It's Bloomsday.
Every year there's this big long Ulysses celebration at Symphony Space here in town. I was strongly tempted to spend the afternoon/evening/night there today, but the whole thing is being broadcast online by WBAI. So that's what I'm doing now, listening to the fireworks portion from Nausicaa. I sure wish I hadn't missed the Christmas Dinner scene from Portrait of the Artists or the beginning Calypso . . . but at least there's lots of great stuff left to be read (Circe! Ithaca! Penelope!) after this Beckett interlude of several hours they're about to lay on me).
It's something else listening to this stuff being read with proper Irish accents. It gives me goosebumps. If you've ever been the least bit Ulysses-curious, you should tune in at 8:30.
Steady Mobbin' on Bloomsday 2004
(In 2005 I just linked to the 2004 post)
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In commemoration of Bloomsday, this week's New Yorker has a great article about Stephen Joyce (James's grandson) thwarting Joycean scholarship. Scandal! Intrigue! Scoundrels! And they were kind enough to provide it online: http://www.newyorker.com/fact/content/articles/060619fa_fact
Yeah, I was so close to being in Dublin on Bloomsday.
I did get to see Davey Byrne's Pub during a literary pub crawl, though. It was a real riot.
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