Zurich has a reputation for being stodgy, but it ain’t so, at least not after hours. On one of my first visits, I met a Dublin girl by the name of Mary O’Connell downstairs at the hotel bar, which was an Irish bar and a hot spot. She worked as an au pair for a rich family somewhere in the suburbs. Mary smoked incessantly, her working papers were undated, and I could barely comprehend a word of what Mary said. Her brogue was thick, her words were slurred on top of that, and she talked non-stop with a … 
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Much as it pains me to do so I fear that I must praise a left leaning economist. Dean Baker, please stand up and take your bow. He’s told the truth, always a bad career move in the political arena, about the current financial crisis and recession. We’re not deep in the economic doo doo because Wall Streeters are greedy, not because they’re incompetent and not because they’re evil. They may be all of these things but the ordure piled up around our ears is not because of their actions or existence, but because we’ve just had a huge housing bubble. … 
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Gstaad. A lovely liquid lunch in a mountain hut with my friend Nicola Anouilh after two hard runs. Blue skies, gentle winds, a few puffs of white cloud, and the sound of bells from the nearby cow shed. If there’s a better way of communing with nature, I haven’t come across it yet. The natural beauty of the Alps is unspoiled and majestically alluring.  White wine helps one dream and feel at peace with the world, until, that is, we’re back on skis and losing altitude fast. The bumps come up fast and in a blur, and turning uphill in order … 
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New York seems to be full of people who go to shop openings and social events just to be seen. I don’t much care for these parties because I would rather see my friends privately, and have an actual conversation, than feign interest in something I don’t care about like a handbag with Tinsley Mortimer’s name on it. Being photographed at one of these events in the hope that I might appear in some magazine that will be looked at by people I don’t know isn’t the sort of validation I was brought up wanting. I would prefer instead to be … 
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“Is Stoppard’s play Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead simply glib and superficial?” Some thirty years ago now, it was one of the English essay questions put to me in my final year at high school.  My written answer—‘Yes’—was perhaps itself a little glib and superficial and deserving of its low mark.  But I was eighteen years old and going for the laugh.  I suspect they would not ask such questions these days, for it would be deemed too demanding, too excluding, too elitist, too unfair.  After all, it would require a pupil to read, comprehend, think, and write.  Heaven forbid.  In … 
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In synopsis, The Lost Books of the Odyssey, a lapidary first work of fiction by Silicon Valley computer scientist Zachary Mason, sounds like an overly clever postmodern literary jest. This elegant collection of very short stories consists of 44 purported pre-Homeric variations on the legends of the Trojan War and the pragmatic Odysseus’s homeward wanderings, as recounted in the arch manner of a more recent blind poet, Jorge Luis Borges. Borges (1899-1986), composer of metaphysical conundrums about infinite libraries, has become a Siren for bookish young men of the computer age. I first read Borges several decades ago. Overwhelmed, I immediately … 
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Last night, the world stopped what they were doing and tuned into the red carpet event of the century, the 82nd Academy Awards. Since 1929, regular folk have been dazzled by the likes of George Clooney, James Cameron, and Gabourey Sidibe. We watch spellbound as they strut down the carpet in all the latest fashions and we learn a lot about our world in the process. Why, just four Academy Awards ago, Clooney explained to us how this supposedly “naïve” group of artists are responsible for the civil rights movement. If it wasn’t for Clark Gable for example, Hattie McDaniel wouldn’t … 
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Gstaad. When I spoke with the mayor of Gstaad, as well as some other local stalwarts, they all assured me that they are ready for any invasion by the Libyans, and are confident they will kick the towels back into the Mediterranean where they came from. For any of you who might have missed it due to Gordon Brown’s bullying shenanigans, or John Terry’s, or even that David Cameron is close to blowing it, here is the latest: Col. Muammar Gaddafi, the great leader of Libya, has called for a jihad war against Switzerland over the Swiss minaret ban. This may … 
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Can a blackboard be beautiful? A liquor store car park? What about a sleeping bag? In Tom Ford’s hands the answer is always, “yes, darling”. When Colin Firth’s single man, Professor George Falconer, weaves his way to work through a catwalk throng of pristine students (not one fatso, not one freak), he reaches a lecture room of aesthetic rapture, a Mondrian-like portrait of black, white, and teak. When he later drives to a local store, a dusky sun transforms the parking lot into a glowing Eden. Even the sleeping bag, in which Falconer tries to kill himself, has a certain earthworm … 
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Much of international discourse, international politics, is all about how they should become more like us. Quite how they should become more like us depends upon the speaker: if it’s Hillary then more attention should be given to strong, hefty, and mature women who’ve never had an original idea in their lives and if it’s Bill then more attention will be paid to strong, hefty, and young women who have some very original ideas about cigars. The international aspects of religion are even more exclusive. Not only should they become more like us, they should become exactly like us: share our … 
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