Let me apologize in advance on behalf of the state of Pennsylvania for Punxsutawney Phil. Immortalized in the movie Groundhog Day, this February 2nd tradition takes place about 250 miles from here. Each year, thousands of people show up to watch a guy in a weird hat lift a groundhog in the air. Now there's even a webcam. Only in America.

It's not the tradition that bothers me. It's the spectacle. I'm willing to bet this little rodent ritual will get more airtime across the country tomorrow than was devoted to the 1991 fall of apartheid or the entire bosnian war. You might think I'm exaggerating, but I'm certain more people will know whether Phil saw his shadow than know President Bush ordered an investigation into pre-Iraq War intelligence gathering.

Mind you, I've got nothing against groundhogs. We've got about six groundhog dens on our property, and we usually give our hoggies pet names before we cart them off in our Have-A-Heart trap to the gamelands twenty miles away. Last year, one cute little critter we named Grover dug a hole right under our front door and was endearing enough to get a one-year 'stay of relocation'. There's also "Bertha" and "Chappy" and "Piper", all long-term residents, all currently asleep in their winter dens.

So it's not the schmaltz that sickens me. It's the wasted mindshare. Groundhog Day is a brief ritualistic waste of the kind that made the OJ trial and Clinton's impeachment so tragic. We're a nation of smalltalking gossip mongers. Of course, I just told you the name of our groundhogs, so I'm not exactly being Edward Murrow here.

We now return to our previous scheduled semantic website...