RUBBING BEN FRANKLIN'S HEAD

Each morning, on my walks across the campus at Rollins College, I pass this statue of Ben Franklin outside Andrew Carnegie Hall. And each morning, I give his head a rub. I started doing this, let's see, five or six years ago, thinking maybe other people would see me rubbing away and that might start a trend, which might lead to a Rollins tradition, and then years from now, when I am dead and gone, folks might fondly remember the guy who got the whole thing rolling.

Hasn't happened. So far, I have yet to spot another human being rubbing Ben's head. And when passing students see me doing it they tend to give me wide berth. Crazy old fart. But the squirrels like to perch atop Ben's head and every so often the ultra-efficient Rollins maintenance staff will come along with squirt bottles and get rid of the residuals.

Ben's forehead is shinier than the rest of him, and I congratulate myself to think I am responsible for that. Some mighty cogent thoughts came out of that head of his. It deserves to shine.

One of the many things that grieves me these days is how the honorable people in the Tea Party have claimed the Founding Fathers as their very own. They've made a grab for the Constitution, too. I'm fairly confident that Ben Franklin and his compatriots would not have abided such corralling. And I'm absolutely certain that the Constitution is open to all comers.

Speaking of which, here's my favorite Ben Franklin quote: "The Constitution only gives people the right to pursue happiness. You have to catch it yourself."

And each day I catch myself a little happiness by rubbing on his head.

DISSED BY A WOMAN IN HIGH-HEEL SNEAKERS

So I was out on my morning walk across the Rollins campus when I spotted a woman wearing skinny jeans, a white t-shirt and ... high-heel sneakers. I stopped to admire. The shoes. They were full-on Converse with maybe a five-inch heel. Apparently, these sorta shoes are nothing new in fashion, but they were new to me.

As the woman approached, I smiled, pointed at the shoes and said: "So you a big fan of Tommy Tucker?"

The only reason I remember the name of the songwriter who penned "Put On Your High-Heel Sneakers" is because my biology teacher at Leesburg High School was also named Tommy Tucker and I was always asking him to sing the song in class. I got pretty lousy grades in biology.

The woman just looked at me.

"Huh?" she said.

"Elvis sang it, too," I told her. "And the Stones. But I liked the Grateful Dead version best."

The woman just looked at me some more. I don't think she liked what she saw. I got out my iPhone.

I asked the woman: "You mind if I take a picture of your shoes?"

"Yes, I do," she said. And she kept on walking.

Been humming that song all morning and can't get the damn thing outta my head.