We're a mad nation.

We're mad about the war(s). We're mad about (potential) health care reform. We're mad that Tiger Woods has blown his last two tournaments. We're mad at Jon (and/or Kate). We're mad, mad, mad, mad.

Those who have the discipline to view life's travails dispassionately aren't so mad. But there aren't many of those people, and in truth, the rest of us are mad at them, too.

We've always been a mad nation. We got mad at King George and overthrew him. We got mad at the Indians and chased them across the continent. We got mad at each other and still haven't quite made up. We've been mad at immigrants, WASPs, the Eastern elites (and their unofficial descendants, the cultural elites), the media (in all its incarnations) and folks who don't look like us or talk like us.

But who is "us?" And who are "we?" Good questions.

Right now, I want to get to the heart of "mad." There was a story that appeared in the Washington Post back in 2006 during the whole Duke lacrosse mess that kind of epitomizes our madness. I wish I could cite it, but the Post's online archive doesn't go back that far and I don't have Lexis-Nexis. As a former Durhamite, however, my memory of the story has the ring of truth.

Folks in Durham like a good brouhaha. And when one gets stirred up, local leaders hold town meetings. People hoot, holler and call each other (sometimes vile) names. And then, when the meeting is done, the same folks who have been spewing at each other go out for beers together. You vent, and then you chill.

As I remember the story, the Post reporter watched this behavior firsthand and asked the police chief about it. The chief said, in essence, "That's Durham."

But that's us, too. The big U.S., that is. We may be polarized along a variety of political and social lines, but we still seem to get along. Some families are a wild mix of politics and lifestyles, while others are a bit more homogenous. But in every rock-ribbed conservative family there are a few bean sprouts, and in every tie-dyed liberal family there are a few Michael Keatons. For the most part, the black sheep get along with the rest of the crew.

Taking the nation as a whole, there aren't as many black sheep as there used to be. And that's good. But there are a lot of different ideas floating around out there. Some of those ideas make some people mad. Or, to completely bastardize the Barnum, "You can piss off some of the people all of the time, and you can piss off all of the people some of the time, but you can't piss off all of the people all of the time." Any analysis of this would show that plenty of people are pissed off plenty of the time.

We're mad as hell, and we're not gonna take any more. Except that we are. We always have. The war will end, and we'll get mad about a wasted peace dividend. Health care reform will pass, and we'll get mad about social security reform. Tiger Woods will win again, and we'll get mad at Brett Favre. Jon and Kate will divorce, and we'll get mad at the latest bohunk to dump Jennifer Anniston. These things are as sure as death and taxes.

Oh yeah. We'll get mad at death and taxes, too.

We're mad, mad, mad, mad. And we're gonna always gonna be. The important thing is what we do after we vent. Just because we holler doesn't mean we can't be friends.

Jon Worley would like to suggest a Bell's Octoberfest for your next post-venting retreat.