To a journalist, one day looks pretty much the same as any other.
There’s someone getting knifed, and someone doing the knifing, and someone writing up a short for the Metro page off the police report. Possibly you.
You work odd hours — say, 10 a.m. to 7 p.m., or maybe 1 p.m. to 10 p.m., or even 4 p.m. to whenever the press runs if you’ve gotten tired of writing up shorts for the Metro page and moved over to the copy desk, where almost nobody wears a tie and everybody drinks lunch. Your days off will be something like Tuesday and Wednesday, and odds are that you will clock in for at least 60 percent of the major holidays.
“So, it’s Friday, huh? Who gives a shit? I need art for the Metro page. Did the cops give up a mugshot of our slasher?”
Oh, wait: It’s not just Friday. It’s Friday the 13th.
Nobody really knows how Friday the 13th came to give everyone the willies bad enough to justify a dozen slasher flicks that grossed $908.4 mil’ at the box office. Wikipedia says maybe Loki being the 13th guest at a gods’ dinner party that went sideways had something to do with it, but that sounds like Martha Stewart pitching a project to Marvel Studios, and what great good fortune for the cinematic arts it would be if all the superhero franchises went to hell with Jason and stayed there.
Anyway, I decided to try my luck today and went for a trail run (13-minute miles), followed that up with three sets of 13 reps of each of the inconsequential resistance exercises I perform irregularly, and finally took a 13-minute shower. And what happened?
Herself and a visiting pal came back from a day of estate sales and lunch with three fat slices of cake — carrot, coffee, and chocolate cherry — to chase the remains of the pozole verde I made yesterday.
Looks like I’m forked.
Mad Blog Media 
My significant other and I sometimes joke that we met on Friday the 13th. That was Nov. 13, 1987. Will be 40 yrs next November, Lord willin’ and the Creek don’t rise. Interesting.
And today it is pouring buckets up here. Finally some rain. But I got in a short ride before lunch, just to avoid getting rained out.
So I guess Friday the 13th ain’t all bad news.
Plus, Congress pissed off for another week of vacay’ without funding the Ministry of Terror. What’s not to like?
And Pete Hegseth got his ass slapped by a grand jury and a Federal judge. The guy ought to be drowned in a septic tank.
Brings a whole new meaning to the Irish phrase “bad cess to you.”
Also, as long as we’re discussing cake, we should also discuss Cake, whose former lead guitarist has gone west far too soon. So cut off a fat slice for Greg Brown.
Slasher movies, Friday the 13th, and the whole 13 thing can go pound sand. I am not a sweet eater, and no longer a prime physical specimen, but I would outrun anyone for the last slice of carrot cake. That used to be my favorite Clif bar flavor.
Pecan pie. I can go through a pecan pie like Sherman marching through Georgia.
Talk about tempting fate on Friday the 13th, these folks are going to let the Feds decide something based on climate change. Their boss said that climate change is fake.
https://www.kjzz.org/politics/2026-02-13/colorado-river-states-fail-to-meet-water-deadline-during-extremely-frustrating-negotiations
This is where the whole “pounding sand” deal is gonna come home with a vengeance. Are you ready for Trump® Brand Bottled Water? Only a gazillion TrumpBucks™ per pint.
“…The river is getting drier due to climate change, and states have been stuck at an impasse in negotiations for nearly two years. That threatens the water supply for nearly 40 million people across seven states…”
J-F-C. Climate change my ass. Not that the river ever had as much water in it as they originally thought based on bad measurements in a wet time, and never enough for 40 million people with straws in the glass. Climate drying just puts the cherry on top of the problem cake. Yep, it is only gonna get worse but there was never enough for unchecked development.