'Tis the season for dumbest holidays our culture has seen fit to create for its pathetic self.

A week from this Thursday, we have St. Valentine's Day. That's when people who are insecure about their relationships have to flaunt it for the world while those who are single are made to feel like uninsured lepers in a leper colony run by a big HMO.

But first, we just had something called Groundhog Day. That's when we all emerge from our figurative holes in the ground to watch as a groundhog named Phil is coaxed out of his literal hole in the ground to tell us if it is going to be an early Spring or if there are going to be six more weeks of winter.

We don't need a groundhog who knows not of global warming for this tired old routine. My calendar says there actually seven more weeks of a winter that has been footloose and snow-free up until now.

I suppose no one really orders more oil or breaks out the sun-tan lotion based on the whim of a groundhog.

That's what weather forecasters, with all their computers and satellites, are for - supposedly.

So far, this winter, these bubble-headed bleach-blonds and/or pretty boys have used scare tactics that would put Karl Rove in a campaign to shame.

Unlike Rove, who deployed red and orange terror alerts to lead enough sheep to voting booth to get the worst president of our times re-elected, these white-out alerts are making even the most gullible chuckle.

The act goes something like this: Two children die in a house fire in Camden and a local soldier loses his life in Iraq, but the big story is ... some wintry weather is possibly headed our way in time for the morning rush.

Then they cut to the alleged meteorologist standing outside on a perfectly still and globally warmed winter's eve telling us that the nice weather you see will not last and they tell you stay tuned for the sordid details later in the broadcast.

We hang on, figuring this time is going to be the time when we really get something, and - following the latest developments with Britney Spears and Natalee Holloway and the results of a new study revealing that smoking is bad for our health and dogs show love - we get to hear if we are going to be slip-sliding our way in to work, school and play the following morning.

Following needless mumbo-jumbo about systems moving our way and film clips of schmucks in the upper Midwest digging out from a blizzard, we get to our forecast.


Increasing, it all turns out to be a tease to keep us watching.

Oh, they'll say that maybe - in the Lehigh Valley or Lancaster - some of the rain may begin as sleet. In the Poconos, a possible inch or two (the equivalent of flurries down our way) of snow. In our region, which is all that matters (they have their own sources of information in the Lehigh Valley and Poconos and the Amish don't watch television), we may get ... some early-morning rain.

That's it? The top story?

And it gets even worse when there is a 50-50 shot of getting a few flurries. On those days, we are told to tune in to their station beginning at 5:30 a.m. for all the emergency and school-closing information. And, of course, no such broadcast would be complete without the obligatory interview with a PennDOT guy.

I would actually pay the PennDOT talking head to say something like "it's not going to be that bad, so we're going sit back and watch everyone crash into one another."

But it doesn't go down that way. Instead, we hear of readiness as if an attack from Iran or North Korea were pending.

And then the day comes and goes with nary a flake in the sky.

It's enough to bring tears to my eye.

Tears? Yes, of laughter.

And that's saying something.

They used to be born out of panic.

There was a time when driving in adverse conditions became a phobia. I'm man enough to admit it. As a teen who somehow survived the years of believing he was invincible, I had enough close calls in ice and snow to scare me into wanting to run and hide from every flake of snow that didn't immediately melt when it hit the ground.

But I slowly got over it. The adage about going neither too slow nor too fast really holds true. And it helps if you're behind the wheel of a four-wheel drive vehicle.

Although I'm still teased about how pathetic I used to be, I shrug enough knowing I'm no more or less a wimp about it than the next person.

I'm careful when it snows (if it ever does). If there is no need to be on the roads, I stay off. But if I have to drive, I drive with care.

I don't need anyone trying to make me afraid with bogus forecast.

I don't need - as the great Bob Dylan once wrote and sang - a weatherman to know which way the wind blows.