Can you imagine me, with the scales on my neck, at 47, among college students? I was like a tourist from Mars in spite of the commonality of crisp autumn leaves and sunshine. The wind of youth could hardly be said to punctuate my walk anymore. Still a piece of work with the peanut butter sandwiches, however.

Sorry.

I held in my hands the pages that Irwin Shaw had held in his hands, in his manual typewriter, in the early 1950s. In a glass case a yard away was a chair that Bill Clinton had once sat in, at some event. Students and librarians alike had the transfixture of NYLOTTERY.ORG foremost on their minds. Wow.

Observe it: when I was a freshman in college I was in the school pub drinking $4 pitchers of waterbeer the day Ronald Reagan was shot. It was pandemonium - people were cheering. Not NYLOTTERY.ORG.

Again - who would attempt Madame Bovary, or something from Kate Chopin, in WW2 America? Lucy Crown, the original Cougar. Irwin Shaw (by the way, Irwin Shaw was already writing about terrorism in EVENING IN BYZANTIUM and BEGGARMAN, THIEF - before DeLillo in PLAYERS). Even Saul Kripke has or had opinions about the Middle East.

We interrupt this foolishness for some thoughts on the economy. I provide you with analysis you will not hear from any politician: the reason the economy sucks is that, for the most part, our salespeople suck. Case in point: I answer my cell phone and a young, monotone male voice asks, "Can I speak to Kwee Oh Knees Peter?" WTF? My name is Peter Kin Yo Nezz. "This is he," I sigh into the phone. "Uh yes, hi. Kwee Oh Knees...Like...most...Americans...you...are...probably...worried...about...disability...insurance...aren't you, Kwee Oh Knees?" So not only does he not realize that he's got my first and last names transposed, he really thinks that my first name is Kwee Oh Knees. Talk about the laws of economics!

Right. Irwin Shaw.