Leon G. Cooperman is a very fortunate man. The son of a plumber, he went on to run the asset management business of Goldman Sachs. Presumably, that made him quite rich (the math: Goldman partner = rich), but he didn’t stop there. He next founded his own hedge fund, which, according to Forbes, manages $6.1 billion. His net worth is said to be $2.2 billion, which puts him comfortably in the middle of that obnoxious record of acquisitiveness known as the Forbes 400.

I have Leon Cooperman on my mind because I recently read Chrystia Freeland’s New Yorker piece entitled “Super-Rich Irony: The billionaires battling Obama.”

Twenty-eleven was a good year, one might even say a banner year, for Greg Olear.  The proverbial bouncer whisked me into the proverbial club in many instances when, in the past, I would have been left waiting behind the proverbial velvet rope.

Among the lists I’m proud to have made in 2011: American writers published in the French by Editions Gallmeister; American writers interviewed on French TV; speakers at the Quais du Polar festival in Lyon; authors in the signing booth at BEA; guests at the Authors Guild cocktail party; New Paltz homeowners (and Hudson Valley Magazine feature subjects); novelists noted on the “Hot Type” page of Vanity Fair; guys who have made out with Snooki; novelists noted on the “Full Frontal” page of Penthouse; writers interviewed on the Other People pod (you can’t spell Listi without L-I-S-T); and of course, Los Angeles Times bestsellers (Fathermucker was #15!).