We celebrate ourselves and sing ourselves. We've sung ourselves so often we may have forgotten the reasons why. Open your eyes and take it in. The quiet little towns sit like drowsy dogs at the sides of the rivers. The city office buildings mirror one another in walls of blackened glass. Sing airport noises, freeway noises and broad smiles and arm-wrestling matches in a Minnesota diner with the President watching Rocky on T.V. and Bix Beiderbecke tooting blues in the corner. How about them Mets? O Kissinger. O Cher. The bellowing variety, the great mixed bag of nations. Of course we...
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