Tonight I “finished” reading Ayn Rand’s Atlas Shrugged. Why should I write a review, when a perfectly good one has already been given by Officer Barbrady from South Park: “And then I read this: Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand. I read every last word of this garbage, and because of this piece of shit I'm never reading again!” I think that about sums it up for me. Her writing is fantastic, but it’s melodramatic and overblown. She’s long-winded and too full of herself. I stopped on page 580. I don’t care if they build the motor. I don’t care if the industrialists are allowed to go about their business again. I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care! The only thing I care about is the brain hemorrhage I felt brewing from reading this crap! I’m going to read Stephen King’s Night Shift and get a handle on things again. Damn.
Earlier this evening we set up the Nowaterball trade-show tent at the “amped @ the ampetheater” event, there were some pretty good bands there, I liked radio messiah myself. We didn’t sell much, but we got the booth up and down with no problems, and everything went smooth, so all we need now is an event that has a bunch of golfers, and we’ll all be rich.
Otherwise, not much else went on today. bla bla