Friday, May 08, 2009

Human Louse Rudd gets book reviewed in NYTimes

The NYT Sunday Book Review won't give bestsellers like O'Reilly and Mark Levin reviews even though they have been best sellers for weeks. Mark Rudd's effort is destined for the remainder bin, but gets a full-fledged summary in the zampolit broadsheet telling Upper West Side halfwits what to read. Here is a piece I wrote a while back about the former Columbia BS artist [I wonder who ghosted the book?]:
I had the dishonor of hosting one of the miscreants, a fellow named Mark Rudd, back in 1969 in my apartment in Ann Arbor, where he smoked all my ganga while dropping nuggets like "No fault on the left," and "Dare to cheat, Dare to win." Later, I went to Cornell at the invitation of Chip Marshall to organize for SDS & was there for two weeks before I realized that these dudes were total cons whose reason for inviting me was to get possession of my VW microbus. They wanted me to work in a factory in Syracuse while they cavorted around the state of New York. But I digress.
The Columbia protests were led by Mark Rudd, whose idea of a bon mot was "Up against the wall, motherf-----!" From Columbia's relationship to a Pentagon-affiliated think tank and its plan to build a gym on a city park, Rudd's compatriots concluded that the school was irredeemably militaristic and racist. They occupied university buildings and took a dean hostage before being cleared out (none too gently) by the cops.

Elsewhere, university officials gave in to their tormenters, most notoriously at Cornell a year later. When black students occupied a university building - ostentatiously arming themselves - and demanded that disciplinary action against three black students be dropped, the faculty initially stood its ground. When the students escalated their threats, the faculty reversed itself in a signal act of cowardice.

The parents against which the students rebelled - as represented by the college administrations - buckled. College presidents who were the finest flowering of post-World War II liberalism gave in to the radicalism, politicizing American higher education and trashing its standards. "The maturation of the student protest movement turned out to be part of the infantilization of the American intelligentsia," Kimball writes.

The freedoms fought for in the student revolt soon curdled into the opposite: free speech became speech codes; sexual liberation became the regime of sexual harassment; civil rights became quotas. Meanwhile, Mark Rudd and a fringe of the New Left spun off into the Weather Underground, which took the destructive spirit of the campus protests to its logical conclusion in a campaign of terrorist bombings. Jonah Goldberg reminds us in his book "Liberal Fascism" that the radical left committed roughly 250 attacks from September 1969 to May 1970.

The victims of academicide pile up year after year and matriculate bearing delusions indoctinated into their uncritical minds by spurious purveyors of academentia. But after the mayhem not reported by the compliant leftist electronic and print media, there was and remains a happy ending:
If the academics gave in, another segment of the parents resisted. They were the Nixon voters, reacting against the disorder and cultural radicalism with which liberalism became identified. Republicans held the White House for 28 of the next 40 years, and the alternative history of the 1960s is the rise of the right. Even now, with Barack Obama dogged by his association with former Weather Underground member Bill Ayers, the Democratic Party's challenge is to free itself from the taint of 1968.

And while I dabbled in SDS, I also met Ayers and his beautiful consort Diana Oughton, who shortly thereafter immolated herself in a Greenwich Village basement making a bomb to attack Fort Dix across the Hudson. He was a dork-wad, she didn't deserve a wretch like him who now prospers purveying academicide nostrums to unsuspecting victims at UofIllinois Chicago. My friend Rashid Khalidi got me an Academic Associate Card at the University of Chicago, a respectable institution. But whether they are genuine humanists like Rashid or loathsome loo-zer parasites like Ayers, the left remains slouching toward Bethlehem.

Rudd and Ayers survive because the Left, though wrong throughout the twentieth century, does not have any principles except as cheap slogans such as "No Fault on the Left" and "Dare to Cheat, Dare to Win."

A gangsta culture for middle-class sissies.


Diana said...


To be fair, the review was a complete & total slam.

Best. Dumpling looks yummy.

dave in boca said...

Dumples is sitting by my side drinking plenty of water as his twenty-plus pound furry body needs lots of liquids. He is a gigantic purr-ball of vibrating cat-love. Feline felicity at its finest! He's actually everybody's favorite cat once they get to meet him, even if he is too big for most people to even pick up.

Diana said...

Yes, there's nothing like a big fat tom for kitty love. They are the most affectionate. The worst are petite beautiful females. They are like spoiled trophy wives.

Can't you switch his diet to mostly protein ("the catkins diet") and maybe exercise him a bit, say, up and down stairs a couple times a day? If I weren't so averse to getting another cat right now I'd adopt a big fat boy-cat from the pound and do it myself.

dave in boca said...

Dumpling's daddy was a gigantic Maine Coon and his mommy our own gorgeous Himalayan/Ragdoll Chloe. Sizewise and in temperament, Maine Coons are the largest domestic cat anywhere and have a layer of subcutaneous fat inherited from many long winters in New England and Canada. MCs are said to resemble Norwegian Forest Cats closely, leading to the supposition that MCs are descended from the Viking longship passengers who settled Vinland around 1000 AD. After only 20 years in the UK, they have become the second most popular after Persians and are already top cat in the USA because they are just sooooooo friendly. Dumpling always "says" hello when he enters a room [on cue, he just jumped on the ledge next to me tapping on my Mac] and at night he has to get out and prowl. My cruel spouse neutered him while I was away on a trip, but that means he doesn't mark his territory.

I have a bunch of pictures with his friendly mug that I will send one-by-one occasionally. His lover-girl Sacha, a sweet diminuitive Persian we rescued from a pet shop, is in heat and constantly asking him for love. He uses his tongue and rubs her, but can't do much to give the tiny girl kittens. In the meantime, he's middle-aged and living with his mother, if you catch my drift!