All day I've been pretending I've read Ulysses by James Joyce. A Dublin native, Joyce set his novel Ulysses on June 16th and (apparently) it follows a man around the area for the day. It broke the traditional story mold by telling of the day in a stream-of-consciousness manner that results in very very very long sentences which meander from thought to thought, like what he might have for lunch, and how that woman reminds him of someone else, and there goes a dog, and wouldn't it be great to have a gorgonzola sandwich, and how the clouds look, and such stuff.
So today, being June 16th, it's Bloomsday in Dublin. We heard readings from Ulysses in both Spanish and English. An opera singer sang something based on the novel. People were wandering around dressed in costume, and Dixieland bands were playing in some of the squares.
Sigh. I guess I have to read Ulysses now.
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