This morning at breakfast, while reading Google News, Mr. P teased me about what the locals do for fun on February 2 in my native state of Pennsylvania.
“Well, if you lived in Punxsutawney, you’d be bored enough to yank a groundhog out of its hibernation hole and force it to make weather predictions, too,” I say. “Punxsutawney is just down the road from East Bumblefuck, so they’re amendable to engaging in tribal rituals rooted in ridiculous folklore. Did you know that the people of Punxsutawney maintain that Phil the groundhog is immortal? And that Phil speaks to them in some special groundhog language that only they can understand? The rest of Pennsylvania humors them like an adult indulging a child who is playing make-believe.” I take a breath. “Is it any wonder that I moved to Massachusetts? I am too snobby to ever be comfortable in Pennsylvania.”
Obviously I still harbor residual bitterness towards my home state because of the past election, when Pennsylvania had well-publicized difficulty voting for a black man, and I labored to draw distinctions between the more-enlightened urban areas of and around Philadelphia and Pittsburgh, and the rest of Pennsylvania. The town of Scranton has been mythologized in Mr. P’s mind as the epicenter of working-class undecided racists so much so that he perversely demands to visit Scranton every time we go to Pennsylvania, a fancy that I’m tempted to indulge so long as I don’t have to get out of the car.
As I’m walking to the subway, I mentally compose a rant about Groundhog’s Day and then I realized, why waste the effort? Why not just tap into the scathing wisdom of Bill Murray?
“A thousand people freezing their butts off waiting to worship a rat. What a hype.” –Bill Murray, Groundhogs Day
Is it sad that I relate much more to Bill Murray’s character when he’s cynical and nasty, before the space-time continuum glitch transforms him into a warm and generous human being who presumably thinks the groundhog ceremony is one of life’s delights?
“Seer of seers and prognosticator of prognosticators.” And what is it? A groundhog that predicts if winter will continue for 6 more weeks. That’s sort of lame, isn’t it? Wouldn’t a real seers of seers, prognosticator of prognosticators be able to, say, tell us the cure for cancer, break the code of the Voynich Manuscript, or share some hot stock tips?
“I’ll give you a winter prediction: It’s gonna be cold, it’s gonna be grey, and it’s gonna last you for the rest of your life.” –Bill Murray, Groundhogs Day
