–For your information, Hairdo, there is a major network interested in me.
–That would be the Home Shopping Network.
–Thanks, Larry.
Is it me, or do you feel bad for Phil? (Human Phil, not Groundhog Phil–that’s a different conversation.) I mean, yes, he’s an asshole, but not without reason. I mean, he ought to be a nationally famous weatherman, right? He’s a first-class meteorologist with a sharp sense of humor and, um, kind of nice cheekbones? And why shouldn’t he hate going to Punxatawney? In his own words, Punxatawney Phil is the world’s most famous weatherman. And that should be Phil’s title. Phil Connors. Weatherman extraordinaire. And not even his coworkers appreciate him. I mean, nobody even takes him seriously when he tells them about his problem.
Well, what if there is no tomorrow? There wasn’t one today.
I’ve always said it’s silly that in December, before winter has really begun, we sing “Let it Snow” and “Winter Wonderland” and then, once Christmas is over, we suddenly stop loving the snow. Without tinsel and twinkle lights, we apparently can’t stand the stuff. It gets old, I guess, but it’s like we’ve programmed ourselves to stop having fun come January 1st. We have a holiday marking the new year and, for many of us, marking the many ways we’d like to change. We vow to lose the holiday weight. We join gyms and then feel guilty for never going. Then comes Valentine’s Day, which is a joy to some but a complete nightmare for others, and honestly, even those of us who’ve found the loves of our lives aren’t counting the days till we get a box of Russell Stover’s and a Hallmark card. Once trash pick-up resumes on January 3rd, many of us toss out our high spirits along with a dehydrated tree.
The Sensitive, Bookish Type 