Many years ago I met a charming, urbane economist, Sir Eric Roll, who was at one time director of the Bank of England. I had constructed a scenario of a world financial crisis, and I wanted his reaction to it.
There’s more to cross-country skiing than sloshing in the snow
THOMAS J. JACKSON
<p>Not far from the house where I live, there is a cross-country ski trail. The people come up here to Vermont with their brand-new skis thrown over their shoulders and wearing sporty outfits so brightly colored that I find myself just sitting at the window marveling at the flashy combinations: orange and green, purple and gold, cream and scarlet.</p>
All right, here goes. I’ve held this in way too long. I’ve seethed through spring training, I’ve been outraged on either side of the All-Star break, and I’ve had my heart slowly broken during the long and undignified denouement.
In the 1970s, when we risked our manhood to become quiche eaters, we became wine drinkers as well, and nowhere is our new taste more evident than in the burgeoning American consumption of wines from Italy.
Equilibrium: It’s how you stand in this world. It’s hard to maintain. But there is a way to get your bearings, a way to achieve a kind of harmony within. It is the Big Sur Wilderness Experience.
New Year’s Eve is the one occasion on which we absolutely <em>need</em> to be frivolous, a night that blossoms, pops, and passes, the past and the future colliding in one moment of frightfully significant baloney.
Although he is rarely given credit for it—and for good reason, as you will see—it bears mentioning that a prominent New Yorker named Evander Berry Wall was the very first American to wear a dinner jacket in public.
They go off to work each day to do a job that has no official government description. But their task is clear: to plan the wars of our future-conventional and nuclear
Jerrold L. Schecter
Leona P. Schecter
<p>The cipher-box lock on the White House basement wall clicks when the numbered keys are punched. If the combination is correct, there is a loud buzzing signal and the door opens into the Situation Room.</p>
<p>If you don’t fly into Tahoe, Reno, or Las Vegas in the winter, you have to drive through serious reaches of hinterland, past mud-flat lakes, through rangeland feeding shaggy, barrel-bellied cattle and scruffy winter-coated horses, a dusting of snow on the tops and northern exposures of the hills.</p>
<p>Growing up in the Sixties in the Midwest, the five brothers and I and, later on, two sisters made up a screwball community, but it was the only community of which I’ve ever really felt a part. We didn’t fit in with Middle America. We were always in trouble.</p>
WHEN A MAN RUNS FROM THE CENTER OF HIS LIFE, HE’S LOST IN DANGEROUS TERRITORY
The hotel's name was merely Simon's. Bistro Psychedelico was what the globe-wandering potheads called it, famous among them for its seclusion and good times. The psilocybin mushroom omelet wasn’t listed on the menu.
A metal sign warned me not to trespass, since this was a toxic-waste disposal site. I ignored the sign, figuring you can either poison the land or post it, but no law of God or man allows you to do both—not even if you are General Electric.