Here's to you, Founding Fathers

I'd like to think that I'm not a superstitious person. I don't knock on wood or run from black cats. I might even open an umbrella indoors from time to time. I definitely don't concern myself with these silly worries.

However, I do maintain one superstition of my own. Under no circumstances will I ever press the "Door Close" button in an elevator. I have this terrible fear that pressing that horrible button is like asking to get stuck.

I would be so mad if I were to press the button and end up trapped for hours. Why couldn't I have waited the extra three seconds? I would have written my own claustrophobic death.

It's kind of like speeding. The one day that you go 12 m.p.h. over the speed limit instead of 8 is the one day you get pulled over, of course.

As you're sitting in your car, waiting 20 minutes for the officer to tally up the points on your license, you are cursing yourself for going 12 over. In the end, you only would have gained an extra four miles per hour, and now you lost a half hour.

If there is one day of the year that cops are ready to ticket for a mere four extra miles per hour, it's the Fourth of July (OK, and New Year's). Yesterday, I even saw a police officer that was so excited for the big day, he was warming up with extra fervor.

He was standing on the corner shooting his radar gun at passing vehicles and his motorcycle was hidden behind a nearby telephone pole. Now that is a sneaky maneuver.

I kind of wonder if police officers have a competition to see who can get more law breakers on big holidays. Unbuckled drivers are one point, tailgaters are two and speeders are three. (Bonus points for broken taillights!)

I think Thomas Jefferson and Benjamin Franklin might be offended if they knew America's birthday was being celebrated by police officers so terribly. The guys worked so hard to get us away from the mean queen and now the cops are being just as power hungry.

They might be too distracted by the invention of the car to notice the police officers, though. All I know is that we wouldn't' be quite so technologically advanced today if Benji hadn't run outside with his kite and key. America might not be here without those guys, either. So, on the fabulous holiday that is the Fourth of July, take a moment to think of our Founding Fathers.

Fly a kite, grill out, and light some sparklers. Here's to you, Ben Franklin.

M.I.A.

Every morning as I walk into work I pass a man standing on the corner. He's generally dressed in purple, is often dancing to his own music, and is incredibly friendly.

Each time I pass him, he extends some sort of a compliment towards me.

At the start of the summer, he would tell my I was beautiful or pretty, or something along those broad lines.

However, as he's become more comfortable with me, he's become more specific. He'll tell me I have nice legs or a great smile (he's a real confidence booster).

Yesterday, however was a very special day. As I passed him, he said, "Mmm, you have beautiful feet. I bet you make some boy so happy every night."

And on this particular day, I couldn't help it. I looked at him and with a smile, I said, "Thank you."

I think he earned the gratitude.

This is because the morning of June 30 was quite a struggle. I just couldn't seem to make my way out the door. I was running behind and felt particularly disheveled. He gave me that little lift I so desperately needed.

It is also convenient that he complimented my feet because my shoes happened to be MIA for a good portion of the morning.

I had just returned from Ashley's (beautiful and perfect) wedding and I'd forgotten that they were still in the front pocket of my suitcase. I had unpacked and put my suitcase up in the top of my closet. I truly thought I'd left them in Rosemary.

So, the fact that my shoes were of extra-importance to me, combined with the fact that I'd just gotten a pedicure, made his comment seem incredibly sincere. He really just made my day.

However, my shoe issues got me thinking. I really wish that I could have tracking devices on certain items. For example, my car keys.

Last Tuesday, when I arrived in Rosemary, I lost my car keys. Then, when I was driving back to Atlanta on Sunday morning, I left them in the bathroom stall. Then, Sunday evening at dinner, I left them at the register at Willy's. Now, what if I'd had a little tracking device on those puppies? I never would have had to look all over the house in Florida or go back into the gas station in Alabama.

I'm thinking the ideal tracking invention is just around the corner. The new Zoombak is about one step away from what I need.

I'd like to believe that if they do invent a device that tracks all of your possessions, I wouldn't invest in it, as it seems extremely materialistic.

However, the fact that I am still whining about my runaway Ray-Bans, which have been gone for over a week now, makes me think I might have wanted to track those things.

I left them on the table at the Flying Biscuit, which, being the detective that I am brings me to the conclusion that the waitress or next customer probably found them. And since the Flying Biscuit has not yet seen them, I am thinking whoever found those gems snagged them as his treasure. I can only hope their new home is a good one.

Can you imagine, though, if they did have a tracking device? Whoever discovered them would be walking around town, looking cool, singing finders keepers. Next thing he'd know, I'd sneak up behind him, dressed in black (obviously) and swoop in a snag the Ray-Bans back.

The thief would be so blinded by the sudden influx of sunlight he wouldn't even see what had happened. Before he could realize I'd been tracking the sunglasses all along, I'd be gone.

Until they invent this magical tracking device, though, I might just have to be a little more careful with my possessions. If I'm not, the man dressed in purple might be wearing my shoes before I know it.

We could all stand to learn a thing or two from Reese

Elle Woods: "The rules of hair care are simple and finite. Any Cosmo girl would have known." -Legally Blonde

Mrs. Frye's inaugural spelling list of first grade contained some difficult words. Reduce, reuse, recycle and trash- to name a few.

I remember looking at the word recycle and being astounded. Seven letters! That was more letters than my age.

I also remember the feeling of panic I experienced when Megan, who sat next to me and colored so well, looked at the list and said, "This is so easy!"

So I studied. (And studied.)

I vividly recall sitting at the kitchen counter, while my mom poured frozen peas into our macaroni, saying over and over R-E-C-Y-C-L-E. It was like a little song.

I'm certainly glad I learned how to spell it, now that being green is cool (which is not what I learned in middle school...) recycling is the way to go.

A different kind of recycling seems to surround us, though. The more I read, hear and watch, the more I realize that everyone is continually recycling works of the past.

I think it's most evident if you compare Cosmo from month to month. Really, now, is there much of a difference between "12 Ways to Make Him Want You Bad" and "10 Ways to Make Him Want Your Bod?" In the end, Cosmo says it the same each time.

But I'm not faulting Cosmo. Everyone does it; Cosmopolitan is just a little more blatant about it.

The copycat phenomena is everywhere you look. Techno became so popular a few years ago because it's an art based on recycling the great things of the past. Of course it would thrive during our recycling-crazed time.

Michelle Obama is gaining praise for recycling Jackie's look.

The Blacked Eyed Peas have been quoted saying that they try to emulate Earth, Wind & Fire.

Jerry Seinfeld even admits he has the same feeling- it's all been done before.

We've exhausted all of our ideas; now we're just disguising the old ones with new characters and technology.

On Sex and the City, Charlotte hosts a party where the guests bring a man they're no longer interested in, in order to trade with the other women. It's a male-recycling program, essentially.

I guess if we're recycling our trash we might as well go ahead and recycle our treasures too.

I've decided that an essential element of successful recycling is that you have to do it better than it was done the first time. It's kind of like a sequel.

No one wants to listen to Fergie's remake of Stairway to Heaven if she's going to ruin it. And no one wants to buy a headband made of recycled water bottles if the headband is ugly. You have to make it more appealing than even the original product was.

There was no pity for poor Reese Witherspoon when she attempted Legally Blonde 2: Red, White and Blonde. And yet, Broadway has embraced Legally Blonde: The Musical with open arms.

Reese learned the hard way; we all must take a lesson from her. If we're going to make something old into something new, we need to make it better (maybe if you're a bride, you can utilize something borrowed and blue in order to make it happen. That way, all four items are in one- talk about reducing waste.)

I guess there was a lot more wisdom wrapped up in that spelling list than Mrs. Frye originally realized. Can you imagine if she'd given us solveworldhunger as a word? The things I could have accomplished!

He takes Livestrong to a whole new level

"Well we had a good time, but time goes on. You didn't really want me until I was gone. I wanna get over you, before you get over me." Sheryl Crow, Over You

In general, whenever I tell someone I interned in L.A., the first thing they ask is, "Did you see any celebrities?"

I rattle off a short list, saving my favorite story, that Napoleon Dynamite was getting ice cream with his wife, for last. Even though Napoleon (I'm not even sure if he has a real name) has done virtually nothing since his breakout film, the story never fails.

What is it about celebrities? What is it about being famous? Why does it mesmerize us so?

You'd think we'd learn from Britney's Icarus-esque fall as she attempted to escape the paparazzi. Or maybe we'd even look deep into the reserves and take a lesson from Princess Diana.

And yet, we're all still hoping for our fifteen (or 45) minutes of fame.

I'm a big fan of questions. I'll admit, I've gotten myself into trouble for asking a few too many questions. Last summer, when Katie and I were doing long runs, she'd have to make a rule dictating the mile at which I could start speaking-usually around mile nine. 37 questions at 5.30 a.m. wasn't her favorite way to pass time during the runs. I can't blame her...

During my time as a professional-question-asker, I have found that if you ask someone what they'd like to be famous for, it's very rare that anyone says they'd prefer not to be famous at all.

Sure, sure, if I really sit down and think about it, it would be a hassle to have the paparazzi follow me and it would be annoying to be unable to run outside for a quick errand without being accosted. But at the same time, I sure would like to be the First Lady...

A small claim to fame I like to employ when I'm really trying to impress someone is that Sheryl Crow is my sister.

I know! Don't we look alike?

OK fine. She's not really my sister, but she is a fellow Theta.

So, essentially, Lance Armstrong was nearly my brother-in-law. He came to Christmas once when they were dating...(I wish!)
Lately, Lance has been making some waves (stirring up dust might be more biker-friendly, I guess). Some people seem to think that he has a little problem with duplicity.

I guess certain fans feel that his bachelor mentality doesn't mesh well with his do-gooder persona.

Just because he won the Tour seven (thousand) times doesn't mean he can't enjoy a brewski, does it? Just because he has sold over 70 million Livestrong bracelets for cancer-awareness doesn't mean he can't follow in the footsteps of Hugh Hefner, does it?

Or maybe it does.

Maybe it comes with the territory of being the poster-boy for beating cancer. Maybe in order to be the hero against cancer, he has to be a hero to everyone-not just other bachelors (sorry Hugh).

I personally find it impressive that he has been able to link himself to Sheryl (go Theta!), Ashley Olsen (and her abundant success at 22), Tory Burch (ah, the shoes!) and now Kate Hudson. They add a little glamor to his resume.

In my opinion, though, if he really wants to be a hero, he should make an appearance at the Little 500 next spring. I mean, Obama did it. Is he too good for Obama?

Maybe Obama just isn't really his type.