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Posts tagged disposable camera

Agreed.

An accidental disposable camera double exposure at Race Street Pier. It closes the year: today I turned in my last paper, and Saturday night, will be gone for good till senior year.

So much to say; it’ll come after this week’s break.

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Untranslated, undiscovered, witty, young.


In the introduction to his collection of Italian short stories, translator Lawrence Venuti writes that the stories “challenge familiar images” and the translations “pursue this defamiliarizing aim . . . at the level of the sentence.” He calls his authors “untranslated,” “undiscovered,” “witty,” and “young.”

In context . . . all of it quickly becomes intelligible and at points subtly suggestive, taking on meaning that go beyond the Italian text. . . The translations are design to give the reader another opportunity to travel: in their deviations from current English usage, they open up the reading experience to the foreignness of a different language for translation, although in a way that is enjoyably engaging. Such, at least, is my hopeful intention.

I have one paper left, and then junior year is over. We’ve had Fling and Time to Shine and Hey Day and two weeks of reading days and finals. And in three weeks, I leave for Rome.

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Turned twenty.

I’d like to write this summer. I discarded the list of goals and resolutions I made out of habit. Those hyper-organized lists of disassociated items don’t translate well to real life. I hope some of the ideas stick, though: I’ll read and travel for sure with my job and my already-made plans, and besides that I’d like to write something other than letters and journals and to run a lot. Two goals? I can manage that. Occasionally in life, particular resolutions stick. You’re never sure which ones will last, but maybe these could.

That photo up there is how I think of my summers: I think a lot and look at trees a lot, as always; I’m in Seattle, which I like very much; and dinners are interesting and weather is beautiful. That’s from last summer. I took pizza from Delancey out to my aunt’s back yard. It was left over from a night with olives, prosciutto, pizza, and Molly Moon’s balsamic strawberry. I had had my ice cream cone in the parked car, sitting on the corner of my seat with my feet out on the sidewalk. Ice cream cones are, I think, meant to be eaten at least partially outdoors.

Summer has, I guess, properly begun. I’ve been in and out, not home for more than two days yet, but I’ve begun my summer activities: I’ve made one batch of biscotti and one of ice cream (Bi-Rite’s salted caramel), two freezing midnight jumps into a lake, one long scenic drive, and one high stack of books I’ve already begun. I turned twenty today.  That’s something.

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