Calloo-callay

Okay. Foucault's Pendulum is done. It was good enough, which is to say I don't particularly recommend it.

So I was trying to figure wham to read next, and then I realized that I'd been discussing Bloomsday with Bananas, referencing a
Bloomsday party she threw four years ago. And it's the centennial Bloomsday today, as the Times has risked their reputation and
asserted. So yessir, it's going to be Ulysses. That should be fucking good, muthafucka. They all curse in Ulysses, right? I don't know. I actually read about four chapters a while back, but I guess it's the sort of thing I need to begin the begin.

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