Well, I managed to get out and vote in the middle of the day today because I'm home with a nasty stomach flu. (Voting pretty much took care of the day's energy; I've been back on the couch ever since.)

But anyway. I'm pleased to report that everything seemed pretty well pro forma at the polling place. They're expecting record voter turnout, and I think we'll get it. Turnout locally was high for the middle of the day, and Emil said he had to wait in line for about an hour when he went this morning before work. But they seemed to have plenty of ballots (I worried about that), and no obnoxious Republicans tried to challenge my registration, or anything.

So now we'll wait and see. My biggest hope for this election is that somehow, neither parties nor pollsters have figured in the effect of the internet on the youth vote, and that everybody's really gotten it wrong, and the election ends up being a landslide for Kerry . . .

# # #

On a tangential note, I read this in the Chronicle of Higher education today. Be curious to know what you "furriners" think . . .
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Expatriate Teaching
By HENRY RAYMOND

First Person

Personal experiences on the job market
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A year ago, I wrote for The Chronicle about the circuitous route that led me to accept a lectureship overseas teaching modern history at one of the two English universities known collectively as "Oxbridge."

With a year's experience under my belt, I'm able to report that my continuing experiment in expatriate teaching has been anything but dull, very often rewarding, and enlightening in ways I couldn't have anticipated. Since I'm deep in the throes of lecture-writing, I feel entitled, if not inclined, to review my year through its three major themes:

Culture Shock: They speak English in England, but as my 6-year-old niece remarked, "they talk funny." Differences in nuance, manner, and style continue to baffle me, amuse my students, and elicit strained chuckles from older colleagues who either regard me as a charming addition to the fellowship or a first-rate moron. I can't really tell which.

After a few months in England, even I found my quasi-Long Island accent grating. So I'm watching a lot of BBC programs and considering elocution lessons.

That points to a larger cultural point. Although Oxbridge has traditionally been an inward-looking institution -- more English than British, and more British than international -- its younger faculty members hail from all over the globe, share a far more cosmopolitan outlook and are much better acquainted with the world than the generation that came before us.

It makes for a lively intellectual atmosphere. And it makes my accent less bothersome to social scientists and humanities scholars under the age of 40 and to natural scientists (many of whom spend sabbatical years in the United States) under the age of 50.

Still, this is Europe. And so, however at home I feel among fellow expats, I'm constantly reminded that the hard-driving, aggressive style for which Americans are known doesn't always yield the best results here.

As a new faculty member, I had to wait several weeks for an office, a computer, a phone, and office furniture. Kicking and screaming -- of which I did plenty -- got me nowhere.

The bottom line: Europeans are better at waiting in line, and American universities -- however inefficient they might be -- are still far better at simple logistics. We both have things to learn and skills to master.

Anti-Americanism: There's plenty of it here. The Bush administration, in particular, seems almost universally reviled in England (and, from what I gather of my expat friends, throughout Europe). From what I can tell, W. hasn't a single friend in Britain outside of No. 10 Downing Street.

That sentiment transcends region and class. At Oxbridge, I find myself regularly cornered both by distinguished literature professors and maintenance staff workers who want to tell me what's wrong with the American government. When I'm in London, much the same.

Interestingly, my students -- all of 18 or 19 years old -- seem better able or more inclined to distinguish between the Bush administration and America. My colleagues, on the other hand, often appear to confuse me for Colin Powell and seem to believe that I am singularly responsible for the situation in Iraq. I thought it might help to sport a John Kerry pin around campus. It didn't.

The war in Iraq, and the Bush administration's perceived slight of its European allies, has brought into sharp relief some longstanding and pervasive complaints -- real or imagined -- about America: its alleged contempt for multilateralism, crass materialism, class inequities, and violent street culture.

One can rehearse the usual rejoinders -- that Britain is also a partner in the Iraq war, that consumer culture is almost as pervasive here as in the States, that Britain's social-welfare system is just as much on the brink of collapse as America's, that one need look no further than the front door of an English pub at 11 p.m. to find random street violence.

But those arguments only get one so far. I have been shocked to discover that anti-American sentiment -- clearly intensified by the Iraq war -- is often laced with the kind of subtle, dinner-party anti-Semitism that once pervaded Ivy League universities at home, and that hostility toward Israel, the United States, and Jews -- across space and time -- often get jumbled into one general argument.

Even in polite conversation one is apt to hear smart people speculating about the pervasive influence that Jews exercise over the American media and foreign-policy establishment.

I am pleased to report, however, that I've heard more of this from adults than from students. Perhaps the younger generation shares a broader outlook, rooted in a more cosmopolitan university culture. Or maybe we're just teaching them well.

All of that makes it dicey, at times, to be teaching abroad. Especially when I'm asked to speak on an American topic, I feel torn between my commitments to intellectual integrity and my love of country.

While I won't feel obliged to toe the line reflexively until the State Department agrees to send me a modest monthly stipend, I nevertheless feel awkward about joining the chorus of anti-American dissent. That is a problem that I'll be likely to grapple with for a while.

Sleeping giants: Some American expats live abroad because they have a tenuous relationship with the culture in which they were raised. Others, like me, live abroad for the adventure and the professional opportunity but still retain their undiminished love for mom and apple pie.

So I'm not exactly saddened to report that British universities won't be overtaking American universities any time soon. Annual tuition at Oxbridge is capped at £1,500, and Tony Blair almost lost his government in a successful effort to raise that sum incrementally to £3,000.

That is scarcely enough money to keep the lights on, let alone finance the kind of sustained expansion that Oxbridge will need to survive into the 21st century. Since there is no ingrained culture of alumni giving in Britain, endowments are paltry, when they exist at all. In short, Oxford and Cambridge are broke.

Consequently, their libraries lack basic electronic resources and don't stay open on weekends. Their buildings are in poor repair, and they are still bleeding academic talent to American colleges that can pay competitive salaries and benefits.

But let's not get smug. I've spoken with a number of foreign research scientists here at Oxbridge -- talented young Ph.D.'s from China, India, Pakistan, and Russia. Oxbridge wasn't their first choice. They would have preferred to do their postdoc work at Cal Tech, MIT, or Stanford. They're in Britain because it's becoming more difficult and, in some cases virtually impossible, to get work permits and visas to study in the United States.

The long-term implications of America's homeland-security policy are obvious. While I'm never quite able to convince my British colleagues that universities don't survive on brains alone, Americans would do well to remember that universities also don't survive on money alone.

So where does this leave me? Still engaged by my work, still enjoying the adventure of teaching abroad, and still maintaining a healthy skepticism for both American exceptionalism and European triumphalism.

But who knows? If things don't change soon, either in Britain or the United States, maybe I'll be writing from somewhere else next year.

To paraphrase the old Tom Lehrer song, it may be high time that we all learned to count down in Chinese.
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Henry Raymond is the pseudonym of a Ph.D. in history from a research university in the Northeast. He is in his second year as a lecturer at a university in England.