When I was a teen, I started reading a lot of sci fi. I also read historical fiction (the Sharpe series, anyone?). And I read a lot of mysteries.
Mom got me started on mysteries, and it took me about 15 seconds to get thoroughly hooked on Dick Francis. What I loved (and still love) about his mysteries is that you get a thorough introduction to some sort of interesting profession (jockeys, of course, but also glass blowers, meteorologists, Olympic target shooters, etc.) along with a brain-stimulating mystery.
And evidently the random information I ingested has stayed with me. Tonight I learned about a concept called EDC, which stands for Everday Carry. There's a blog dedicated to the idea, which is roughly this -- what kind of survival gear do you carry in your pockets every day? Mostly this is interesting to guys, and mostly it seems to be about the type of knife/watch/money clip one has chosen.
I, however, look at those pictures and immediately recall the main character in Longshot, a writer who traveled and wrote survival guides for exotic places. He had a tiny emergency kit he carried with him every day. It fit in something like an Altoid tin, and had essentials such as waterproof matches, fishing line, etc. For long walks or hikes, he had a bigger kit. For camping he had a super kit. At one point he sends a group of teenage boys out to the back woods with a small kit and challenges them to see how long they can make it without needing help (it ends up being a surprisingly long time).
So this EDC concept, which seems to be a hot new thing, isn't new at all to me. Thanks to Mr. Francis I've not only already learned about it, but I internalized it to the point where I normally carry a little flashlight, emergency Benadryl, and other odd essentials in my bag. The flashlight in my glovebox is the self-crank kind with a spot to plug in my phone charger so I can always call 911. Nothing fancy or crazy, but what amuses me is that choosing those things was pretty much unconscious on my part, yet evidently heavily influenced by that one mystery novel about the writer guy with the fishing line and space blanket in his back pocket...
And they say recreational fiction is mindless reading. HAH!
