Be Super Superstitious

10:45 a.m. entry

It dawned on me after I'd looked through a pile of my son's old stuffed animals last night. I was searching for a stuffed rabbit. To give to my son?

No, of course, not. So I could cut off its foot for good luck.

That's when I realized I'm in for one weird day today.

Motivated initially by hearing Stevie Wonder's "Superstitious" on the radio the other day, I was spurred on to be Super Superstitious for a day when I asked my Facebook friends for suggestions.

Knock on wood, I hope I soon forget the odd, unlikely list of superstitions they rattled off.

No new shoes on the table. Dropping a utensil means company is coming.

If a black cat crosses the road in front of you when you're driving, spit on your finger and make an X on the windshield.

I'd say that's particularly weird, but I probably shouldn't point spit-laden fingers: I'm planning to perform a superstition-inspired rain dance in front of Philadelphia's City Hall at 1:30 today.

I'll update the blog throughout the day to track how lucky my super superstitious behavior has made me.

12 noon entry:

I started my day by saying, "Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit" when I awoke, even though it wasn't the first day of the month. I figured that following all of my new superstitions would make the day feel like a month.

I didn't want to break my mother's back, so I tried not to step on the cracks in our house. The ones in the bathroom and the kitchen were avoidable, but we have thin-strip hardwood floors elsewhere.

I'd have to fly to avoid all the cracks. Or I could ask Linda to carry me around piggyback.

I wondered if she'd mind me waking her with that request.

I knocked on wood and hoped my mom's back would be alright. If my carefree teenage years didn't break her spirit, then a few cracks shouldn't break her back.

12:45 p.m. entry:

Nine-year-old Daniel tried to help out as I was pulling out of the driveway this morning. Bending down near our front door, he said he'd found a four-leaf clover.

Holding it in his outstretched hands, he walked over to the car, then said, "Wait, I lost it." He looked, but couldn't find it again.

Losing a four-leaf clover can't be good luck.

But actually, Daniel is the one who lost it. Lucky me!

On the drive to the train station, I went out of my way to drive across train tracks so I could lift my feet and touch the car's ceiling. Then I doubled back and did it again.

That's a weird superstition, but I guess it's lucky a train wasn't coming.

1:05 p.m. entry:

I'm off to perform a Rain Dance in front of Philadelphia's City Hall. I could do it outside my office building, the Comcast Center, but performing in front of City Hall somehow makes it more official.

In North America, a typical Rain Dance would involve feathers and turquoise. Unless I run into some odd characters along the way who'll lend me feathers and turquoise, I'll have to settle for khakis and a button-down shirt.

It's a shame how our modern ways are ruining good superstitions.

2:30 p.m. entry:

It's official: I'm a Rainmaker!

If the sight of me doing a Rain Dance in a City Hall courtyard wasn't strange enough, what happened next sure was.

A bright sunny day quickly changed into a torrential thunderstorm. I'm not kidding. The superstition worked.

Well, kind of. I actually did a No Rain Dance--why would I want it to rain on a beautifully sunny day?

So after I'd looked up instructions on how to perform a Rain Dance, I planned to follow the instructions for how to get rid of rain that were also noted.

But when it was show time at City Hall, and the camera was on, and the crowd was watching, I caved to the pressure.

I forgot to dance counter-clockwise, and I forgot to say my chosen chant backwards: "No rain. No rain."

Which means I kind of asked for the opposite of a No Rain Dance. And kind of not.

I'm calling it a win.

3:30 p.m. entry:

Before I worked my voodoo magic to make it rain, I first had to find a videographer for the event. I needed a stranger trustworthy enough to hand over my camera.

I crossed my fingers and hoped the person wouldn't take off with it.

As I wandered around the City Hall courtyard, I noticed an honest-looking woman under a tree. By "honest-looking" I mean I honestly thought I could catch her if she ran away with my camera.

We seemed to be sizing each other up. I was wondering if she'd be my videographer. I don't think she was wondering, "Is this idiot going to make it rain?"

She had a book on her lap, though I couldn't see the title. I suspected it was, "How to Get Rich by Stealing Cameras," so I decided to look for someone else.

Unfortunately, I didn't get the name of the woman I finally asked, but she seemed to do a fine job. Since I don't know how to review my own camera, I'll have to check tonight when I download it.

My tech wizardry is limited to the On/Off button.

I Rain Danced in and around several columns in the courtyard, chanting, "No rain, no rain." I was surprised others didn't join me.

A man with a child glanced up, then down, but I think he was smiling. A pair of guys walked by as I danced, and I think they'll be in the footage.

All in all, I'm sure the untalented extras didn't block my standout performance, so fortunately I won't have to dock their pay. How lucky for them.

4:45 p.m. entry:

I spent the rest of the afternoon catching up on my superstitions.

I went looking for a few lucky talismen but surprisingly they don't sell horseshoes or a rabbit's foot in the Center City Hallmark store.

Earlier, while I was eating lunch, some salt spilled, so I threw salt over my left shoulder (aiming for the devil's eye, of course).

My co-worker later sneezed--unrelated to my salt throw--and I said, "God bless you," knowing that the acknowledgment began as a superstition.

According to my entirely lazy research, during the Black Plague, when sneezing meant the person would eventually die of the plague, people were required to bless the sneezer.

Wow, talk about a jinx-double jinx.

7:30 p.m. entry:

The official City Hall Rain Dance. I can't tell whether the family in the background is trying to avert their eyes or pick the right spot to jump in.



10 p.m. entry:

I gave Daniel a wallet to end the day--with a dollar inside. Otherwise, he'd never have money in his life. Um, yeah.

I've learned if you're Super Superstitious, avoidance is the key. I realized this as I tap-danced around the cracks in Suburban Station on the way to my train, just as I'd done in the morning.

Looking down as I walked, I avoided the cracks but barely avoided the people looking at the crackpot. I haven't heard from my mom, but I'm feeling lucky that I didn't break her back.

I should feel luckier than a lottery winner after a day of DodgeFlaw. No black cats, no ladders, no new shoes on desks.

No dropped utensils, itchy palms, ringing ears, broken mirrors, indoor-opened umbrellas.

No birds or bats in the house (signs of death), chills up my spine (someone walking on my future grave), or Richard Simmons sightings (just a bad sign in general).

I'm a little worried my knowledge of these new superstitions will join my stockpile of odd quirks. My oddities actually scare Richard Simmons.

But after all of this, should I feel luckier? How do I know I've been lucky today?

Well, no one sent me a chain letter, which for once I'd have had to forward on to my friends.

I guess that makes me lucky. Or does it make my friends lucky?