My French Bugatti

The Edinburgh night was dark, and slightly hazy, a few hours after we arrived on the train. Sitting stock-still for six hours has a remarkable way of being completely exhausting, so after dinner and relaxing in the pub, I retreated to the hostel room and crawled into bed--which was way more comfortable than I'd expected.

Just as I began to doze, I suddenly realized I had rhythmically begun to wiggle my toes. A nightclub, somewhere down the street, was playing "Mirror" by Justin Timberlake, and I was singing the song inside my head, and moving my feet with the beat. 

Cause I don't want to lose you now

I'm looking right at the other half of me

The vacancy that sat in my heart

Is the space, that now you hold. . .

I was mentally singing along with enthusiasm, and simultaneously annoyed with my sudden energy.

Count sheep. Put your pillow over your head. Stop wiggling your toes, for pete's sake. 

With Jennifer Lopez, and then Beyoncé, and then the Great Gatsby soundtrack, my hope for a good night's rest wasn't looking good. 

So why wasn't this club playing something a little more . . . ethnic? Scottish bagpipes, anyone?

Here's the truth: America totally dominates the international music scene. Not just in England, or other English-speaking places. I'd be walking through Germany, listening to an unintelligible conversations in German, looking at ancient buildings of incredible religious/historical/intellectual significance, and in the same instance, a car would drive by and blare,

Gold all in my chains,

Gold all in my ring,

Gold all in my watch--

don't believe me,

just watch

Oh, man. Gets me every time. Sleepy German villages, playing Trinidad James. The same thing happened in Paris--someone would drive by playing Kanye or Miley. 

It just doesn't seem real, but Europeans get down to Macklemore. Well, I'm proud of us. We have given the world gems like "Bugatti" and J-Beibz's "Boyfriend." 

I guess it's simple, really. Europeans gift us with cultural icons: for example, the French make the new Bugatti. The Americans? 

We wake up in it, and then write a hit song. What. 

Cheerio.