A story by Molly Ivins
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AUSTIN, Texas - Happy birthday, America! Ye Olde Fourth of July rolls around
again and finds the Great Nation in, frankly, a somewhat pissy mood. Lots of
blame game, name-slinging and general unpleasantness. But there's always an
upside. The vice president reports that if you go ahead and let fly with the
f-word, it makes you feel better. Anything to get that fun Dick Cheney back
to his usual sunny self, I always say.

True, we seem to have had more halcyon national natal days, but if we ignore
I--q for the weekend, we should be able to celebrate our national heritage
without punching each other in the eye.

So let's salute all that makes America special, starting with us, the
people. Here's to all the musicians from country to hip-hop to rock to
classical to jazz to folk to be-bop to norteno to polka to reggae, and to
all the fusion forms thereof. Here's to all the artists who get no respect -
the washboard players and lute strummers, harmonica blowers and banjo
pickers. Here's to their endless generosity in playing special benefits for
retired musicians who are ill and have no health insurance, all over
America, every night. And here's to the great Ray Charles, bless his heart.
May we all hear his version of "America the Beautiful" this holiday.

And here's to all the dancers who move to all that music, from the wildest
Goth Watusi to the competitive ballroom dancers and the tango enthusiasts
and the two-steppers and line-dancers and Celtic folk round dancers and
square dancers and those who never got the beyond the box-step. Here's to
the African dancers and tappers, and the experimental modern crowd.

Here's to everyone trying to lose 10 pounds and all their lo-carb,
hi-protein, all-fruit, cucumber-only, martini-drinkers' diets - may they all
succeed. Here's to all their exercise machines and speed walking and gym
workouts. Don't give up, we'll all be thin and gorgeous someday.

Here's to all the civic fandangles and to everyone who makes them happen -
to moms who contribute brownies and dads who judge the goat contests, and
the guys who set up the band seats. To all the Peanut Festivals, Turkey
Trots, One-Armed Dove Hunts, Crayfish and Petroleum Days, Fat Stock Show and
Rodeos, Blueberry, Strawberry and Artichoke Festivals, the Watermelon Thump,
the Prairie Chicken Fling, Black-Eyed Pea Festival, the county fair, the
school fair, the state fair, Puerto Rican Day, Gay Pride Day, St. Paddy's,
Cinco de Mayo, Juneteenth and thousands more. Not to mention the Fourth of
July parades.

Here's to all the good deeds we never hear about, to people who stop to help
change flat tires, return wallets, take crying children to the lost and
found and stay until their mommies come, to those who help old ladies across
the street and especially to those who make waitresses laugh.

Here's to Tony Korioth, who used to stop to carry an old lady's garbage can
up to her garage for her, and to his son John, who told the story at Tony's
funeral. Here's to drivers who let others merge, the neighbors who baby-sit
for pets and children and aging parents, here's to the gardeners who donate
their excess zucchini and home-grown tomatoes to their neighbors, to people
who bring food when someone dies, to all those who pitch in, lend a hand and
say, "Let me help."

And here's to keeping America weird. To Scott Peterson and Kobe Bryant for
making cable television so busy, happy and productive. Here's to the
tabloids, eternally discovering alien zombies from outer space (have they
checked out the Veep lately?). Here's to all our grumps and scolds,
constantly insisting that we're going to hell in a handbasket. Where would
we be without an active core of selfless citizens constantly prepared to
tell us we're dumb, fat and lazy, and it's all our fault? Concerning our
national habit of polling ourselves to find how just how dumb we are, a new
study shows 88.2 percent of all Texans believe Osama bin Laden has two first
names, like Jerry Jeff or Billy Bob.

Here's to all our dreams and fantasies, to the frumpy women who dream of
looking like the models in Vogue and Bazaar, to the fat guys who read the
extreme sports magazines, to the dentists who ride Harleys to get in touch
with their Inner Biker, to the would-be gunslingers taking part in fast-draw
contests, the karaoke singers and amateur-night stand up comedians, to the
sopranos who never made it to the Met but still star in the Methodist choir,
to the frustrated explorers who take wilderness adventure vacations.

Our national scolds say we're something awful polarized these days, angry
and snarling, don't like our fellow Americans. The fundamentalist Christians
can't stand the so-called secularists, and vice versa. Oh, poop. Fellow
citizens, we are, by and large, a splendid lot.

Did you hear what the Buddhist said to the hot dog vendor? "Make me one with
everything."

Molly Ivins is a best-selling author and columnist who writes about
politics, Texas and other bizarre happenings.

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Hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. Happy Birthday, America!