February revelry–try to pronounce that five times fast. I’ve gotta say, I’m not a fan of the month. In non-weird weather years, this is the month I begin to get sick of winter. (I finish getting sick of winter when the lilacs bloom.) This year we haven’t even had any proper winter, and I’m still sick of it.
But it’s not just the weather. February is the season of lame holidays. It’s like they had to just stick some in there on general principles. Today, for instance–Groundhog Day. A bank of networked supercomputers can’t predict the weather out past Saturday, and we’re supposed to celebrate the uncanny powers of a big fat rat? I don’t think so.
Then there’s the unofficial entry in the race–Super Bowl Sunday. When the new TV ads come into bloom, and tribes of biggified humans do barbaric things to one another for loot and glory. (Sorry sports fans–the portion of my brain that once appreciated team athletics was destroyed when Eddie Kunkel released a baseball bat directly into my forehead while I crouched behind the plate at the age of 10.)
Next up used to be Lincoln’s birthday. Pretty good candidate for celebration, followed later by Washington’s birthday. I was down with that, too. But President’s Day–really?–even Warren G. Harding? I studied Lincoln and Washington. They were school friends of mine. And you, Warren, are not them. Then there’s Valentine’s Day. Bad cards, chocolates with nasty gooey centers, soon-to-be-dead flowers, and all designed to humiliate the unattached, and guilt-trip the pair-bonded.
Our bonus holiday this year is Leap Year Day, where insult is added to injury by extending the month by a full day. 365 and 1/4 days to the year? Who thought that up? And adding the extra day on to the election year?–have mercy. But now that I think about it, there are a few things I don’t like about every other month of the year, too. It’s just that I only find myself dwelling on such grievances in (that’s right) February.