First, a disclaimer, should any potential employers glance over at my little blog. Yes, I deal with depression. No, I won't do anything that would adversely affect your business. In fact, you won't see any difference in my behavior other than that my sense of humor will probably be muted. Something that many would view as a positive.
Depression has been called the common cold of mental illnesses because it's so common and it's such a mystery. Just as we can't technically cure the common cold, we also can't technically cure depression. We can take steps but we can't nail it.
Then again, I'm not sure I want to.
I keep a list of gratitudes on my refrigerator. Something for every letter of the alphabet, sometimes more than one. Under D is depression. Why would I be grateful to something that leaves me feeling alienated and disconnected from the world? What could possibly be positive about an illness that, at its most crippling, leaves me feeling like I want to go to bed and just not wake up in the morning?
I'm not sure I can answer it but it has something to do with what I understand about Buddhism. Which is to develop an open heart and compassion. Depression does that. It's hard for me to imagine my life without it. When I see people suffering, I seem to recognize it. I feel odd even making such a claim, because I can think of numerous times I've been less than compassionate. I can think of other times I've had "false positives". i.e. assuming someone is in pain when they're doing just fine. But empathy seems to come naturally to me. I'm not Gandhi by any stretch, but I "get" these qualities.
Depression has also enriched my music beyond anything I can write. Interestingly, I can't write when I'm depressed. I don't know about the Joni Mitchells or Don McLeans of the world. Maybe they can do it. I know that when I'm "going through the big D", I know I'm not evaluating things correctly. However, when the depression lifts, I become centered and can incorporate echoes of the depression along with even more joyousness to create, what I hope, is something spiritual. I often write in minor keys. They seem to cover broader moods than most major keys. (except E flat, of course).
Being a numbers person, I sometimes rank my mental health from 0 (suicidal, which I've never been at) to 10 (euphoric, which I have been at, but only for a few minutes. And no, drugs had nothing to do with it). The optimal number, where I probably write my best music, is a 6. i.e. On the happy side but still centered enough to incorporate those echoes of the blues.
Here's another misconception about depression. It's not sadness. At least in my experience, as well as others. In fact, when I had constant bouts of it in the 80s and 90s, I don't recall ever feeling a healthy sadness. I couldn't cry. I couldn't relate to other people's sadness. There was this wall of isolation.
In time, the bouts of it have been fewer. I don't know why this is but I do know it's because as I've gotten older, I've felt more connected. I feel sadness at times, but it's a healthy sadness. I've been know to cry whenever I hear certain ballads. I couldn't (and can't) do that when I'm depressed.
My blessings include, in no small measure, the oft-mentioned "Girlfriend Who Chooses to Remain Anonymous." I also play in a band that largely fulfills an almost primal need to play music with, and for, others. I have family members who are all blessed with wonderful senses of humor.
I also have my AlAnon program, a grown son who's
doing very well for himself, reasonably good health, a will to
exercise, and a good sense of humor. In fact, I have blessings
everywhere, if I could just be aware of them. Perhaps most of all, I
need to have a little faith. Not a faith that fits any particular
religion. Just faith that I wasn't as important as I thought I was.
Which does imply, at least for me, a higher power. A sense that I don't have as much control over every little aspect of my life and that if I can let go, my path moves as it should.
Perhaps most importantly, I've applied to college to get my MSW and then, hopefully, my LCSW and to start a therapy practice specializing in helping veterans. And using music in some manner. I actually get emotional just thinking about it. It's, in short, a calling. And when I feel called, it's much harder to feel isolated.
I've often berated myself during these episodes for my own perceived self-importance. I'm depressed? Do I want to switch places with people who are REALLY suffering? Of course not. But that doesn't lessen the pain. And in the midst of it, I still somehow know that it's just my wiring. That I'm in the meteorological equivalent of a low pressure center, which, like actual lows, can be mild or severe. But the storms pass. They always do.
I used to take medication for it. Started out with Zoloft. That barely worked. So I tried Prozac. Same thing. Both meds made me hungry and lowered my sex drive. There's a Nobel Prize awaiting anyone who can create an antidepressant which does exactly the opposite. Slimmer and hornier. How cool would that be?
But I digress...I then switched to Wellbutrin, which is a different family. I got migraines. So, back to the original "SSSI" family, this time Lexapro. It worked better but, like all the earlier meds, it flattened me out. I had enough of the pseudo-zombie state and decided in early 2011 to stop taking any medicine for it. Did I have enough in my toolbox to move ahead?
Despite an occasional trough, I'm much healthier now. I'm not advocating this for anyone else. Just telling my story.
And in conclusion, I had a small hope that writing this blog would help me understand depression better. That I could get a better handle on what I sense is a connection between depression and my own arrogance.
Result? It hasn't done that at all. It's as mysterious now as it was when I started writing. But, like love, it's filled with wonder. And that has to be a healthy thing. Maybe I'll write a song about it. But first, the elevator has to go up a few flights.
See you when I get to "6"...gp
Monday, February 25, 2013
Sunday, February 17, 2013
The winter of my semi-discontent
I went to school in a little upstate NY town called Plattsburgh. 17 miles from the border. And yeah, it got a tad nippy in the winter. Lowest temp, at least when I was there, was -24. Which we hit twice. That's without wind chill.
And it never bothered me. Walking to classes in sub-zero weather? No sweat, so to speak.
While there I had two nicknames, the first of which I won't mention here. But the 2nd one was "Iceman". Even amongst my college friends, some of whom were Buffalonians, Rochesterites, Syracusealots, and Albanians, I had a reputation as someone who was impervious to permafrost. (By the way, I don't know what you call someone from Schenectady. If you're from there, I'd be curious)
Which is why I look in the mirror in 2013 and ask..."What the hell has happened to me?"
As I write this, I've already calculated that there are 31 days left to winter. That the sun sets a bit later than last month but still too early. That the blizzard, which gave me a momentary flashback-little kid high, has long worn off. Much of the pack has melted but we're still looking at perhaps 8 inches of snow, with many drifts still over my head. And it looks depressing. It's not a pretty white. It's ecru. (It's not really ecru...I just like using that word) And ecru is an anagram for "cure", which I could really use right about now.
I have a wonderful relationship. Which is why I cannot make any claim to being discontented. GWCTRA's house is lovely, except for one thing. It's got oil/forced air and it's dry enough inside to make the Atacama Desert feel like a rainforest. The result is that my skin now has enough paper cuts on it to make it look like the Badlands. Or maybe they're not paper cuts. Maybe the cut monster has been hacking me in my sleep. Maybe it's GWCTRA doing it. Maybe I'm going through some Stigmata thing. Maybe I'm losing my mind.
Last night, my band did a show nearby. I play keyboards and towards the end of the evening, the very act of making contact with the keys was painful. It also started snowing near the end of the show.
The word REDRUM keeps reverberating in my head. And for the first time in my life, I thought... well, Jimmy Buffett had the right idea:
In his song "Boat Drinks" are the lines: "This morning, I shot six holes in my freezer. I think I got cabin fever. Somebody sound the alarm."
At least I'm not at my brother's level. He's always hated the cold. He wimped out of the northeast and moved to LA, and got married. He and Carol have a son in college and live comfortably in the San Fernando Valley. A couple of months ago, and I'm not kidding, he emailed me and mentioned how tough the weather is out there. It apparently went way down to 50 with a steady rain. I suddenly felt a little better. Nothing like some smug superiority to get you through the day. I still hired a couple of wise guys to teach him a lesson. But when they arrived in LA, they did what everyone does who travels from the northeast to LA. They stuffed themselves on burritos and hung out at Malibu, looking like a couple of beached whales with the enforcer mentality of Gandhi.
My friend Andy, a native of Hermosa Beach and now living in CT for 30 years (his excellent blog "Navigating Life" is listed to the right of this screen) loves the cold. Everyone in my band seems to be fine with it. Everyone in my LIFE seems to be fine with it. My uncle, who turns 80 in April, lives in New Hampshire, and always hated the cold, seems to be stoical. Of course, he lives in New Hampshire, where it's illegal to display any emotions. But everyone I know has gone Stepford on me. GWCTRA is, literally, the only person I've ever met who enjoys the cold more than me. At least the "old me". She keeps the house at 45 degrees. I tried to climb in to the freezer just to keep warm.
I repeat...I don't know what has happened to me. I like to think of myself as someone who doesn't complain. In fact, I have very little tolerance for whiny, complaining behavior. Pretty ironic, then, that I'm turning into the very type of person who irritates me. I irritate me.
3/21 cannot get here too soon. And do NOT give us an April snowstorm, which is not out of the question in Connecticut.
I just might huddle up next to a Tea Party member for warmth. Doesn't get much more pathetic than that.
Monday, February 11, 2013
Nemo and the Grammy "Nemonations"
Well, I wanted to avoid Nemo for the simple reason that I couldn't possibly add anything new.
But I couldn't resist...And, I'm getting cabin fever and am not thinking clearly. What better time for a blog?
First, the facts. It snowed.
Now, on to some other observations of our storm of the millennium.
The highest recorded accumulation was in Hamden, CT. A nice generally non-descript little town abutting New Haven. The home of Ernest Borgnine, I might add. And a town I formerly lived in. They got 40 inches of snow. Nothing major; I just wanted to name drop a former address with a meteorological record. Apologies to my good friend Andy, (the link to his excellent blog "Navigating Life" is posted here). His town of Milford only got 38", thus taking the silver medal.
Now, had I not experienced a similar amount first hand, since I'm currently in Madison with GWCTRA, it would be a number so staggering that I wouldn't even be able to comprehend it. 3 feet, 4 inches. For those who think metrically, that's, um, that's, a lot of snow.
One other observation. I've done a 180 on this...I actually like that the storm has a name. Some don't. Including me, at first. I still think it's a bit narcissistic and self-serving for the Hollywood Channel, oops, the WEATHER Channel, to be naming storms. On the other hand, personifying storms has a precedent. Obviously, hurricanes. And to give this thing a name sort of humanizes further the event. And it's much easier to refer to a name rather than "the storm of Feb. 8th". I'm not sure I like "Nemo" though. It alters my positive image of one of my favorite Pixar characters. Change the 3rd letter and we get a nasty Roman emperor. I think I'd prefer that.
So, the positives:
But I will make one complaint. I admit to getting impatient with people who complain after a storm. I was in a mini market and a guy says, out of the blue, "I can hardly get out of my driveway. There's drifts almost up to my head. I'm losin' a day of work." I'm SO tempted to say, "Really? That's terrible. You must be horribly inconvenienced. Tell you what, I'll head back home and round up some people to help take care of you. No problem finding people, since EVERY(bleepin')BODY is in the same situation as you."
There, I feel better. So I'm going to segue to another topic. We saw the Grammys last night. (since everything is closed today, there was no need to get to bed early). I had a similar reaction as I did last week when I watched the Super Bowl. A one word reaction..."excess." My mind is picturing dollar signs. How much money is spent on the Grammys? Probably a pittance compared to the Super Bowl. But...really? And seeing the Preservation Hall Jazz Band there was almost an out of body experience. I've seen an incarnation of this band actually in the French Quarter. And they're dressed up? And not even playing jazz? Is every single category of music merging into one super-category now? There's no country music, a la Hank or Merle. There's no jazz, a la Dixieland or traditional. Even the so-called "tribute" to the great Dave Brubeck lasted barely a minute. And you had 3 jazz greats playing Take 5 at a breakneck pace?
Speaking of breakneck pace, it was nice to remember Levon Helm and his signature song, (written by Bandmate Robbie Robertson), The Weight. But it was also way too fast. And too short.
As for R&B, well, that flame is still alive. I thought Frank Ocean and Miguel both did great jobs and are phenomenal talents. Rihanna too, who did a gorgeous ballad. So maybe R&B still exists. And rock? Maybe Jack Black. And that's a big maybe. Bonnie Raitt was there. So was Sting, although his style has always crossed categories. They both looked extremely uncomfortable. The rockers should be in jeans, slinging their axes hooked up to a Marshall stack. Not gowned up with scowls (Sting) or forced smiles (Bonnie).
Hip hop was well represented. I don't quite connect to it but I do respect it. And increasingly so. I want to know it better. Something I say every year but never seem to do. I had a co-worker a few years ago, a 50+ year old white guy who was into hip-hop. He was a nice guy. But still, I just cringed.
Perhaps the best symbol of music today is the "symbol" himself. The Artist formerly known as "symbol" and is now back to his original non-original name, Prince. Catch him? The cane? The shades? The death countenance? I had this vision of a guy from the other side walking into the real world.
I feel a little bit like that. I love music. I live it. And at the same time, I feel like I'm turning into my grandparents...an old fogey who just doesn't "get it". I'm embarrassed to feel this way. But I do. Some of the big nominees are remarkably gifted. Mumford and Sons, Fun., Lumineers, the others I mentioned. Kelly Clarkson too. But I wish someone would just unleash them and let them enjoy themselves.
Smiles, special effects and hype don't equal joy.
Maybe I need to play in the snow.
Thanks for reading...gp
But I couldn't resist...And, I'm getting cabin fever and am not thinking clearly. What better time for a blog?
First, the facts. It snowed.
Now, on to some other observations of our storm of the millennium.
The highest recorded accumulation was in Hamden, CT. A nice generally non-descript little town abutting New Haven. The home of Ernest Borgnine, I might add. And a town I formerly lived in. They got 40 inches of snow. Nothing major; I just wanted to name drop a former address with a meteorological record. Apologies to my good friend Andy, (the link to his excellent blog "Navigating Life" is posted here). His town of Milford only got 38", thus taking the silver medal.
Now, had I not experienced a similar amount first hand, since I'm currently in Madison with GWCTRA, it would be a number so staggering that I wouldn't even be able to comprehend it. 3 feet, 4 inches. For those who think metrically, that's, um, that's, a lot of snow.
One other observation. I've done a 180 on this...I actually like that the storm has a name. Some don't. Including me, at first. I still think it's a bit narcissistic and self-serving for the Hollywood Channel, oops, the WEATHER Channel, to be naming storms. On the other hand, personifying storms has a precedent. Obviously, hurricanes. And to give this thing a name sort of humanizes further the event. And it's much easier to refer to a name rather than "the storm of Feb. 8th". I'm not sure I like "Nemo" though. It alters my positive image of one of my favorite Pixar characters. Change the 3rd letter and we get a nasty Roman emperor. I think I'd prefer that.
So, the positives:
- People are a lot nicer after a storm. The more adverse, the nicer we are. That's why I like living in areas with 4 seasons. It brings people together.
- It's incredibly beautiful. At least it was yesterday, when it was sunny as the sky was a remarkable shade of blue that words cannot do justice to. It's ugly today. Plain rain that will freeze tonight. But that's OK.
- The kids are in 7th heaven. Video games? TV? Sugar high? No comparison to being carted around on a sled by mom or dad, just like a king on a movable throne.
- I'm not in major pain. I shoveled, lifted, etc. Took a nice hot bath after each session and woke up with only minor back stiffness. I'm 57 and can still do this? I'm very, very grateful.
- It helps me remember what's important. Having planned for the storm, we stocked up. We're OK for food. We have a roof over our head (for now anyway, until it collapses). We're even lucky enough to have power. And we have each other. GWCTRA's son, who lives near Boston, was without power. He managed to drive down here to stay for a day or two. How blessed is that? For us all? I keep a list of gratitudes on my refrigerator. Sometimes I forget to look at it but there's almost always something that reminds me to check it every now and then.
But I will make one complaint. I admit to getting impatient with people who complain after a storm. I was in a mini market and a guy says, out of the blue, "I can hardly get out of my driveway. There's drifts almost up to my head. I'm losin' a day of work." I'm SO tempted to say, "Really? That's terrible. You must be horribly inconvenienced. Tell you what, I'll head back home and round up some people to help take care of you. No problem finding people, since EVERY(bleepin')BODY is in the same situation as you."
There, I feel better. So I'm going to segue to another topic. We saw the Grammys last night. (since everything is closed today, there was no need to get to bed early). I had a similar reaction as I did last week when I watched the Super Bowl. A one word reaction..."excess." My mind is picturing dollar signs. How much money is spent on the Grammys? Probably a pittance compared to the Super Bowl. But...really? And seeing the Preservation Hall Jazz Band there was almost an out of body experience. I've seen an incarnation of this band actually in the French Quarter. And they're dressed up? And not even playing jazz? Is every single category of music merging into one super-category now? There's no country music, a la Hank or Merle. There's no jazz, a la Dixieland or traditional. Even the so-called "tribute" to the great Dave Brubeck lasted barely a minute. And you had 3 jazz greats playing Take 5 at a breakneck pace?
Speaking of breakneck pace, it was nice to remember Levon Helm and his signature song, (written by Bandmate Robbie Robertson), The Weight. But it was also way too fast. And too short.
As for R&B, well, that flame is still alive. I thought Frank Ocean and Miguel both did great jobs and are phenomenal talents. Rihanna too, who did a gorgeous ballad. So maybe R&B still exists. And rock? Maybe Jack Black. And that's a big maybe. Bonnie Raitt was there. So was Sting, although his style has always crossed categories. They both looked extremely uncomfortable. The rockers should be in jeans, slinging their axes hooked up to a Marshall stack. Not gowned up with scowls (Sting) or forced smiles (Bonnie).
Hip hop was well represented. I don't quite connect to it but I do respect it. And increasingly so. I want to know it better. Something I say every year but never seem to do. I had a co-worker a few years ago, a 50+ year old white guy who was into hip-hop. He was a nice guy. But still, I just cringed.
Perhaps the best symbol of music today is the "symbol" himself. The Artist formerly known as "symbol" and is now back to his original non-original name, Prince. Catch him? The cane? The shades? The death countenance? I had this vision of a guy from the other side walking into the real world.
I feel a little bit like that. I love music. I live it. And at the same time, I feel like I'm turning into my grandparents...an old fogey who just doesn't "get it". I'm embarrassed to feel this way. But I do. Some of the big nominees are remarkably gifted. Mumford and Sons, Fun., Lumineers, the others I mentioned. Kelly Clarkson too. But I wish someone would just unleash them and let them enjoy themselves.
Smiles, special effects and hype don't equal joy.
Maybe I need to play in the snow.
Thanks for reading...gp
Sunday, February 3, 2013
February
First, before I begin, an addendum to last week's blog on hats. A certain person who chooses to remain anonymous gently reminded me that I received a really nice looking, stylish cap for the holidays that, according to this person, increases my attractiveness. And that I failed to mention it.
So, to this anonymous person, aka GWCTRA, I plead no lo contendre. And will wear this woolen item proudly forevermore.
One more hat thing...GWCTRA sent me this link: http://www.nytimes.com/2013/02/04/books/dr-seuss-himself-was-a-cat-in-the-hat.html?emc=eta1&_r=0.
It's about Dr. Seuss and his love for... yes, hats.
Oh, and one more bit of housekeeping. So far, I have only one follower of this blog. And that person is...me. How sad is that?
So, let's talk about the vertically challenged month of February. Chris Rock mentioned that February is Black History Month. He then observed, "Yeah, just like the white man to give the brothers the shortest month."
Even though it IS the shortest month, February still has less happening per capita day than any other month. I suppose it's biggest claim to fame is that 2 of our top POTUSii were born in February. Also, still the greatest HR hitter of all time in my book, Henry Aaron. And the greatest hoops player, one M. Jordan. And my brother, who may not be as popular as the Abe, George, the Hammer or his Airness, but still a cool guy.
There's also the fake holiday Valentine's Day. I don't like it. Never did. Yeah, I do the romance thing. But I don't like being told what to do because of an artificial holiday. Maybe it's because when I was a kid, I had some bad experiences. (Did anyone ever notice the acronym for this day is VD? And no, that's not the experience I'm talking about.) What happened was...nothing. None of my elementary school classmate girls gave me valentines. Unless the teacher gave them one to give to me. Then again, I didn't reciprocate. This was 3rd grade, with the terrifying, and aptly named, Mrs. Cannon. Built like Ray Lewis, except perhaps more intimidating. Anyway, I thought girls were stupid back then. So maybe the combination soured me on the holiday. But isn't romance better when it's spontaneous? Not only that, didn't Al Capone gun down a bunch of people on the massacre named after this allegedly romantic day?
Another quibble I have with February is that it's the only unstable month in the calendar. Sometimes 28 days. But every four years, we add the leap day. I don't like instability. Why can't we tack the leap day to different months on different leap years?
But there are two cool things that happen in February.
One is that baseball begins. No, not the season. Just that first whiff of leather. That first sound of the ball popping into the mitt. It's barely palatable, like the first crack of dawn. All that happens is that the pitchers report to spring training camp. "Position" players (as non-pitchers are called...something I don't understand. Isn't pitching also a position? That's like calling the non-offensive line in football the "skill" positions. What, are the O-line players morons? In fact, the brightest players on the team are usually on the O-line)
But I digress...the (ahem) "position" players report end of month or beginning of March. It's still bitter cold outside but like a warm, faint light at the end of a cold tunnel, baseball is not that far away.
Here's the other thing I like about February. Ground Hog's Day. Surprisingly, one of many holidays in which the schools do not close. As a kid, I always felt ripped off when schools stayed open. I felt the same way about (in chronological order), Arbor Day, Valentine's Day, St. Patrick's Day, Ash Wednesday, April Fool's Day, Cinco De Mayo, Flag Day, Columbus Day, and Pearl Harbor Day.
I love the movie of the same holiday. Anyone who knows me knows that I've had a crush on Andie McDowell for years. GWCTRA is fine with it. Add to it a vintage Bill Murray performance and you have one of those rare comedies that is both funny and spiritual. Not many like that. Plus, as a bonus, there's a guy in a stovepipe hat.
I also love that, of all towns in the USA to spot this mysterious creature, they chose Punxatawney, PA. I'm grateful it wasn't a Springfield or a Greenville or some other generic name. They picked an interesting town name. At least for the biggie. As there are at least half a dozen other celebrations across North America.
Here's a question: What (According to StormFax Weather Almanac) is Phil's accuracy? The answer: 39%. That's worse than flipping a coin. Why does Phil get this job security? Is he in a union?
OK...that's all for now. A happy Februaryzzzz to all of you. Wake me up when February ends. (with apologies to Green Day)
So, to this anonymous person, aka GWCTRA, I plead no lo contendre. And will wear this woolen item proudly forevermore.
One more hat thing...GWCTRA sent me this link: http://www.nytimes.com/2013/02/04/books/dr-seuss-himself-was-a-cat-in-the-hat.html?emc=eta1&_r=0.
It's about Dr. Seuss and his love for... yes, hats.
Oh, and one more bit of housekeeping. So far, I have only one follower of this blog. And that person is...me. How sad is that?
So, let's talk about the vertically challenged month of February. Chris Rock mentioned that February is Black History Month. He then observed, "Yeah, just like the white man to give the brothers the shortest month."
Even though it IS the shortest month, February still has less happening per capita day than any other month. I suppose it's biggest claim to fame is that 2 of our top POTUSii were born in February. Also, still the greatest HR hitter of all time in my book, Henry Aaron. And the greatest hoops player, one M. Jordan. And my brother, who may not be as popular as the Abe, George, the Hammer or his Airness, but still a cool guy.
There's also the fake holiday Valentine's Day. I don't like it. Never did. Yeah, I do the romance thing. But I don't like being told what to do because of an artificial holiday. Maybe it's because when I was a kid, I had some bad experiences. (Did anyone ever notice the acronym for this day is VD? And no, that's not the experience I'm talking about.) What happened was...nothing. None of my elementary school classmate girls gave me valentines. Unless the teacher gave them one to give to me. Then again, I didn't reciprocate. This was 3rd grade, with the terrifying, and aptly named, Mrs. Cannon. Built like Ray Lewis, except perhaps more intimidating. Anyway, I thought girls were stupid back then. So maybe the combination soured me on the holiday. But isn't romance better when it's spontaneous? Not only that, didn't Al Capone gun down a bunch of people on the massacre named after this allegedly romantic day?
Another quibble I have with February is that it's the only unstable month in the calendar. Sometimes 28 days. But every four years, we add the leap day. I don't like instability. Why can't we tack the leap day to different months on different leap years?
But there are two cool things that happen in February.
One is that baseball begins. No, not the season. Just that first whiff of leather. That first sound of the ball popping into the mitt. It's barely palatable, like the first crack of dawn. All that happens is that the pitchers report to spring training camp. "Position" players (as non-pitchers are called...something I don't understand. Isn't pitching also a position? That's like calling the non-offensive line in football the "skill" positions. What, are the O-line players morons? In fact, the brightest players on the team are usually on the O-line)
But I digress...the (ahem) "position" players report end of month or beginning of March. It's still bitter cold outside but like a warm, faint light at the end of a cold tunnel, baseball is not that far away.
Here's the other thing I like about February. Ground Hog's Day. Surprisingly, one of many holidays in which the schools do not close. As a kid, I always felt ripped off when schools stayed open. I felt the same way about (in chronological order), Arbor Day, Valentine's Day, St. Patrick's Day, Ash Wednesday, April Fool's Day, Cinco De Mayo, Flag Day, Columbus Day, and Pearl Harbor Day.
I love the movie of the same holiday. Anyone who knows me knows that I've had a crush on Andie McDowell for years. GWCTRA is fine with it. Add to it a vintage Bill Murray performance and you have one of those rare comedies that is both funny and spiritual. Not many like that. Plus, as a bonus, there's a guy in a stovepipe hat.
I also love that, of all towns in the USA to spot this mysterious creature, they chose Punxatawney, PA. I'm grateful it wasn't a Springfield or a Greenville or some other generic name. They picked an interesting town name. At least for the biggie. As there are at least half a dozen other celebrations across North America.
Here's a question: What (According to StormFax Weather Almanac) is Phil's accuracy? The answer: 39%. That's worse than flipping a coin. Why does Phil get this job security? Is he in a union?
OK...that's all for now. A happy Februaryzzzz to all of you. Wake me up when February ends. (with apologies to Green Day)
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