Assortedness:

On the criminalisation of those people still stuck in the south of Lebanon.

Art students in New York encouraging postal workers to think about how the bombs get to Israel, and asking questions about how other bombs might travel to other places.

Eric is having strange dreams. So am I. The other night we watched Syriana, and that night my dreams were full of deserts, explosions, running, guns, bodies. It’s a little odd, I think, for war dreams to be mediated through the filter of Hollywood. But not surprising. Eric’s also on the mark about how to read newspapers (that’s the next post down): to be sure, everyone knows what is happening, and it’s not lack of knowledge that prevents mass resistance to this ongoing war. Not that mass resistance in the form of rallies would do much, anyhow.

Go look at QueerKit. Cute and pretty.

Beautiful sketch commentary on the Middle East, via Amie through Ange.

Today I’ve been thinking about the intersection between tourism, affective work and economies of tourist affect, and memory/memorialisation. I’m thinking about it because of a particular clinic I visited in Thailand, where gender reassignment surgery patients were recovering in a kind of bubble. Outside the bubble was Thailand’s landscape: the main highway of a huge industrial town, a grimy smog-filled road only crossable by the pedestrian overpass, lined with scooter shops, mechanics’ workshops and the shopping mall with its imported chain restaurants. Inside the bubble — inside a pink, white columned building, appropriate colours, broadcasting both the feminised service economy operating inside and the objective of feminising its clientele — patients basked under air conditioning in tastefully decorated rooms, checking their email on the wireless internet service, exchanging tips about dilation. The patients are surrounded at all times by a bevy of female Thai employees, some nurses, some admin assistants, some present merely to fulfil the myriad needs of patients for cushions, water, check-ups, conversation, affection, support. There employees seemed to be on call 24 hours a day. The managers of the clinic (who were also women) described this arrangement as a family, and actually the atmosphere felt more warm and inviting than a ‘real’ family could ever be. However, the patients are all foreigners, and the workers are all Thai, with the exception of one manager.

(more…)

I know I’m way overdue for updates, but don’t feel much like blogging at the moment. I can’t get my head around what is happening in the world, and have no intelligent commentary to offer. Total War has found a new front. Of course, that’s a contradiction: how can you have a new front when the war is already total?

Travel stories are overdue too, but you can get those from flickr.

I’m on the island of Ko Samui, having a beach escape in a tiny hut on the shores of sunny blue waters. This post may be slightly fragmented, as I’m fighting off flu (or maybe not really fighting it off, in the throes, more like) and thus slightly delirious. I’m thinking a lot about travel and its affective dimensions, partially helped as I move around (being a tourist) by the anthology Travel Worlds, with its refreshingly savage critiques of tourism and tourists. Thoughts and conclusions to come when I have more net access.

I spent last weekend in the industrial town of Chon Buri immersing myself in the salon-like atmosphere of the Suporn Clinic, then went to Phuket for two days (one more interview down). Phuket was violently rainy — it’s rainy season — and I got drenched a couple of times, and once, caught on a scooter in the torrential downpour on a really scary, windy road. This was my one attempt to see the ‘resort towns’ on Phuket. I had to turn back. Ironic and well-played.

Bangkok reminds me of old Bikini Kill. Particularly “Reject All American” (which I have on a mix CD) and “Carnival” (which I don’t, but appeared in my head the other night and hasn’t gone yet). I don’t really know why — maybe because anger when it happens here seems also fiercely joyful?

There are causes for joy all over the place right now. Word has it that A. has received an unexpected gift from the gods, that odd pantheon of hybridised ancient Greek and Battlestar Galactica gods that we don’t believe in but thank often nonetheless. The actual gift may be a secret for some time, so I shouldn’t tell it here. This news not only coincides with me being away — nice timing — but what sounds like a nasty bout of aches and pains. If this is not too Livejournal of me, could you please think happy, congratulatory and above all, painless vibes towards Coburg, or failing that, in the direction of the Archive? Thankyou.