"Aah but the literary world was not always so whorish, swinish and unrepentant." - Erica Heller

Joe the Plumber got a book deal.

I hadn't heard of him either, until the final few weeks of the recent US election. Apparently, Joe was supposed to represent the American 'everyman', and was referenced far too frequently in the final presidential debate. And this man's 'autobiography' will be glued together by an anonymous ghostwriter who will pull his hair out trying to make Joe's story seem exceptional. Readable. Sellable.

Sarah Palin got a $7m advance for a literary glimpse into her mind. I was aghast when I read this in a trade email on Monday, but it's not surprising in a world where soccer players, topless models and three Spice Girls have book deals for their 'fiction', and don't get me started on the 'memoirs' by 25-year-olds. Erica Heller, daughter of Joseph of Catch-22 fame, wrote in yesterday's Huffington Post: And now, onto that illustrious stage of authors, along with Kurt Vonnegut, James Jones and the rest of the best of the best, strut authoress and author, Palin and Mr. Plumber, with their books certain to be ghosted by some unsung schnooks, manuscripts that will be comprised of little more than bragging, lying and recycling some very stale air... Not all of us are plucked from obscurity and wrapped in Valentino or held up as a poster-child for the working man. Some people have to actually work at it and at times, there is even talent, skill, and a magical, indefinable creative spark magnificently ignited in the process.

My initial reaction: Go, girl! Stick it to the publishing industry! Stand up for all the little guys slogging it out each day, waiting for that magic 'yes' to come. Then I came across a piece by Jean Hannah Edelstein that gave an interesting counterargument. She claims that by 'writing' books, both Palin and the Plumber are endorsing the two things that liberals cherish the most: freedom of expression and reading. By writing these books, Palin and Wurzelbacher are living the American dream: in America, you can write whatever you want. Even if it is rubbish!

She goes on to say that 25% of Americans didn't read a book in 2006, and makes the connection that most illiterate American cities are located in 'red states'; perhaps they're not reading because most of the books are written by and marketed to left-leaning liberals. I don't necessarily agree with this deduction, but the idea has merit. Forgive the Carrie Bradshaw-ness of this post, but is reading an elitist, leftist institution? As Edelstein writes, do we incorrectly place the publishing industry as gatekeepers of high culture?

Is reading anything fine, or must we always read books which better us as people and thinkers? Do we judge others by what's on their bookshelf? Can we afford this pretention when publishing companies depend on the sales of Jordan's latest book to keep them afloat?

If there is a special Hell for writers it would be in the forced contemplation of their own works. - John Dos Passos

And I suppose revising could be included in the 'forced contemplation'. I am sick, sick, sick of the book I just finished. At the same time, I love it. I suppose it's like a rerun of The Office or Friends that I've seen a dozen times but will still sit through because something inside won't let me turn it off. But it's gone now, off somewhere in Manhattan's Upper East Side. Now we wait, and I continue the next book, which has been simmering long enough that it's boiling over. This is a good thing.

We spent the last two weekends in Edinburgh attending a birthday party, the Scotland-New Zealand rugby match (better score than last year) and laughing to the point of exhaustion with old friends. It was great to get away, even better to get to a real city again, and made me miss having friends so very much. I wonder if some sort of shared past is essential to friendships past the age of 28 or so. It's been difficult meeting people here, understandably as so many people my age are transient, but also because Inverness is lacking in the cultural scene and places where I tend to meet like-minded souls. I am lucky to have two fabulous sofas to crash on in Edinburgh to get my future fixes.

The past couple of weekends have also reminded me that I do live in a foreign country. I often lose sight of this because of our shared language - it's far easier to feel an outsider in a place where nothing makes sense until you learn the language. British culture shares more similarities to American culture than most other European nations, but Scottish culture is distinct. Walking along the Royal Mile on Sunday, my friend Joseph and I passed shops peddling tartan everything and blaring electronic bagpipe music, and pubs with placards claiming the 'best haggis and clapshot', and clothing shops offering (cheaply made) kilts for £100 - all cliches, and for good reason. So I tried to think of more obscure parts of Scottish culture.

• Techno music. Even if I pop to the post office for ten minutes, I'll hear at least a few cars blaring speedy techno. The drivers don't move to the beat; they just stare straight ahead.
• Irn Bru. Everybody drinks this stuff. The security guard at the consulate, the woman in Prada on the train, the teenagers with pierced cheeks. It's neon orange, and the flavor resembles Hubba Bubba bubble gum.
• Chips and Cheese. Basically a styrofoam sandwich case of thick french fries topped with shredded, semi-melted orange cheese. I mistakenly thought this treat was limited to late-night drunken munchies, but have seen numerous folk walking down the street in daylight shamelessly tucking in to this concoction in Lerwick, Glasgow, Edinburgh, Aberdeen and Inverness (which means it's pretty ubiquitous).
• Scantily clad lassies. It doesn't matter how cold/windy/rainy it is, the girls will wear as little as they possibly can. This rule, while somewhat relaxed during the daytime, is in full force once the sun goes down. The boobs are out, the legs are out, the toes are squeezed into stiletto sandals and the makeup is thick. (Weight, height and other seemingly relevant body issues are dismissed.)
• Pay-as-you-use hair straighteners in public bathrooms. Perhaps this phenomenon has hit America, but it's still weird.
• Chat. If you happen to catch the eye of the right person at the right time, they'll talk your ear off. Recent conversations have included a ten-minute diatribe on the merits of Highland winds from a traffic warden in Inverness, a six-minute discussion of her Christmas plans from a woman at an Edinburgh post office and fifteen minutes of why Glasgow is the best place to live in the world from a lovely chap at the Apple store. I love this trait, and love that people do it wherever you are in Scotland.

It's the end of an era. My new passport took three days. I took the info to Edinburgh last Thursday and received it today. Obviously, the election of the Great Obama has already made the State Department more efficient. (That's a joke, Kevin.) It's the tackiest passport I've ever seen; muted color drawings of Mt. Rushmore, the Liberty Bell, a farmer ploughing his fields with cattle, cowboys, a steam train, a totem pole, and a satellite in outer space, among other things. Every two pages has a quote about freedom, the founding of America, etc. And a few pages at the beginning with some words of wisdom. My favorite: #6, page 6: "Avoid violating foreign laws." Um, thanks for that.
I still have to travel with the old one for another 18 months, as it's got my UK visa inside. They were nice and didn't mess up the pages, only the front and back covers. I love my old passport - there's one blank page left even after getting extra pages put in. Stamps clutter every page. It's tangible proof of so many memories, and of the days when borders existed in the EU. Perhaps more poignantly, of the person I've become since making Europe a part of my story.

"Did you vote for him? Thank you." - random woman in the Victorian Market, Inverness, when she heard me speak.

I'm going to try and get through today without blubbering. My inner drama queen is loving this Obama obsession.

My mom sent an article to me today entitled "Suddenly, it may be cool to be an American again". Worth a read if you know any Americans abroad, to get a taste of how it is for us, sometimes. I sense that Obama's Everyman quality might make it worse for us, in the long run - people might feel even more compelled to discuss foreign policy decisions, since he is, perhaps, their President, too. But for now I will bask in the exceptional pride that I'm feeling for my country for the first time that I can remember. It's uncomfortable and awkward and I'm not really sure what to do with it.

After the decision was announced, and after McCain's speech, maybe 4am UK time?, my phone went nuts - messages from Slovenia, Wichita, London, Canada, Aberdeen, Lisbon, Nashville, LA - amazing. I was on facebook/gmail chat with a few folks, too - seems many of us were stuck at home watching at odd hours. Some weren't even American - friends in Aberdeen wrote at 5:21 am Happy new president! We're still up! Can we stay up all night? Yes we can! The sense of community made the moment that much more powerful. The revolution is online, I suppose, considering the role the Internet played in this election.

One interview with a group of 20-something black men struck me. One said that they had no excuses anymore - that young black men can't say "I didn't have a father". Neither did our President. CBS claims that 95% of the black vote went to Obama. That's huge. And that race did not play a role in the choices of 80% of white Americans. That's inspirational. This has sent a message to the world, and perhaps we're now redeemed, at least for a little while.

AAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It's 5:33 am.

I'm crying like an idiot and the text messages are flying and I am so proud and happy and amazed and elated and wow wow wow wow.

What Washington needs is adult supervision. - Barack Obama

I was up til 3am reading polls, scouring the news and being generally obsessive about today. My stomach is doing flip flops and there's still 11 hours before the first polls close. I cannot concentrate. It's like a bad crush that I know could either break my heart or make me eternally happy.

I was living in Slovenia for the '04 election and remember watching CNN all night, sleeping in bursts on the sofa, watching everything spiral into another Bush win. I remember going to the Election Breakfast the US Embassy was sponsoring at 6am, seeing distinctive groups of people - one group grim, the other with smug smiles, and the poor diplomats wandering around trying to figure out the energy of the room. I went to work for an hour and then went home. My gut hurt for a week. I felt like I'd been through a breakup of something with so much potential.

I read an interesting piece in the Guardian recently that has resonated with me. It's an assessment of the Bush legacy by numerous US authors, and Tobias Wolff's entry was especially poignant. He begins by saying that he still hasn't gotten over the two Bush wins - frankly, I haven't either. I get stick from my GOP friends about this, but they don't have to live in another country and deal with the repercussions of Bush's decisions. I don't know why Europeans think it's their right to ask me about my government, but it happens all the time. I have no excuses for Bush. I didn't vote for him, either time. I find him an embarrassment. But I don't take responsibility because I didn't put him there. (And I left 7 months after he was sworn in.)

Towards the end of his piece, Wolff states It has made me embarrassed, as of some public foolishness by one's family, and it has made me vindictive. When I see someone being rude to a waiter, or blocking the road in a Ford Expedition, or yakking loudly on a cell phone in a crowded elevator, I naturally assume they voted for George W Bush. I've done that. I've bitten my tongue listening to Americans without volume control who speak s-l-o-w-l-y to ensure a waiter from another country can understand them - even a Scottish waiter. I've wanted to smack backpackers who say 'like' all the time and talk about using Daddy's AmEx to buy booze. I've hidden from overweight, shorts-and-bright-white-tennis-shoes-clad Americans who are denied entry to a cathedral and then try to argue with the guards. And I've assumed all of them voted for GWB. Every rude, or nasty, or cruel, or ignorant American obviously voted for the guy, and it is, thus, all their fault.

I know this makes little sense, but seeing it in print made me feel a tiny bit better about my own behavior.

If one thing has come of this election, it is the exposure of the vast divisions in America. This is a good thing. This might make people (including me) remember that part of the beauty of America is the spectrum of opinion. Yes, it's the NY Times on one side and Fox News on the other, but it seems the international press are finally focusing on the millions of perspectives in between. Even if McCain wins tonight, thoughts on the people who make up America may have shifted; we're not all Bush cronies, we don't all want war, we're not all bullies, we're not all flag-wavers who think the world wants to be us. Millions of us donated time and money to Obama's campaign, and this collective voice was heard.

President Obama has such a nice ring to it.