Why, how did YOU spend the 100th Bloomsday?

I'm thinking of joining some fellows at the Irish Pub (at's actually called that) on the next block, to lift a crystal goblet of the sacred black brew to the honour of Jimmy Joyce on this 100th anniversary of his first gratis handjob.

But today I had no inner organs of beast nor fowl for breakfast, I didn't wear an eyepatch, I practiced no seaside onanism, and indeed I read no Joyce, though I do have an original Plumtree's Potted Meat container on my desk with which I am well pleased. Yesternight I went out with some friends, including my dear buddy GB, who after an entire adult life in the marines finds himself a civilian and required me to take his cannabis virginity. Which I did, much to everyone's delight. This morning we had breakfast and then moved a bunch of stuff up to L'Ecole, enjoying the back roads of Wisconsin, good music, better conversation, and Stewart's Key Lime Soda. He's going off to Virginia tomorrow to be with his baby. Everyone good leaves you eventually, I guess.

Happy Bloomsday, everyone. Hoopsa boyoboy hoopsa.