The Passion of Ayn Rand
I read Atlas Shrugged on a plane*. I was flying to Newark for a big pitch meeting. We merged with a company in New Jersey. We were the bitch of the merger, we took the other company’s name. But the new people liked me. I kept getting promoted. I had an equity stake, I thought. It turns out when a private equity place buys you and gives you equity it’s all horseshit. It never pays off no matter what. If they sell you just get a stake in the new company and the payout’s deferred, just a few more years until you sell again, forever. Now I have an equity stake in a startup that’s real stock options. Surely this time. Surely I’ll get the bag and have time at last to write as my career. And if not, some other financial instrument will save me. Surely my investments will go up and up while prices don’t also go up the exact same amount. Maybe The Pussy audiobook– there’s a publisher, we’ll see if they pay me…
I read Atlas Shrugged on a plane. I was ready to hate it. I hated Ayn Rand readers. I hated tech. If I could have created a virus that only killed people with Aspergers I’d have done it. But then if I had the mind to do that it’d take me out as well. Ayn Rand readers should be gassed in camps, Peter Thiel (REDACTED) and (REDACTED) in oil on TV, etc. No one talks about Ayn Rand in anything but the Bill Gates programmer voice. I was ready to hate it. I thought it was the Silmarillion of worshiping rich nerds. Continue reading
