinfoil hat, the hysteric with the hoard of beans, the religious doomsayer.
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