The kids party hard, you see, because the sea and the sounds and the rivers just put ya in the mood. The wife and I bounced to the Great White North for a quick trip on the train this weekend and watched the World Cup with a French-speaking table in front of us and some overdressed Italians behind us. There is more to the Zidane headswinging than meets the eye, I think, but the Italians, in this amateur's opinion, were a near-unbeatable team.
The summer reading of Ulysses is plugging along. I take distinct pleasure in the fact that so many great works of literature usually come down, in the end, to jokes about sex. Shakespeare couldn't have done without it; Tristram Shandy didn't exactly have his "nose" crushed as an infant, and as for Moby-Dick--I don't think I need to go into that there. But for evidence from one of the greatest modern novels, I offer this brief news-headlinesque passage:
SOPHIST WALLOPS HAUGHTY HELEN SQUARE
ON PROBISCUS. SPARTANS GNASH MOLARS.
ITHACANS VOW PEN IS CHAMP.