Hundred Years of Bloomsday

16 June 1904. Poldy walks by the Liffey. Stephen gets drunk and pisses in the garden. Molly gets off.

That's Ulysses, all the plot you can get out of it. And it's all the more fabulous for it.

Haven't read the thing since freshman year of college, but the Dublin fetish it produces is sorta hard to shake. Check out the festivities.