THE ANNUAL CELEBRATION OF THE WHISTLE-PIG

Marmota Monax, raise your Head -
By your Example we are led.
When you inhale the wint’ry Air,
Will you retreat into your Lair
Affrighted by a Shadow Fell,
Or (much more likely), human Smell?
If by the Sun a Shadow’s cast,
Might you predict a frosty Blast?
Perchance a Cloud obscures the Sky,
An Omen that warm Weather’s nigh.
Compared to you, Science is “Blawney,”
O Oracle of Punxsutawney.

Yes, today is Groundhog Day, that peculiarly American institution in which the scientific underpinnings of modern meteorology are discarded in favor of the random meanderings of a large, confused, squirrel-like rodent.

I long ago gave up on trying to get tickets to the Big Event in Punxsutawney.  Scalpers have jacked the prices up to where they are more dear than Masters passes.  Too bad, because the parades and pageantry put Mardi Gras in New Orleans to shame.  (Also, fewer trombones.  Phil doesn’t like ’em.)

Have you purchased Groundhog Day cards for your friends and relatives?  Sent Groundhog Day flowers and chocolates to that special someone?  Why the fuck not?  And if you have not already booked a table at your restaurant of choice, it’s probably too late - the place will be packed with Groundhog Day revelers.  You’ll have to fall back on Plan B, the ever-popular Groundhog Day Backyard Barbecue.

Enjoy the day... and may the shadows be few!