It's Ayn Rand's birthday today! Don't boo, just woo hoo! What would Ayn Rand do?
I'd like to thank one of Boston's finest men of letters, Sam, whose got a whale of a blog (insert canned laughter), The Treadle of the Loom**, that has been and is still presently dissecting in the most minute and erudite and fascinating detail, Herman Melville's masterpiece, Moby Dick, for alerting me this morning -- as it was not on my calendar -- that our dear Ayn Rand would've turned 112 today!
And shame shame shame on all you nasty Ayn Rand haters out there who think she's nothing more than a heartless wench who couldn't write worth a lick and for then going all horrendously ad hominem on her in your vitriolic attacks saying something to the unconscionable effect that she's the most repugnant and masculine appearing of pompous, anti-feminine cheerleaders, rah-rah'ing for -- in so many redundant and didactic words otherwise known as "novels" -- the greedy, corporate, capitalist bastards pillaging the poor and weakening the middle class irreparably the world round; for thinking in your impoverished and demented heads that she'd read a book like William Gaddis' JR or see a movie like the original Wall Street and proclaim in response, "so what?", as if the raging satire went right over her head, as if the mighty wordsmith and cinematic slaying of capitalism and greed-gone-berserk that's depicted in both the book and film, via Wall Street hoodlums collectively strutting their junk bond Ponzi stuff without a qualm all over the trashed hopes and ruined dreams of the blue collar clientele they're supposedly there to service and protect, had gone swooooooosh past her skull (had not!); and for having the gall to assert, finally, that Ayn Rand would applaud the anti-heroes of JR and Wall Street and their egregious swindling, er, capitalism, rather than rightly shake her fist at them in outraged indignation like the rest of us -- like Gaddis and Oliver Stone did through their art. Your unsound reasoning that hates Ayn Rand is so far outside the pale it makes my skin turn pale just contemplating it! How dare you, Hater, belittle Ayn Rand and mock her on this of all glorious days -- her blessed birthday! Just despicable, your measly rants compared to the majesty and superior philosophy and intellect of my favorite she-man, Ayn Rand.
Therefore, in Ayn Rand's honor on this Holy of Holiest of Objectivist Days, here's an old "review" of mine (see the link below) on Atlas Shrugged, Ayn Rand's greatest achievement. In fact, her novel is one of the crowning achievements in recorded History. I resubmit the review in Ayn Randian homage: as a veritable rear window sticker on a car memorializing her life, perhaps a rear window sticker on a Hummer, a vehicle Rand would have no doubt driven were one of her magnificent trains unavailable and had she remained alive, of course, for the Hummer's arrival in the marketplace, a supreme automotive emblem of all that's large and beautifully bloated and rectilinearly monstrous in the world of transportation and commerce that Ayn ever unctuously marketed ... in loving memory of Ayn Rand's far too few years of existence on Earth ....
Review of Atlas Shrugged
**In all seriousness, check out Sam's brilliant blog. Any student of Melville and Moby Dick will learn loads reading The Treadle of the Loom.