The Shadow Knows

I don't know about you, but Groundhog Day always sneaks up on me. This is probably because it has the misfortune of falling in early February, which is objectively the worst month of the year, and so I spend most of the end of January making plans not to leave the house (I'm convinced that when I die it will be in February, and I reason that I'm more likely to survive the month if I stay at home. This may or may not be sound reasoning.) and completely forget that this most deplorable month actually begins with a fabulously ridiculous (and therefore simply fabulous) celebration of the predictive powers of furry rodents.

I'm not going to dwell on the ridiculousness of Groundhog Day - Timothy Noah, in a 2004 article for Slate, covered that ground quite thoroughly - nor do I feel much need to explain its background in pagan nature cults, its association with German immigrants to Pennsylvania, or the clearly absurd premise - that is, the idea that we have any way of knowing whether the groundhog sees his shadow or not - on which it's based. I do want to give a brief nod to Bill Murray for immortalizing the holiday in one of his finest pre-Lost-In-Translation performances, but only a brief nod. Instead, I'd like to take this opportunity to celebrate Groundhog Day as a glimmering example of Great American Kitsch.

I've never been to Punxsutawney, PA, on Groundhog Day, but I have been to Punxsutawney, PA. Last spring I went on a driving tour of Pennsylvania and, after playing around in Amish country and eating some nearly lethal sandwiches in Pittsburgh (Go Steelers!, BTW), I popped up to Punxsutawney for an afternoon. It was April, I believe, but it was cold and snowy, making the signs proclaiming Punxsutawney to be "The Weather Capital of the World" seem, on this day at least, only slightly hyperbolic. The town was nearly deserted - not only were there very few people on the streets, but many of the storefronts were empty or boarded up - and it soon became clear that Groundhog Day was pretty much the only game in town. It seemed a shame that the regional economy should be tied to something that only happens once a year, but you ride the star you're hitched to, I suppose.

You've no doubt seen the Cow Parade statues, or some variation of them, that have appeared in different cities over the last few years. These are large fiberglass statues that are posted in different spots around the city, each in different colors, often boasting unique outfits or designs created by local children or corporate sponsors. Boston had fish several years ago, Oklahoma City had buffaloes, etc. Well, Punxsutaney has groundhogs - human-size, waving and friendly groundhogs. They were, apart from the McDonald's downtown, the only splashes of color on a very grey day.



On the main square in town you'll find the Groundhog Zoo, which is actually a window on the outside of the town library, on the other side of which resides Phil, the meteorological groundhog, on the days when he's not being hauled out into the cold by some tophatted buffoon. At least that's what they say - when I was there Phil was sleeping somewhere offstage, so I had to be content with his humongous fiberglass cousins.



By far the best - and warmest - part of my visit was the time I spent in Phil's Official Souvenir Shop. In addition to the expected t-shirts, keyrings, beanie babies, and Groundhog Day DVDs, the shop had a dizzying array of commonplace items made less commonplace by the presence of a smiling groundhog. These included: pens, ashtrays, paper napkins, paper plates, water bottles, and (I'm pretty sure) toothbrushes. Indeed, if one were so inclined one could equip a small apartment entirely with items purchased at Phil's Official Souvenir Shop, assuming one wanted an apartment full of smiling groundhog faces. My arms were full of these things - in fact, I was rapidly checking off the names on my Christmas list - when I had a last-minute change of heart and put them all back. All, that is, except for a "Weather Capital of the World" water bottle, which today enjoys a prominent spot in the water-bottle-holder on my bicycle (although I am a little worried that it might get stolen some day). Do I regret not having bought more groundhog kitsch when I had the chance? I do, sometimes. I do.

My purchase made, I bid a fond adieu to Punxsutawney, but not before passing by the Groundhog Car Wash and the Groundhog Plaza strip mall. And I thought to myself: wow, if I lived here, I would be so goddamn sick of goddamn groundhogs.