It’s Friday the 13th and I’m going camping with my son (a church father-son outing, no doubt scheduled this weekend to show our superiority to superstition). The first time we went camping, it rained and the tent leaked. The second time, he vomited twice in the middle of the night (we were aboard the U.S.S. Yorktown at Patriot’s Point). The third time, temperatures plunged into the 20s. What’s left for this time? I don’t want to think about it.

Update: We survived. Despite the fact that almost everyone tried his hand at fishing, only two people actually caught fish (one bass and one catfish). The biggest catfish actually got away...at least that was my tentmate’s story, and he’s sticking to it. Now I’m just exhausted....