Yesterday, in the course of an extended rant with J about No Future (about which I have a draft post brewing, but in short: tons of interesting and challenging stuff, hugely undermined by its blindness to its own participation in a particular gay-male-(of-a-certain-age)-coloured repudiation of domesticity-as-femininity, related to a nostalgic fantasy about a masculine gay culture based around the queer public space of 'the baths' rather than around queer familial, social, or political bonds), she made a throwaway comment about writers who 'think that puns are arguments', which caused me to stare at her in a moment of This is not my beautiful wife!ness and think: OMG my girlfriend believes in the TRANSCENDENTAL SIGNIFIED!! What shall I do?
We bookmarked the argument to have another time, agreed to differ, and continued to cook aubergine and potato curry together. It was very tasty, and by the time I had finished it I was willing to concede that it is possible to critique some writers' use of wordplay without necessarily believing in God, the Phallus, or the Name-of-the-Father.
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