When I was a kid, I didn't buy into karma, luck or omens. Astrology was just a way to find excuses for your strange personality. Broken mirrors, walking under ladders and black cats crossing my path caused no superstition in my brain. As the Earth keeps spinning me slowing around the sun, however, there seems to be more than a touch of merit in the voodoo. I find some occurrences are foreboding of bad times while other moments of seemingly equal irrelevance are considered good luck. Specifically, I want to sing the praises of the roadrunner.

As the state bird of New Mexico, the roadrunner symbolizes the state with its odd stature. Known for its leg speed rather than its wing velocity, the mohawk head scuttles in and out of sight, looking like a leftover from the dinosaur age. While wizards have their owls and witches keep their cats as familiars, I always consider the roadrunner a sign of good things to come in the near future.

Around 6 a.m. on Wednesday morning, I drove the cab to pick up a guy going to the airport. We barely got out of his driveway when we both caught sight of a roadrunner hopping around in the not-so-cool morning air. "It's going to be a good day," I stated to my passenger and took him to catch a plane. True to roadrunner mojo, I had an excellent day in the cab. A constant stream of fares along with a few pricey rides totaled my take home pay at $215. That's about as good as I can do in a 12-hour day of cruising in a big yellow Crown Victoria.

I then went home to watch the Kansas City Royals on ESPN2 (a rare event), and I proceeded to chill out with a couple Murphy's Reds as my favorite major league team went on to beat the Minnesota Twins 8-3. After the game was done, I got a call from the director of an upcoming production of Julius Caesar. I had call backs for auditions a couple days before, and he liked my stuff enough to offer me the role of Casca, the brawny conspirator. I accepted. As I hung up the phone, the image of that little roadrunner popped back in my head. Wile E. Coyote will never catch up with you, little fella.

On Saturday morning, I took a bike ride before it got too warm. As I pedaled along the arroyo near Comanche, I saw another roadrunner get a running start and leap a couple feet off the ground to glide down a small hill. I wouldn't exactly call it flying, but the roadrunner was quite pleased with the three seconds of catching air. I biked on by and silently wondered if the bird had any good fortune left to give.

Fifteen minutes before I was supposed to be at band practice later that day, the guitarist called me up and said we had to go shopping. We hit Grandma's Music to check out PA systems. After a couple hours of looking at equipment, talking to salesmen, and an unexpected encounter with two Skumbaag members, we picked up more gear than I thought fathomable for our simple rock band.

After setting up everything, I had plans to hang out with an ex-girlfriend of mine. One of the few that I still consider a friend. She had just moved out to Aztec to work at an Indian college in the four corners area but was in town for the weekend. It turned out it was her 30th birthday, and we drank and rattled on for a couple hours about whatever we could think of to say.

I returned back to band practice (we hadn't actually played yet), and we fiddled with newfangled equipment and were far too impressed with the sound of our own voices. As we started to jam, a co-worker of the guitarist and sound technician just happened to stop by with his girlfriend. Before we knew it, we had a sound guy tweaking and modulating our blaring sounds. It was as if the whole day was meant to fit exactly like this. All because a roadrunner decided to cruise in front of my path and leap off the side of a hill? Maybe.

So there might be some merit in the omens of this world. The roadrunner made himself known to me twice this week, and both days turned out rather well. Coincidence? Fate? Fluke? That's up to you to decide. All I know is that I won't ever take a roadrunner sighting lightly.

Chris Jungle is a bird brain.