1. Bloomsday of course, is the annual celebration of the life and work of James Joyce with specific regard to Ulysses, which you probably tell people you’ve read front to back but in fact have not. Anyway, Bloomsday is today. 2. Bloomsday is a huge, huge deal, of course, in Joyce’s native Dublin — if you lived there, you’d be drunk already — but Philly has a longstanding Bloomsday tradition, thanks in very large part to the Rosenbach Museum, which has in its collections the original Ulysses manuscript. 3. And starting right about now, the Rosenbach plays host to a long, long list of notable Philadelphians, all taking turn in reading aloud sections of Ulysses. It’s the only time all year you’ll see Lord Whimsy and Marty Moss-Coane doing the same thing in the same place and want to give them the same hug for being a part of such an awesome tradition. 4. Often, when you see pictures of Joyce, it’s this po-faced depiction, which always struck us as false advertising. We far prefer the faggy, flouncy Joyce as captured by Bernice Abbott at right, Paris 1926. We might live in amazing times, but we’ll never get to live in a time as apparently awesome in every respect as that one was. 5. There’s nothing wrong with saying Dubliners is your favorite Joyce book. In fact, we just did. Best part of it? We’re allowed to celebrate Bloomsday, too. Happy Bloomsday, everybody!