Late this afternoon, I concluded a long and arduous consultation with the representatives of former Icelandic banks.  It seems the Icelandic authorities are about to try their former Prime Minister for raping their economy, and the people behind those banks are, let us say, extremely concerned.  It was grueling; I was exhausted.  But the first thing that happened when I sunk down into the chair behind my desk was, the damned phone rang.  It was Gretchen, my private secretary, calling from the reception area on the other side of a pair of very thick oak doors. “Who the hell,” she asked, “is Kathryn Limbaugh?” “Rush Limbaugh’s fourth wife,” I informed her. “Holy [expletive]!” Gretchen exclaimed.  “You mean there have actually [...]

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