His number didn’t come up

March 13, 2026 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 9 Comments

Our aeronaut was logging his flight time before Friday the 13th could have a go at clipping his wings.

A thousand thank-yous to everyone who wished Herself a happy (mumble-mumblth) birthday yesterday.

The eldest neighbor kid popped by after dinner to give her a hug and sing “Happy Birthday.” Lord, is she ever growing like a weed. A wee babe in arms she was when first we laid eyes on her, and what would become El Rancho Pendejo, during an open house back in the summer of 2014. And now she’s a middle-schooler as tall as Herself.

Earlier in the day, after cake for breakfast, Herself and I went for a 5K jog in the foothills, which is where we saw the paraglider above, setting up for a landing near the Menaul trailhead.

Fun to watch, but as pasatiempos go it’s not for me. Two broken ankles later when faced with a tall curb I long for an escalator.

Especially on Friday the 13th. I ain’t superstitious, but after 70-odd years of acting the fool from coast to coast, something — or Someone — is bound to be out to get me.

Tempting fate

February 13, 2026 ~ Patrick O'Grady ~ 16 Comments

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.