I immediately blew my American credentials because I couldn’t remember if the groundhog seeing its shadow meant a longer winter, or a shorter one. I kind of deduced  not through logic, but through hazy pseudo-science  that if the groundhog saw its shadow it meant a shorter winter, because, after all, the sun would have to be shining brightly for a shadow to appear. But that assumption was just wrong and stupid. Almost as stupid as a whole town (a whole nation, in fact) being enchanted by a plumped-up rat being lifted out of a cage to blink in the February sun.
Of course it’s the other way around. Failing to see his shadow means that the rodent known as Punxsutawney Phil has predicted a shorter winter, daw. This is a nationally-observed ritual, by the way. People actually tune in to the Today show every Feb. 2 to find out if the critter sees its shadow.
I did watch, and thoroughly enjoy, the Bill Murray film Groundhog Day. But somehow the mechanics of the annual Pennsylvania event are never fully explained in the movie. Like, how do the people determine if the groundhog has seen his shadow? Does he do a double-take? Maybe spin around in confusion? Bare his incisors? Chase his shadow?
What if the groundhog doesn’t see his shadow, but starts hearing strange voices in his head? Do this mean six months of therapy for Punxsutawney Phil? Maybe from Dr. Phil?
And, is it the same Punxsutawney Phil pulled out every year? The tradition started in 1886, so it obviously can’t be. But is the modern-day "Punxsutawney Phil" somehow descended from the original Punxsutawney Phil line? Does it matter? Is this weather-predicting ability somehow genetic, a mutation peculiar to this one groundhog, or do all groundhogs share this prognostic skill?
These are all interesting questions. Even more interesting: How do they summon Punxsutawney Phil out of the ground every Feb. 2? Is there a centrally located groundhog hole in Punxsutawney that has remained inviolate all these years? In the movie, the groundhog was kept in a cage. But where do they keep the cage for the rest of the year? Tanya suggested City Hall, but I doubted this. Surely, being kept in a cage in City Hall year round would not result in superior weather-mapping abilities.
When you Google "strange traditions," you might end up staring at YouTube.com, which features videos of people around the world doing strange and weird things. I don’t know why, but I find watching videos of complete strangers a little disturbing. It feels akin to reading someone else’s mail, except in mail they don’t usually dance around in a loincloth to Prince music, or pierce their nipples with a staple gun. I don’t know, it just makes me feel weird, as though I’m being given the green light to enter worlds I have no business knowing about. Of course, that’s what blogs are precisely for: reading other people’s mail, and perusing their personal diaries, too. Perhaps I’m just less curious about the world as I get older, which is unfortunate, because the world is more in-my-face than it’s ever been at any time in human history. It’s no longer the Information Age; it’s the Too-Much-Information Age. (I thought this was a clever, original phrase, until I Googled it and got 70,400,000 hits.)
Speaking of strange traditions, how about the Running of the Bulls every July 6 in Pamplona, Spain? This bizarre ritual links the birthday of Spain’s Saint Fermin to the yearly taurine (or bull) festival. Every year, thousands of tourists, eager young males and nutcases gather in this small town to place themselves directly in the path of six charging bulls, as they are released from their corrals and encouraged to tromp some 825 meters to a nearby bullfight ring.
Why do people do this? Admittedly, there’s an adrenaline rush involved in running away from a 1,200-pound raging mammal. But one doesn’t have to go all the way to Pamplona to do it; simply try running across EDSA and dodging buses. As with many traditions, it probably all began with an unfortunate accident: some dude forgot to lock the corral gate, and found himself being chased all the way down Pamplona’s streets, running for his life, screaming like a moron. Now, thousands of tourists every year get to recreate that magic moment. And we get to see it on YouTube.
Are there strange traditions in the Philippines? You bet. Many of them revolve around religious practices. For instance, there are people who insist on crucifying themselves every Easter season. People come from other countries just to witness this spectacle. And, as we know, Christmas here lasts four months, the better to stuff in lots of unique and bizarre rituals. Of course, the New Year’s fireworks tradition could only happen in the Philippines, where every citizen is encouraged to spend a year’s salary on pyrotechnics that would shock and awe Jerry Bruckenheimer. Filipinos also have a cute ritual of naming their children after doorbell sounds (Ding-Dong, Bing-Bong, Bong-Bong, et al). And there seems to be an almost pathological need to get into the Guinness Book of World Records, compelling Filipinos to, for instance, gather en masse in public places and suck face; there are people, too, who labor every year to create the "longest longanissa" or the "longest bunting" or the "biggest hairdo."
These rituals are strange. But then again, not as strange as a country that relies on a large rodent to provide its weather reports.