the life of richie


Posted in is, Rich's book club by Rich on January 12, 2010

By train, by car, by foot, the three converge on Rittenhouse Square for brunch and a day of reJoyceingin, in Philly. The temperature does not rise ‘buv freezing; all three-freezing keep themselves bundled in hats and coats and scarves as they admire the houses ‘long Delancey Street and smile and shiver and saunter, staying on the sunny side of the street, to the Rosenbach Museum, where there is an original manuscript of Ulysses. The Rosenbach brothers were prolific collectors; Rich asks the dotty old docent if the Rosenbachs ever married; nay, never, and the one brother liked very fine French clothes and brushes and facial unctions (Subtext: you do the math); the other liked ‘im ‘is books.

On the third floor is the library with the first editions and a death mask of the man:

He sleeps so peaceful with’is head emptied there of all them thoughts & such. The three freezing friends go to The Irish Pub (actual name) to discuss the book. Kaaarrr’n hasn’t read, the naughty attendant, but earlier explained that she went temporarily blinded in one eye, she did, like Joyce or the Cyclops in Chapter 12 (who had but one “I” to start, so you can sees ‘is problem with getting blinded in the won eye). This place is not as boisterous as Barney Kiernan’s; no jingoistic citizens to spoil their orders of stouts and plump chips & veggie burghs, with a corned beef sammich for One Eye. How’d you get the mascara on with One Eye? Aye, was a trial. Her cousin warned never use eyeliner; don’t want that sticky pencil coming at your peeper. Patti drops her pen twice. Rich has to axe for the fork & knife. When they’ve finished, they walk Mack Patty to her Pattimobile and then retrieve Karen’s chariot from the South Street garage. They motor their way home to the shore, the beach –– where Gerty waits to Bloom to show him her stockings (dirty Gerty –– oh!) so that he can make the fireworks. They, their way away from the beautiful City of Brotherly Love. Says Bloom, “I mean the opposite of hatred.” Quite.