Groundhog Day, or Why I Hate Bill Murray
Today is Groundhog Day. It's also my birthday. Approximately 25 years ago in about five minutes, I made my crying, fluid-heavy entrance into the world.
(I'm the one without the funny blue helmet or the labor-weary smile).
My mom's due date was the 7th, so she had decided to start her maternity leave the week prior so she could finish getting ready for my arrival. Friday, January 30th, she'd bid her coworkers a fond farewell, and she and my dad returned to their house, eager for a week of making baby blankets, painting my room, and a whole lot of relaxation.
I, however, had different plans.
Sunday afternoon, Mom's water broke. By the time they made it to the hospital, the nurses told her it was too late to have an epidural (oops). And at 1:20 in the early morning on Monday:
Ta da!
As I grew up, I discovered a few things about the day on which I was born. First: every year on my birthday, some guys wearing funny hats pull an oversized hamster out of the ground and, based on whether or not it happens to be sunny that day, predict the weather for the next six weeks. Or something like that.
Besides this odd (if folksy) tradition, I discovered something very disturbing about my birthday. On February 2nd, something strange and perplexing happens to TV programmers. They think it's hysterical to play the same movie over. And over. And over. All. day. Long.
So let's say, hypothetically speaking, an unsuspecting little girl sees that there's a movie about her birthday. She'll first be overjoyed- now it's not just those stupid Christmas babies that get all the fun; she gets a movie, too! She'll beg her mother to let her watch it, and, it being one of her mother's favorites, her mother will happily agree. This little girl will sit with her mother on the couch, expecting a movie featuring a singing badger, or perhaps a lonely but courageous woodchuck who must save his friends from the evil hunters (and still have time for a big musical finale). But no. Instead, she watched a balding middle-age man go through a boring day. And then he did it again. And again. And again.
When the little girl, very confused and mildly horrified at the lack of singing woodland creatures, confronts her mother over what the HELL they're sitting through, her mother will laugh and say "It's a romantic comedy, honey! Isn't Bill Murray funny?"
No, Mother. Bill Murray isn't funny. The movie isn't funny. The movie is a scam. It's a dupe for unsuspecting Groundhog-born children. They trick us into thinking it's going to be a kick-line of gophers and then they spring THIS on you:
Traumatizing, right? It took me several years before I'd even consider turning on the TV on my birthday, and even then, I always made sure to triple check the TV guide. Because That Movie ruins birthdays, people.
And that is why I hate Bill Murray.
P.S. ...at least the Christmas-birthday kids don't get off scot-free. Suckers.
**Note: While I do honestly vehemently detest both the movie 'Groundhog Day' and Bill Murray's 'acting', this is in no way a criticism of him personally. I'm sure he's a lovely man who just has horrible taste in scripts. And holidays. And no, I will never admit that 'Scrooged!' made me giggle like a whore in church.