Wednesday, November 12, 2014

Why I Ended A Perfectly Fine Relationship

My boyfriend and I were going nowhere, so I did what any self-proclaimed gay academic would do: I re-read Roland Barthes.



Jenny Chang / BuzzFeed


I was introduced to Roland Barthes' A Lover's Discourse by a good friend I was sleeping with. We'd just had brunch and sex when he told me, "Read it." I found his edition of the book on his bedside table. The yellowing pages were soft against my fingers as his own traced figures on my skin. "It's right up your alley."


"Why's that?" I said.


"You're like the book." He planted kisses down my spine with each word. "Intelligent. Gorgeous. Romantic..."


After another orgasm, I got a copy that very afternoon.


We weren't, nor would we ever be, "boyfriends." He was in a long-term open relationship (now marriage) and I was living in New York for just a few months. So I didn't expect much. But his warm brown eyes were engaging. We'd walk around Manhattan and talk about books. We'd go out to dinner and talk about writing. And we'd kiss and turn snowfall into rain.


We weren't sure what to call ourselves. He was older and established — my mentor, in a sense. So we played with the term "lover." How French, I thought. I could do French. But for Barthes, an actual gay Frenchman, being a lover was a different ordeal.


Barthes wrote A Lover's Discourse in 1977 as a collection of notes on amorous language. "Figures," he calls them, gestures of the lover at work. He says his goal is to present scenes of language wherein the lover might recognize himself. The whole thing reads like a dictionary of a lover's desire, an exercise in defining every move made, thought shared, word said. Or unsaid.


"Waiting," for example, Barthes describes as "the tumult of anxiety provoked by waiting for the loved being, subject to trivial delays (rendezvous, letters, telephone calls, returns)." He talks about waiting by the phone for his loved one to call. He dare not attempt to find him or call him lest he miss him. Barthes reports how his feelings ricochet between dread and anger and sadness, all while seated by the telephone. (Imagine if he had iMessage.)


"Am I in love?" he writes. "Yes, since I am waiting. The other never waits. Sometimes I want to play the part of the one who doesn't wait; I try to busy myself elsewhere, to arrive late; but I always lose at this game: whatever I do, I find myself there, with nothing to do, punctual, even ahead of time. The lover's fatal identity is precisely: I am the one who waits."


Barthes uses words to make a lucid mirror out of Discourse. But it was only two years later, when I looked into it again, that I recognized myself. This happened, predictably, when I found myself "a boyfriend."


We began using the word when we were having real estate problems in New York. I needed to move out of an apartment I couldn't afford and his landlord refused to renew his lease. After he texted me with this news, I called him.


"I think we can do it," he said. I could hear his crooked smile through the phone.


Between breathy laughs, I said, "I know we've only just met."


We'd already gone on four dates within nine days, so the intimate act of telephoning was permissible, among other suggestions. "We could live together."


The fact I could sit in silence with him, gaze into his steely blue eyes for hours, I willingly mistook for comfort. We'd walk around Brooklyn and stare at the pavement. We'd go out to dinner and chew on our food. But we'd kiss and turn the rain into steam.


He was beautiful and said the same of me. He'd text me good night and good morning. He was my age and single. These things, I decided, were good enough. And thus, I became the lover at work.



Jenny Chang / BuzzFeed


adorable / adorable

Not managing to name the specialty of his desire for the loved being, the amorous subject falls back on this rather stupid word: adorable!


Via Roland Barthes, A Lover's Discourse




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6 Witty Quotes From Margaret Atwood

The world-renowned author visited BuzzFeed on Tuesday morning. Here are just a few of the things she said that made us laugh.


Legendary novelist Margaret Atwood visited BuzzFeed today to discuss her new short story collection Stone Mattress . She also fired off a bunch of great zingers.


Legendary novelist Margaret Atwood visited BuzzFeed today to discuss her new short story collection Stone Mattress . She also fired off a bunch of great zingers.




  • The LongPen is a device Atwood invented to sign books from remote locations.


She is amazing. Follow her on Twitter: @MargaretAtwood


Dan Meth / Via BuzzFeed


Kid Lessons For Adults: Fame

It’s about the experience, not fame.



BuzzFeed Yellow / Via youtube.com


George R.R. Martin Has The Best Blog About The Jets And The Giants

The Game of Thrones writer is a dedicated fan of the game of throws.


If you've ever shielded your eyes while watching Game of Thrones and cursed the man who created the show, just know that he, too, is shielding his eyes every Sunday while watching another onscreen struggle: The New York Jets attempting to play football.


If you've ever shielded your eyes while watching Game of Thrones and cursed the man who created the show, just know that he, too, is shielding his eyes every Sunday while watching another onscreen struggle: The New York Jets attempting to play football.


Lucas Jackson / Reuters


Even a man who’s built a career on imagining the unimaginable was shocked by the Jets’ 20-13 win over the Steelers last Sunday. Here’s a couple highlights from this week’s recap:


Even a man who’s built a career on imagining the unimaginable was shocked by the Jets’ 20-13 win over the Steelers last Sunday. Here’s a couple highlights from this week’s recap:


Adam Hunger/Usa Today Sports



"I woke up this morning expecting a long day of pain in front of the television. The Jets were playing the Pittsburgh Steelers and their red-hot quaterback, Big Ben, and the Giants were facing the world champion Seattle Seahawks."



But in the grand tradition of being a Jets fan, Martin went quickly back to cynicism:



For the moment, I will enjoy the win, and wonder what might have happened if Rex had only benched Geno Smith earlier. (I was distressed to see Geno back as second string, and Matt Simms inactive. Simms showed more in his brief appearance last week than Geno has all season). Some good play there by Percy Harvin, Erik Decker, and Chris Ivory. And the D line. Gang Green DOES have some good players, if only they could get a quarterback.





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The Original Harry Potter Creature Concept Art Is Utterly Breathtaking

And terrifying. From the new book Harry Potter: The Creature Vault .



Harper Collins Design


"Unlike creatures in many other films, the creatures of the Harry Potter films 'are very important to the story,' says producer David Heyman. Harry Potter's story could not be told without them. They provide lessons and challenges to our hero that ultimately help him gain the confident needed for his battle with Lord Voldemort and the Dark Forces."


Below is just a selection of the pictures from the book.


Peter Pettigrew


Peter Pettigrew


"Scabbers, once so fat, was now very skinny, patches of fur seemed to have fallen out too." –Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban


Warner Bros / Harper Design




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Turning An Off-The-Cuff Joke Into A Best-Selling Book

Adam Mansbach , author of Go the Fuck to Sleep and You Have To Fucking Eat , on writing children’s books for adults and making time for his own daughter.



Jenny Chang / BuzzFeed


I wrote Go the Fuck to Sleep in July, 2011, between the hours of 4 and 5 p.m., with no expectations and no pants on. The idea, however, occurred to me several weeks earlier in Ann Arbor, Michigan. Also with no pants on.


My daughter and inspiration, Vivien, was hundreds of miles away. I was in Michigan to teach a weeklong fiction workshop for high schoolers. All the cool kids signed up for the poetry classes; everybody who wanted to write prose was midway through the second chapter of a projected tetralogy about wizards and bisexual angel-dragons and socially awkward wan teenage singer-songwriters. But the gig was not about pedagogy, or trying. It was about drinking hard with friends.


My co-teachers were three of the country's most awesome poets: Patricia Smith, Kevin Coval, and Roger Bonair-Agard. I cannot overstate the individual and collective brilliance of these folks, on the stage and on the page. They are responsible for inspiring thousands of young people to make the awful, life-destroying decision to become poets.


The four of us were being put up in a sprawling Victorian on the tenured side of town; the family who lived there was vacationing and they'd donated it for the week. Patricia immediately claimed the master suite with the claw-foot tub. This went uncontested. The rest of us were all secretly terrified of Patricia, whom we knew less well than we knew each other and who had won a Guggenheim. We suspected that she might be a real adult, the kind who would find our juvenile antics tiresome and ask us to keep the noise down so she could get a decent night's sleep.


This turned out to be wildly off-base. By the time I dropped my bag in the room of a 13-year-old kid who slept on a bed the size of a prison cot and made my way downstairs, Patricia was scouring the pantry for alcohol. We'd been invited to consume whatever was perishable; Patricia astutely pointed out that the bottle of white wine she'd found would not retain its integrity for more than a few hundred years, and pulled the cork.


This was a stopgap measure, though. We needed booze. Roger found a comically small bicycle and headed out in search of rum, because Roger is from Trinidad. I started cobbling together ingredients for a pasta sauce. It was sweltering in there, and Kevin, Patricia and I stripped down to tank tops and shorts and opened another bottle of wine. It's amazing how being given free rein over someone else's house instantly turns you into a teenager whose parents are out of town.


Two things of note happened in the next hour. I made a joke about writing a children's book called Go the Fuck to Sleep that made Kevin and Patricia laugh, so I posted the joke on Facebook and racked up about five likes. And far more importantly, Roger failed to return. We grew concerned. What if he'd been hit by a car, and nobody was bringing rum?



Jenny Chang / BuzzFeed


When we heard the door open, we broke into applause. I shouted, "Took you long enough, motherfucker!" and Patricia and Kevin added profanities of their own.


Into the room strode a man who was not Roger. This was easy to determine, because Roger is a tattoo-covered black dude with a mohawk, whereas this individual was Caucasian, in his seventies, and had a full head of white hair. He looked so patrician that the only logical assumption was that he was a senator.


"Hello!" he said, striding toward us with his hand outstretched, grinning ear to ear, "I'm John! This is my daughter's house! What's your name?"


That was how we knew he was Canadian. If you're American and a senator and you walk into your daughter's house expecting it to be vacant and instead find black and Jewish people standing around cursing and drinking in their underwear, that's not how you react.


Patricia shook his hand and explained who we were and what we were doing there. John thought that was great. "That's great," he said. "Everybody wins!" Yes, we agreed. Everybody.


It turned out that John and his wife, Betty, who walked in a few moments later, had been at a soccer tournament with their grandson, Sam, whose room I was occupying. It was supposed to be a weeklong thing, but Sam's team was hot garbage and they'd gotten bounced the first day, so here they were! Back early!


We were apologetic. Maybe we could find somewhere else to stay, we said. But no! Don't be ridiculous! John and Betty would stay on the foldout bed in the TV room! They always stayed there — they loved it! And Sam could stay in the basement, in a rat's nest of blankets on the floor! Fuck him!


Uh, OK, we said. We'll try not to disturb you. No! they said. You won't disturb us! You can't! Have parties! Be loud! You're poets! You're doing a great thing for the kids! Everybody wins!




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