A Letter To Jiya

Dear Jiya,

Yesterday was Groundhog Day. Do you get that in the UK? Wikipedia isn’t being clear, so I’ll explain.

Early in the morning, eager adults with nothing better to do with their time, call a groundhog out of it’s hole for a Grade 3 level science experiment. 

What do they want from the groundhog? They want a weather forecast. Why? Because humans are stupid. Again, science.

If the groundhog sees its shadow, it means we get six more weeks of winter.

If the groundhog doesn’t see its shadow, we get an early spring.

Then the groundhog goes back in its hole and tweets its forecast.

There are many problems with this system.

Here’s the first one: I can’t speak for the US, but in Canada, there are multiple groundhogs doing this, and they’re never on the same page.

Also, isn’t the whole system backwards? If a groundhog sees its shadow, that means its a sunny day. If it’s a sunny day, wouldn’t that signal an early spring rather than six more weeks of winter?

The system is so severely flawed. 

Also, what does “see its shadow” even mean? Does that mean that we, humans, see that the groundhog has a shadow that day?

Or does the groundhog itself, actually have to make eye contact with his own shadow? What if it never looks at the ground because its too busy staring up at the humans and thinking, “You again”?

I don’t get it.

For the record, I didn’t see my shadow yesterday either. And I took that as a sign that I got to go back to sleep for six more weeks. But then I realized I had it backwards because the system is flawed. It actually meant that I’m predicting an early bedtime (work with me here). 

We’ve all given up on meteorologists to tell us the proper weather, but will rely on a groundhog for an accurate forecast. Adults must hate that they can’t blame millennials for this.

Four weeks from now if its an early spring, will anyone mention the groundhog was wrong? No.

Anyway, that’s my rant.

Seriously though, it’s a cute tradition that children probably love.  

Jiya, you asked me what the sugar bowl is in Lemony Snicket’s, Series of Unfortunate Events.

Well, here’s the first unfortunate event: I’ve forgotten almost everything about that series except for the main theme of it. Don’t ask me to explain it, though.

That being said, everyone knows what the sugar bowl is. Ev-ery-one.

It is a bowl of sugar. A big bowl. Like a mixing bowl. With a lot of sugar. And there’s a teaspoon sitting next to it. So whenever someone needs sugar, they just go get some. 

Unbeknownst to anyone, there is a hidden message at the bottom of the bowl.

It says, “Refill Me”.

What, were you thinking it was some secret message? Or a clue? No. Let’s move on from sugar bowls before I get a sugar rush.

You also wanted to know what inspires me, or interests me.

I don’t know what inspires me, exactly. I know it’s not money.

Let me ponder.

Done pondering.

I’m inspired by the mere possibility that I am capable of doing something that no one else is doing. Does that make sense?

I’m inspired to do things that aren’t a trend, because being the same as everyone else would bore me to death.

As for my interests, they’re all over the place.

I could bounce around from talking about sports, to talking about The Bachelor, to talking about fast food french fries, to doing Sudokus, to talking about professional wrestling, to napping, to listening to music, to blogging, to going on a road trip, to eating pasta.

No matter what I do though, I’ll always be seen as “the sports guy” so, that’s my reputation.

That’s why I enjoy writing about a bunch of different things. I enjoy the initial shock I receive from people.

Again, that goes back to what inspires me. Doing things that no one else is doing. Doing things that people don’t expect from me.

Speaking of food…. 

In the blogging world, we call that a sudden segue. 

Speaking of food, there is pasta in the kitchen calling my name. It’s raw, though. So I have to go make it. 

I hope this letter found you well and a groundhog didn’t come out of its hole and steal it from your mailbox. If it did though, I want to say something to the groundhog.

Dear Groundhog,

Stop hogging the ground.

Paul

P.S. May I join you?

And with that, this letter is officially complete.

Adios, Jiya.

Without a shadow,

Paulhog