Don’t worry. You’re not having a Bill Murray-esque flashback, destined to relive Punxsutawney Phil’s moment of glory over and over again until you resolve all of your deep-seated emotional issues and become a better person.

(If that disappoints you, might I suggest renting the 1993 movie. Or counseling.)

I just find the whole thing amusing. That there are people who seem to hang on the edge of their seat each year to hear Phil’s prediction. When, at least here in Upstate New York, we know that no matter what the mighty seer of seers, prognosticator of prognosticators and weather prophet extraordinaire says (and I use that term loosely), it would be nothing short of a miracle for us to have only six weeks more weeks of winter before spring arrives.

Heck, we can’t even rely on professional meteorologists to tell us what the weather will be like tomorrow with any degree of certainty. We’re going to start planning our lives around a rodent?

Because, let’s face it, that’s what old Phil is. Whether you call him a groundhog, a woodchuck or, God forbid, a whistle-pig or a land-beaver; he’s a rodent. Or, more specifically, a type of ground squirrel known as a marmot.

One of my friends refers to him as “the rat,” and wonders at the fact that so many people actually get up early on a cold winter morning to see such a beast, which in some areas (like Tyner), would be in the crock pot by noon if he was so bold to show his head this time of year.

At the mere suggestion of this, I had one friend offer to go hunting for the pesky varmint and another ante up a recipe for “Manifold Stew.” I’m told it’s an old family recipe.

Even though I live in Tyner, and have been lobbying - albeit unsuccessfully - for the creation of a Man/Woman from Tyner option on 30 Seconds for some time, that’s not my idea of a wholesome meal.

But whether or not you’re into that kind of thing, I will say this: we here in upstate in New York are a hearty breed. It takes an awful lot of snow and sub-zero temps in at least the double digits to phase most of us.

As evidenced by the teenage girl I saw walking home from school a couple of days ago in shorts. Now, I know it had been about 10 below at my house that morning, and I shuddered to think of the fact that she must have walked to school like that as well.

I said as much to another of my friends. Who kindly reminded me that I had done the same back in our high school days.