#in punx. pa.

[annabelle--cane]

groumdhog day. musical.

[frat-house-system]

Just finished a rewatch of my favourite bootleg !!

Groundhog Day the Musical supremacy

[thepoppunkdad]

LINK IN PROFILE! . Had a chance to catch up w/ my good buds in @goalkeeperband at the @fourchordmusicfestival a few weeks back. FULL INTERVIEW ON MY YOUTUBE CHANNEL! . #goalkeeper #fourchordmusicfestival #poppunk #punk #pa #pittsburgh #philadelphia #punx #emo #musicfestival #livemusic #poppunkband #poppunkmusic #alkalinetrio #thrice #emokid #elderemo #punkband #punkmusic #altrock #alternative #alternativestyle #alternativerock #altmusic (at Wild Things Park) https://www.instagram.com/p/CjVIWghO0Kr/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[papiersnoirs]

Yo les punx! Le 17 juillet on compte sur vous pour venir fêter l'été et le dernier concert Papiers Noirs avant la rentrée ! Ca sera encore et toujours au Mélody Maker, à 20h30, à prix libre, avec les excellent·e·s :

BORLA (punk, Iruña) Musique : https://borla.bandcamp.com/album/kordoba-bidea

FLECHE (punk, Brest) Musique : pas encore pour l'instant

VENUE: MELODY MAKER 14 rue Saint-Mélaine, 35000 Rennes

**L'espace concert n'est pas accessible aux PMR** **Pensez aux bouchons, on en a pas beaucoup!**

[oneburningmatch]

⚡️ The Call of the storm ⚡️ is online !

5 years have passed since we went into a studio! We are thrilled to finally share our new single 🔥🔥🔥

Take it as a teaser for the album we are working on.A bit of backstory + "The Call of the Storm" was exclusively written for the mixtape "When the punx are united Vol II" in support of the Raymond bar, a self-managed venue founded in 2004 in Clermont Ferrand, our hometown in France. The Raymond Bar is moving out in 2023 as the current building will be demolished.

👉You can find all the info on Histrion Records' bandcamp: histrionrecords.bandcamp.com/album/when-the-punx-are-united-vol-ii The mixtape is available in digital and physical format. All donations will be sent to the venue.

The Raymond Bar's fate is particularly close to our hearts. We have frequented for years as spectators, event planners, and musicians on stage or in the rehearsal room. Some of us met there and lived there and most of the members of the band got involved, still get involved, and will get involved in the venue.

For us, it is an oxygen mask in a tainted atmosphere. It is a weapon of mass creation and a necessary place of free popular expression.

Throughout our discography, some of our songs are more or less direct references to what we have lived there, the philosophy of life, and the fighting spirit that the Raymond Bar has given us. We can cite the titles “The Fallen Star”, “Diy or die”, “Here and Now” for example.

Without the Raymond bar, One Burning Match might have never existed. It’s not the walls that make a venue special but the people running it. But these walls have marked our history.

We wanted to make a song that would embody this special moment when a page is turning and a new chapter begins. By shooting our video into his bowels, we wanted to pay it a final tribute.

OxBxM

---------------------------------------------

⚡️ The Call of the storm ⚡️ est en ligne !

5 ans que nous n'étions pas rentrés en studio ! Nous sommes donc très heureux de partager cette nouvelle chanson avec vous !

Comme un avant-goût de l'album que nous préparons 🔥🔥🔥

+ Contexte +

Cette chanson a été écrite exclusivement pour la compil-action « When the punx are united Vol II » en soutien au Raymond bar, le lieu alternatif mythique de Clermont-Ferrand qui doit déménager car le bâtiment actuel doit être rasé.

👉 Tu trouveras les infos sur le bandcamp d'Histrion records : https://histrionrecords.bandcamp.com/album/when-the-punx-are-united-vol-ii La compil est disponible au format numérique et physique. Tous les dons seront reversés au lieu.

Le destin du Raymond Bar nous tient particulièrement à cœur. Nous le fréquentons assidûment depuis des années en tant que spectateurs, organisateurs d’événements et musiciens, que ce soit sur scène ou dans le local de répétition. Certains d’entre nous s'y sont rencontrés, y ont vécu et la plupart des membres du groupe se sont investis, s’investissent encore et s’investiront dans le fonctionnement du lieu.

Pour nous, il est une bulle d’oxygène dans une atmosphère viciée. Il est une arme de création massive culturelle et un lieu de libre expression populaire nécessaire en ces temps délétères.

Tout au long de notre discographie, certains titres y font des références plus ou moins directes avec ce que nous y avons vécu, la philosophie de vie et la combativité que le lieu nous a apportée. On peut citer les titres « The Fallen Star », « Diy or die », « Here and now » par exemple.

Sans le Raymond bar, il n’y aurait peut-être pas de One Burning Match. Même si ce ne sont pas les murs qui font un lieu, mais les personnes actives dedans, ces murs-là auront marqué notre histoire.

Nous voulions écrire une chanson qui serait un marqueur temporel de la page qui se tourne et de la nouvelle qui s’ouvre à nous. En tournant notre vidéo dans ses entrailles, nous voulions lui rendre un dernier hommage.

OxBxM

---------------------------------------------

🖤A huge thanks to everyone who has contributed to this track / Un énorme merci à toutes les personnes qui ont contribué à la réalisation de ce titre 🖤:

Studio: Buèges Valley Recording Services

Recording: Benoit Rave

Mixing/Mastering: Sebastien Langle

Video: Sans sucre

Communication support : Solstice writings

Production : Histrion Records

[longhive]

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[derpa-smashed]

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[warkrusher]

“I want to be a terrorist. I want to terrorize this world of men which vilifies my self-defense from constant acts of violence from police, military, and government. Do I seem dangerous in a weaponized world, on seized land no less? Do I seem dangerous with projectiles ripping through my flesh? The parameters continue to yield their intended results: generation after generation learns only from dominance through conflict, and not to break tradition. ALL life submerged in my life's danger is as just as anything else of this tepid existence, and I'd like to think I believe in equality. NONVIOLENCE IN A POLICE STATE IS COMPLIANCE WITH INSTITUTIONAL HATE”

punk from Philadelphia PA

[sabergowitz]

I think Darren Criss could hypothetically be a good Phil Connors some years from now

you see me

TOTALLY, he just has to become a bill murray/andy karl aged Adult, lol. and they have to revive ghd i will buy all the goddamn tickets

just thought about the earnestness with which he’d sing seeing you and i’m dooooone

[talesandfluff]

okay I find finished watching Groundhog Day the movie, after having seen the musical before, and here are the things I find that the musical did better:

− Rita. Just… Rita Hanson. She's so much more fleshed out in the musical she's barely the same character. She has a backstory, a past, she's driven, compassionate, awkward, filled with innocent wonderment but jaded at the same time, she's not bland AT ALL.

− Diversity. There's more women and people of color in the musical, starting with the female lead who is both. It's still pretty white but it's heading towards a more equal direction. The female characters are treated better too, given more time and made more interesting with special quirks.

− Fleshing out the town characters. There's a few added ones to his normal day if he lets it run normally, there's the songs "One Day" and "Playing Nancy" that really play up this aspect. Their humanity is really made much more clear, how each of them are special and unique.

− Some scenes are given much more emotional depth with the music going with it, I think specifically "Hope". Damn, Andy Karl, how do you do this? And "Everything about you" feels more intimate and special.

− They took like ONE LINE from bland movie!Rita "I wish I had a thousand lifetimes" and they make this GORGEOUS uplifting song "If I had my time again" which is so funny and deep and layered and overall perfect!!! I still can't believe that!!!! Like oh my god. And that day they spent together is also filled with purely platonic interactions and I really love that. The movie version was much more romantic.

− They removed Phil's rape-y scene with Rita so there's that.

− Overall, I find that all characters have more depth to them and are more likable and interesting and quirky. I find that the scenes have a better pace to them, the dialogue (although A LOT is from the movie itself) is more witty, the added scenes are all to a point and give meaning to the story.

− And of course, the songs add a cohesive atmosphere to the musical, the costumes are more quirky and funny.

Sometimes, less is more. I find that the limitations of musical theater staging usually bring about such creativity to go beyond those limitations that the final product is much more creative than the original. I feel that way about most stage adaptations and I wasn't surprised to see this confirmed with Groundhog Day.

[shmreduplication]

things I would like to see in timeloop stories: 

emphasis on “you can’t take anything with you”.  I think this plays into the readings of timeloops as a purgatory and it pushes the reference to death.  You can’t take anything with you into the next loop, you can’t take anything with you into the after life.  Just a little more focus on how difficult it is to be stuck in a timeloop beyond just the fact that you’re stuck, you also can’t take any physical notes

good falling action instead of immediately ending after the loop ends.  Breaking the loop is the climax of the story and I know it only takes a few minutes into the next day for the character to figure out the loop is broken, but that super sucks balls when a recurring theme is the impact we have on others.  How do I know there’s an impact of the looped day if I only see 5 minutes of the day after? Obviously there’s a lasting impact on the main character but it’s about the impact on others so we should get to see some of that.  This is something I’ve been seeing a lot in recent books, it takes forever to feel like the plot has started rolling, and then the story ends immediately after the climax.  Timeloops are especially prone to this, and doubly especially if it’s a non-decaying loop.  The storyteller puts in so many details-to-be-repeated into the first loop that it takes f o r e v e r for the character to get to the second iteration of the loop and realize that they are in a loop, which takes away time from every following loop and leaves a flat nothing for any falling action.  

in that same vein: sequels!  Not the sequel that is in the VR videogame where Phil Jr gets looped in Punxs, PA on groundhog day, a sequel that follows the protag readjusting to regular life where they are no longer nigh-omnipotent and immortal.  I think it would be v “astronauts readjust to life with gravity back on earth” but instead of dropping pencils in mid-air it’s nearly dying from not crossing the street becuase you’re used to knowing the location of every car in the city. This also goes only for non-decaying timeloops, survivors of decaying timeloops can get regular PTSD

overlapping loops.  Like character A is looping monday to monday, character B is looping wednesday to wednesday, so monday to wednesday they both have knowledge from all the previous loops, but monday and tuesday B is always doing the same thing because their loop hasn’t activated yet so they have the same ignorance to the loop like everyone else.  This makes working together to escape the loop v difficult.  Also it is a romance story pls

More people in loops together.  Like I said, I’m not doing spreadsheet analysis on all the timeloop stories but one clear overarching pattern is the more the merrier.  Palm Springs, Russian Doll, The Thundermans, both episodes of Stargate SG-1 all had at least two people in the loop and were really good (well, Thundermans was surprisingly good for being kid’s show but not on the same tier).  But two people is not that many, let’s get more people working together and/or being foils for each other

[lemontreerecords]

**SHOW ANNOUNCEMENTS** . We’re teaming up with some friends to bring you two more awesome shows within the next few months!! Come hang with @boozeradly and @danverstheband at @ormsby222 on Friday October 18th!! Then on Friday November 8th make the trek to @mcgarveysbar in Altoona for the first ever @milpoolpa show! Opening up for @hudsonfalcons!! More info coming soon on both of these awesome shows!! . . . #pittsburgh #altoona #rt22 #music #shows #gig #gigs #gettothegig #punkshows #punx #penna #pa #pghpunk #pgh #punkshows #ormsby #diy #doittogether #community #indie #spooky (at 222 Ormsby) https://www.instagram.com/p/B22qRZuBQnM/?igshid=h1et5zeizgh5

[thepoppunkdad]

Had the pleasure of shooting a new favorite local punk band @the.lagunas this past weekend at @rhythm_house_studios #thelagunas #rhythmhousestudios #punk \5poppunk #concerts #livemusic #concertphotography #concertphotographer #punkband #punkrock #punkrockband #emo #charleroi #pa #pittsburgh #pittsburghmusic #724 #punx (at Rhythm House Studios) https://www.instagram.com/p/CitzbV5OO92/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[papiersnoirs]

Yo les punx, Ce samedi, dernier concert Papiers Noirs du mois de juin au Melody Maker! Toujours à prix libre mais bien nécessaire pour défrayer confortablement les groupes. Attention, ça commencera dès 20 heures, avec :

FLŌD (irish folk, Monts d'Arrée) Musique : https://flodmusic.bandcamp.com/album/fl-d

Tour Sombre (post-hardcore/emo, Rennes) Musique : https://toursombre.bandcamp.com/album/tour-sombre

Et On Tuera Tous Les Affreux (punk hardcore, Caen) Musique : https://etontueratouslesaffreux.bandcamp.com/album/tu-veux-du-sale-tiens-en-voil

VENUE: MELODY MAKER 14 rue Saint-Mélaine, 35000 Rennes

**L'espace concert n'est pas accessible aux PMR**

[racetrackshiggins]

shows i’ve seen ☆ groundhog day ☆ broadway ☆ 2017

february second first remote broadcast ghd in punx., pa

[druid-for-hire]

Groundhog Daybreak

A Groundhog Day Musical fic. 3.8k words; the last loop, from Rita’s perspective. just fluff. one-shot. link to AO3 in the replies

She kind of knew what she was expecting to deal with on February 2nd—the horror stories from her coworkers at the Channel 5 station had painted a vague but passable picture of a man in her head who she could tell she’d really have to work her producer magic on in order to corral him into doing the broadcast, and doing it right. She expected the handsome but insufferable Phil Connors. The charming but rude Phil Connors. The humorous but condescending Phil Connors. -

She'd worked with him before on a flood story, but that thing had been so hectic to organize and put together that she’s pretty sure the only words they exchanged that weren't work-related was three sentences about the in-station coffee. 

She knew what she was expecting, but she didn’t know what she was gonna get instead. She got Phil Connors with a smile built out of fondness instead of plastic and smarm, greeting Rita with a warm memory (he remembered her name! How nice). Phil Connors helping Larry the cameraman set up. Phil Connors, more than happy to be here on a cold overcast day in Punx, PA, the town she thought he especially hated so much. And then he gets up there in front of  the camera and waxes some weird poetry for the broadcast. It’s really not what she was expecting from a weatherman. Especially not Phil Connors. It’s weird, but… touching. That’s interesting. She hadn’t pegged him to be interested in funny esoteric nerd stuff, like the physics of music, or… angelfish ovaries? But it was sweet. It was… really sweet.

“Wow,” she says.

“Wow, Phil,” comes Larry’s voice.

“Very… interesting.”

Phil looks back and forth between the two of them. “Aw, hey, thanks guys.”

“Fibonacci?” Rita asks. 

“I know…” He gets this funny bashful look on his face as he hands her back the mic. “Sort of a flawed analogy, but I’m workin’ on it—”

“No, no. I mean, they all told me you would be an—…” Rita stops short. She senses something flicker across Phil’s face as he inclines his head. “I mean, it’s just not what I expected.” Break it with a weak laugh. 

He smiles knowingly and turns away, but doesn’t look affronted for it (thank god), more like he’s off to wander. But she doesn’t want to just leave their conversation off at that. Rita pipes up, “Hey, you wanna go grab a cup of coffee? Or something, before we head back in the van?”

And that gives him pause. He turns back to look at her. He's all surprised for some reason—it’s a cute look on him—and steps towards her with an “Oh,” tumbling a bit on trying to get something out in response (man, they’re not great at... whatever this is), and then the tower bells chime, and then he says, "Ah, I'm... I'm not sure I have time. Um..."

“Oh, uh, no big deal.” Rita feels a stab of exasperated disappointment in herself as all those coworker stories about Phil start to come crashing back down. She clutches her clipboard. Maybe they were all a little right.

But Phil stutters again: “No, no, but—but—thank—thank you. For asking. That makes me… very happy.” He pauses and nods. “Maybe another time, huh?” 

“... Sure.” Why not?

“‘Kay. I’ll see you later.”

A thought comes to her suddenly just as he’s moving away. He says he can’t, but what else is there for him to do in Punxsutawney? It’s a nice town, but it’s not exactly New York City, and she kind of still has to keep track of her weatherman. "But—I'm sorry, um—where are you going?"

“Oh, I just have some errands to run.” He makes a cute little hurrying motion with his hands. 

She blinks. “Errands? Here?”

“Yeah, why wait?” Pauses, meets her eyes. And: “Où sont les neiges d'antan? Am I right?”

Where are the snows of yesteryear? Phil pulls out some fucking French poetry and oh, man, fuck, he knows this shit? It hits her how much she’d love to talk about it with someone outside of uni, someone else who is actually interested in this stuff that she studied in college. Someone else in the real world who cares about it as much as she does. “You know French poetry…?”

But he’s not looking at her. In half a second the chime rings one last time, and Phil is off like a bullet. God knows where he’s going. Rita just hopes he doesn’t slip and tear his ACL or something. -

After it was announced that every road out of Punxsutawney was closed due to a freak blizzard surrounding the town (“like a blizzard donut!”) and she realized that it meant that the team would be stuck here until tomorrow, Rita had gone around looking for Phil to let him know. She cursed herself out for never getting his number so she could text him or something, but checking her reception, she’s not sure it would have gone through. She should have just gotten it out of him where he was going before he took off.

So she finds herself on some little bench somewhere nice and quiet where she can just watch the festivities wheel by. They’re fun, don’t get her wrong, but you can only throw rings at bottles or darts at balloons for so long before you’ve gotta just sit down. And besides, she’s… been thinking.

About Phil. (God dammit.)

There’s really something about him, isn’t there? Of course he’s pretty. He’s the face of Channel 5. But just being pretty doesn’t warrant nervousness around him, or watching so closely as he makes all these little expressive hand gestures, or looking at how the light falls on his nose and jumps over his eyes. It’s not just that. It’s… everything about him. Everything he does that gives away part of who he is. The Fibonacci. The poetry. The gestures. The way he runs and how his coat goes flying behind him, the way he tilts his head and smiles all warm like fresh laundry or softened weathered leather. The way he remembered her name even though they’d barely talked the one time they glancingly worked together some years back.

She’s getting really far into her head. She oughta write this down. Rita sighs and pulls out her little journal, feeling the worn cover, and pulls out a pen. February 2nd. First remote broadcast, GHD, in Punx, PA.

Working with Phil Connors.

Her train of thought is immediately broken as Phil comes sprinting up to her. She immediately perks up. “Oh, hey—! There you are! What have you been—hey, sit down...”

His chest is heaving as he wheezes out, “I got you… chili…” and hands her a tray of assorted cups of chili. Did he sprint all the way from there to this hill? 

“Chili? For me?” She takes it from his hands as he doubles over with one hand propped on the back of the bench and he hacks his lungs out, gasping. “You brought me chili from the cookoff…”

“Yep,” comes his strangled reply.

“Hey, are you okay?”

He straightens, breath clearing. “I’m… oh, I just can’t seem to retain…” he waggles a hand in front of his chest, “... cardio fitness.” 

Well, at least he seems alright now. Rita raises an eyebrow at him. “You know, I read that if you exercise a little bit every day, you—”

“—Yeah, you’d think,” he laughs. 

“Oh—so I guess you heard about the blizzard?”

It takes Phil a moment before realization straightens his posture. “Oh! Oh, yeah, the roads are all closed.”

Rita laughs. “You know, I was looking for you. I…” (Phil makes a gesture to himself, like, me? Yes, you, who else?) “Thought I lost my weatherman.”

“Ha. No. I’m not going anywhere.”

They only get in one more smile at each other before the town’s bells chime. “Seeya!” 

He starts to bolt. Where the hell is he going? He’s already a couple yards off before Rita calls out, “H—hey, now what?”

“Busy day! Careful with number four and number seven. Spicy!”

She has him right here.

“Phil!” she hollers again before he can run away, standing up. But something freezes her when he turns to look back. She ought to tell him something right now, before he disappears again for the rest of the day and nothing even happens, she ought to chase this thought somehow, and yet…

Rita balks. Smiles. “Thanks for lunch.”

Phil grins all silly and broad, turns, and goes careening down the hill. -

Honestly, maybe the blizzard was a blessing. It was a fantastic way to just take a day off and enjoy the festival without actually using any vacation days or seeming like she’s slacking off. Although, it would have been nicer if Phil were with her, instead of running around town doing god knows what.

No use in dwelling. She’s excited for the banquet, but she’s trying to warm up in the bar first. Rita’s basking in its central heating and the dark blue of nightfall shining through its windows, rubbing heat back into her frozen toes. Curse her penchant for wearing fun but ultimately inappropriate socks.

“In’t he cute?” Buster calls to the bartender as he peers into Punxsutawney Phil’s cage. “Lookat those teeth, lookat ‘em! See that, Billy? He’s smilin’ at me!”

He straightens and puts his hat back on, laying a hand on the cage. “Okay, I guess we’re off to the banquet. Anyone else?”

Rita laughs. “Maybe when my toes thaw out.”

“That’s what the dancin’s for!”

“Seeya, Buster!” Billy calls as Buster leaves the bar and heads further inside to the banquet.

“Greetings, greetings!” calls a voice from the door as a couple walks in. 

“Did you get his number?” says the man with her, whom Rita assumes is her partner.

“No! He just… changed the tire and left.”

“Weathermen don’t change tires!” he says, passing Rita as they head inside.

“Well, this one did!”

Rita pauses. Weathermen? … Does Punxsutawney have a weather station? It… that can’t be—?

Another couple walks in, still dressed in marching band regalia. The bartender strides over. “Hey, Debbie!”

“Billy, Billy, look!” the woman squeals, and shows off something big and glittery sat right on her finger. “I’m engaged!” 

Wow, on Groundhog Day! How nice, Rita thinks. She turns over to face them and sidelines herself in on the conversation.

“Wow,” Billy says. “Is that a diamond?”

“No, that’s just a doorknob,” says her sheepish partner. Aw. Kid looks like a bashful dork.

“Yeah. It’s a doorknob,” Debbie admits, then turns and grasps her new fiancé’s hands. “To my heart!”

Dork kid’s face breaks into glee and affection as Billy calls over his shoulder, “Hey, congratulations.”

“So what’s in the envelope?” Dork kid says, already opening it up even as Debbie replies.

“It’s a wedding gift from Forecaster Phil himself!”

“He’s like, my best bud.

(Phil?) Rita turns and asks, “Wait, Phil Connors?”

But they don’t hear her. They’re preoccupied with what’s inside, which is apparently something about Wrestlemania that they both get more pumped about than she would’ve thought possible from the two of them. 

And then just like that, they walk off. She’s so occupied trailing after the remains of their conversation as they head inside (“How did he know?” “What do you mean? He’s Forecaster Phil,”) that she doesn’t notice the next two people walk in.

“Hey, Rita!” comes Larry’s voice. She whips around and finds relief in seeing the face of a coworker of hers, but she can barely get out a word in reply before an old woman holding a big gift box on her other side calls her name.

“Rita?” She laughs. “That is perfect! He told me you would be at the bar.”

Rita blinks. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m Mabel Lancaster. Oh, here!” She scurries over to her and hands her the giant gift box, putting on the bar table beside her. “He asked me to bring this over to ya. He is so nice. He fixed my coffee machine!”

Fixed a coffee machine? “You mean—Phil Connors?”

Mabel nods enthusiastically. 

“Hey, Rita, check it out!” Larry opens his coat to reveal a gaudily patterned but still rather nice-looking green button down shirt that she’s pretty sure wasn’t the one he had on earlier today. He takes off his jacket as he talks. “Phil helped me pick out this shirt. It’s so me.” 

Is this what he’s been doing all day? What in god’s name…? “Where—where is he?” Rita urges. 

Billy says, “You mean Phil Connors? I think he’s already inside.”

“He is?”

“Let’s get this party started!” Mabel cheers. Larry takes her arm and they both head inside, leaving her alone in the bar. 

What…

Rita hurriedly moves the gift box onto her lap and takes off the lid. Sitting inside are two white boots, lined with fluffy feathers on every inch above the heel, and it’s the most fantastically gaudy disco shit she’s ever had. How Phil managed to get his hands on something like these, or even how he guessed that she liked them, or even why he bothered to buy these for her, she has no idea, but… 

Rita’s always wanted a pair of these.

No wonder he was on a fucking death sprint. My god, she thinks as something warm spins in her chest, he really didn’t waste a second of the day. -

Rita spends a lot of the banquet staring at Phil onstage. 

This, ordinarily, for any other man, for any other occasion, should be embarrassing. No one is supposed to start feeling like this in one day. She and Phil have barely even exchanged words; all she knows are the heartfelt speeches he made at Gobbler’s Knob, the chili he got her, and the fact that today he decided to sprint around town and commit a hundred little miracles for a place that she was told he hated. And now here he is at the banquet, absolutely shredding it on the keyboard with a slick pair of shades planted right on his face.

So she’s staring. Sue her.

Nevermind the party and dancing going around her. She loves the brilliant social atmosphere, and normally in parties like these she’d even get up there and jam out herself, but that’s not what she wants tonight. Tonight, Rita is leaning against a shadowy wall in the back near the exit that goes back into the bar, wearing her new boots, and just… staring.

She watches the bachelor auction start. The bids for a dance with Phil start rolling in. She watches as the prices go higher and higher as people eagerly step into the ring. It’s good that Phil has competition, don’t get her wrong, it’s what he deserves, but she was hoping to be able to bid and not have to make a big show of it; that she’d only have to propose a modest amount, and not look desperate for a man in front of an entire town. But they keep going, and Rita gets the feeling that this is her one chance. She already let him slip once, when he brought her chili. She’s not going to make that mistake again.

Rita creeps to the edge of the dance floor. Pressure starts to wind up in her chest, getting more and more ready to snap and burst with every raise of the bid, every crank of the wheel on those metaphorical tense strings in her. Or maybe they won’t snap. Maybe she’ll grab a bow and maybe they’ll just sing. This is her last chance. If she loses it, she just knows she would’ve just let something that’s too damn important slip right past her. She might regret it for years to come. Maybe the rest of her life. She’s going to think about this all the time, and maybe she’ll forget for a while, but then it’ll always just crop up again amidst all her accumulated regrets late at night when she’s getting too deep in her own head, and…

She recalls a jacket she bought on impulse when she was a fresh-faced adult with a less-than-wholly-responsible grasp on money. God, it had looked so cool in the mirror when she was trying it on in the shop. So she bought it. Put it in her closet. And then it sat there because she never bothered to try to assemble an outfit for it that was just a little more out there, a little more of a risk than what she was used to, and she just didn’t wear it until she stopped fitting it anyway and then it was money wasted. It was absolutely not worth what she’d blown to buy it, and having that regret plastered in the back of her mind like a big mental mural of her stupidity has served to almost single handedly manage every purchase she made ever since. By now, she should know better. 

But she takes one look at Phil and she knows she’s right this time. This isn’t a jacket. This isn’t a rollercoaster ticket. This isn’t a restaurant bill. She’s not going to get something so beautiful so clearly laid out before her like this again. Rita refuses to call it love just yet; people don’t fall in love in one day. But she needs to take this.

She needs to silence the whole house and win the auction in one fell swoop. She charges to the center of the room, holds up her whole wallet and says, “Three hundred and thirty-nine dollars and eighty-eight cents!”

Everyone goes quiet.

Good.

Her eyes meet his. They’re surprised. Struck, but delicately. Discreetly. Maybe knowingly.

“Miss, you do understand you’re not actually buying this person?” Buster jokes slowly, as he approaches her.

Rita goes red in the face. It’s a joke made in good spirits, but this exactly the kind of attention that she feared, and yet she can’t fully care because she grabbed this opportunity and won. Thankfully Buster has the grace to cut the silence and just call down Phil for the dance. He puts a big sun-and-snowflake pendant over her neck, and she sees the woman singing from earlier put one over Phil’s, apparently denoting the two of them as partners for the night. Maybe she’s a little too sappy in that she likes having such a physical symbol for just the two of them. (Fuck, Rita, come on. How about we give it a month? Take him to dinner first.)

Phil smiles at her so softly and takes her hand. -

It’s not the astounding level of good deeds he’s done in one day that makes him remarkable.

Don’t get her wrong. Like, yeah, it was really cool of Phil to go running around town doing nice things, but she can’t fall in love with that by itself. A man like that is just an unachievable Superman mannequin. It’s shining armor with no knight inside.

What made her bid four hundred dollars was the Fibonacci. The boots. The thoughtfulness of him getting her lunch, and that he thought it was an important enough stop to make on his day-long sidequest run. How content he seems to just exist here, and his weird bitingly sarcastic awkward shyness (She can see it. Despite all his smarm and weatherman confidence, Phil Connors is actually a little shy—imagine that! Or maybe he’s just nervous around her. That’s cute too), the charming way he makes all these hand gestures while he talks, the fact that he decided to take her around town instead of leave it at the dance, and the way he narrates all the small town sights with a brand of humor that makes her laugh, combined with an actual genuine appreciation for everything he sees. How he prattles off passionate and meaningless facts about it all like a nerd, and how much she loves that.  How much she loves that he cares about something.

He pulls her up to the observation deck that overlooks the entire town of Punxsutawney, framed by endless woods of pine and a sky overhead that’s mounted with stars and a bright full moon, where the clouds had broken after the sun had set. It won’t last; the blizzard donut is on the move, but for now, she can appreciate the scenery. Punx is a small town and its curbs are lined with week-old slush, but that doesn’t mean the view isn’t lovely. The street lights burn warm in the winter night.

“Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah,” Phil says, and gestures over the railing. “This is the observation deck, so just soak in the view.” He starts pointing at various things. “Uh… eighteen wheeler parked right over there, um, public toilets…”

“Oh, sweet,” Rita laughs. Very nice for a first date (or whatever this is).

“Guy vomiting.”

Rita peers over at the treeline, following his gaze. “No he isn’t—”

“Yeah, yeah, right over there!” Phil points again and leans over her shoulder.

Oh no. “Eugh.”

“Go Penn State!” shouts the vomiting man, and all Rita can do is follow Phil’s lead in pumping a fist in half-hearted enthusiasm, just as a nicety.

“Very romantic.”

Phil smiles and puts a hand on his chest for a moment, waffling a bit on his feet. “Yeah, well… I wanted you to get your money’s worth, so.”

And just then, Rita notices the town’s bell tower chiming. Snow from the blizzard that’d been surrounding the town start to fall. They both look up. The flurries dance their way down to earth, catching the lamplight, silent as they tilt and spin and go to coat Punxsutawney in a one white. Rita can’t help but be awed by the beauty; the snow and the chimes are a perfect touch, one last piece to bring this entire moment together, and she’s just… so… 

Soon there would be so many that air would be suffocating with them, but for now they only drifted along and alighted on the grass and asphalt. Each one bound to its crystal structure yet infinite in its individuality, swept along by fate as they came whirling to the ground.

“No way,” she breathes. “Aw… that’s… really really nice.” (She’ll keep the poetics to herself.)

Phil casts his gaze over the town. Looking up at him, it’s a perfect scene: the orange light of the street lamps glowing on his face, underscored with sleepy blue moonlight. Chimes ringing in the distance. Flurries catching all over him. She wonders if weathermen could possibly be built for being in weather, like gods and their domains. Maybe Phil is built for snow. It’s too perfect on his shoulders, in his hair. In his eyes.

Rita thinks. They all told her he would be an asshole.

“It is beautiful,” Phil says, momentarily wistful. “Though it’s not entirely unexpected, because with this low pressure from the south, the western—”

She grabs his face and kisses him.