As if we needed further evidence that museums and the global commercial art scene are riding with the wave of street art (remember the Laguna Art Museum’s street art show a couple of months back?), major art scene players in Hong Kong are flowing with the zeitgeist as well. Nicole Schoeni took over at the creative helm of her family business, the legendary Schoeni gallery in Hong Kong, several years ago. And now, she’s done it again…

Her new Adapta Gallery is launching with its first exhibition on November 13th. The debut show, “Attention Spam” will feature the work of five U.K. based urban artists: Cyclops (above image) D*Face, David Bray, Vesna Parchet and Word to Mother.

The new gallery’s statement of purpose reads:

“The way people view this 21st Century contemporary art nowadays has created a new and formidable player in the Art market and even national museums have had to sit up and pay attention to this burgeoning phenomenon. The line between fine-art and street-art/graffiti is now blurred, and with its acceptance and recognition by the art establishment also bringing with it criticism and dismissal.”

Congratulations, Nicole!

Above is the newest Obama campaign poster to hit the streets. I’m proud to report that my oldest dearest friend Victoria Behner and her daughter (my goddaughter) Lydia posed for it. Amy Martin, a friend of theirs was the artist commissioned to create the work which is a graphic-ized version of their likeness. Talk about a nice piece of campaign memorabilia to share with your grandchildren… 

I attended yet another of Nike Sportswear’s Cinema Tuesdays screenings (curated by Flux) at the Montalban last night. This one–Charlie Kaufman’s upcoming “Synecdoche, New York”–really packed them in (see above sampling of assorted tragic hipsters and aspiring cineastes). The film is to be released on November 14. 

Once again, the event itself was quite the scene. Hoards lined up outside the venue before it even opened its doors. I drove in in my filthy Prius and apparently so did producer Spike Jonze. Amidst the crowds and scene upstairs by the Belvedere-hosted bar was a tiny (literally) art exhibit. The stamp-sized work was featured in the film by artist “Adele Lack.” Magnifying glasses were provided so coolsters could view the miniscule pieces. And so it was that the dividing line between the “two parts of the evening” drew itself.

On the flipside of the coin, the film itself was no party. It was an epic excursion into Charlie Kaufman’s odd (and obsessive compulsive?) mind. But unlike “Being John Malkovich,” “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” or “Adaptation” the screenwriter directed this feature. And so it was that the lunatics, so to speak, became in charge of the asylum. With little outside perspective to hamper his vision, “Synecdoche” felt like a heavy, confusing, warped, bad dream where everyone was quirky, weary and lost. Weaving around all over the place (death, unexplained illness, plays within plays, stalkers, human extinction, suicide, polygamy, dopplegangers–and their dopplegangers) there was an unpleasantly schizophrenic quality to it.

Don’t get me wrong, I love quirks and complexity but I appreciate when there is some glue that pulls it all together in a tight cohesive way. Kaufman is obviously obsessed with aging and death if this movie and the upcoming “Benjamin Button” (with Brad Pitt playing a man who ages backwards) are any indicators. It’s a relevant (and depressing) enough topic. But, as one moviegoer said, “Have they ever heard of an editor?” adding, “He lost me after the first hour.”

When the movie finally ended to hearty applause from the crowd, everyone poured out onto the Vine Street sidewalk, to smoke cigarettes and presumably talk themselves down from suicide. Had no context been provided, passers-bye could have mistaken curbside audience members for passengers on a plane from Shanghai. They stretched, yawned and looked distinctively dazed and depleted. One moviegoer offered, “I get that he was trying to address growing old but I felt like I was growing old watching the movie.”

To be fair to the filmmaker/screenwriter, there were some nuggets in the first hour of the movie that held promise, character subtleties that seemed to get increasingly exaggerated as Kaufman meandered into the second half. And it is a testament to his talent in writing the aforementioned Michel Gondry and Spike Jonze films (forays into the mainstream surreal) that he could even get this long and bizarre art house film made. But at the end of the day, ”Synecdoche” caused me to become increasingly aware of time’s passage. I felt that, although I really enjoyed the pre-party–I had wasted two precious hours in my fast-diminishing life…perhaps the filmmaker’s intention all along? 

It was only a few months ago that I was still clinging die-hard, as if for dear life, to my support of Sen. Hillary Rodham Clinton. Gritting my teeth I cursed Obama for ruining what I perceived as the last chance for a woman to be president. That’s how set in my ways, heels dug in, I was. Today, I still respect Sen. Clinton but am proud to say that I have fully embraced Barack Obama not just as a candidate of the people, but also as representative of something bigger (but subtler) that is going on in our collective unconscious. It would seem that humility, peacemaking, kindness and the high road are slowly but surely catching on, and that revenge, anger, retribution, defamation and other such ego-driven old guard ways are passing away.

I was already a supporter of Sen. Obama’s when I watched the third debate. I agree with his policies, like that he surrounds himself with intelligent knowledgable people, and trust in his running mate Joe Biden. But something else shifted for me as I watched Obama behave ‘cool as a cucumber,’ polite, dignified and respectful in front of Sen. John McCain’s fuming ‘ticking timb bomb.’ I want Barack Obama to be president for another reason. I want him, as the leader of the United States to be emblematic of a new way of dealing with the world and each other. I want him to set a good example for all of us–old, young, female, male, etc.

Now I am by no means advocating worshiping Obama as some kind of modern day saint. I’m not fond of the rigidity and hierarchical nature of organized religions. I also don’t like groups and cults. But after watching that debate, I found myself inadvertantly attempting to behave like Sen. Obama at every turn. At one point during the week I got into a fiery debate over different types of green energy with a friend. To be honest, though I still maintain my position, I was disappointed in myself that I got so riled up. I likened it to McCain’s poor behavior in the debate–’going for the jugular’ and employing dirty tactics to make Obama look bad (instead of making himself look good). So the next day I mended fences with my friend and lent him a book on the new economic energy revolution and printed up some pages from various articles in the Washington Post and Salon.com. I apologized for my rage and explained that I had taken the argument too personally, etc.

I was kind of proud of myself. But I noted that it was watching Sen. Obama’s beautiful, refined, classy behavior that inspired me. This man started out as an underdog, jeered for his “funny name,” ‘handicapped’ by his mixed ethnicity. Instead of listening to the jeering and defamation, instead of engaging in it and believing it, he kept his eye on the ball, remained positive and respectful and look where he is now. I feel in my heart that Sen. Obama will win the election. But no matter the outcome, the fact that he has come this far, untainted by jadedness or rage, speaks volumes. For once the media has catapulted an example-worthy person to superstar status. Regardless of how you vote on November 4th, I hope that you will open your minds to the ways of the calm, balanced, fair-minded, thoughtful man as a human being and recognize that personal power doesn’t come from beating people over the head with a stick but rather from walking quietly (and confidently), and in this case, not carrying one.  

[This blog is also published on the Huffington Post, where you can follow my other HP blogs, many of which are not reposted on this blog]

“He’s an Arab,” one of Sen. John McCain’s elderly female supporters blurted out in reference to Sen. Barack Obama, at one of McCain’s rallies. This is but one item in a growing laundry list of angry and sometimes borderline Libelous remarks that Mac crowds — initially under the conductorship of Grand Wizardess Sarah Palin — have uttered. Not to give these pitchfork wielding ignoramuses too much air time, but I feel the need to address some of their issues.

Firstly, I find it bewildering that for all the news coverage the “Arab” clip has received, no one has really gotten to the disturbing heart of the matter. After the aforementioned simpleton-in-red stated her concern, the Republican presidential nominee tried to assuage her fear and anger by saying that “no m’am, he’s a decent family man citizen” (not, God forbid, an Arab). Huh?

Since when did the word “Arab” become generally accepted as being synonymous with “terrorist,” or derogative at all for that matter? Ladies and gentleman, we are treading on dangerous Orwellian Newspeak territory here; we, for the most part, being some of the networks who have covered this story and not taken it as an opportunity to thoroughly discuss the offensive and obvious. I have yet to see anyone on CNN, for instance, pull in reaction from the Arab American community (please excuse me if I missed a new segment or something). Ok, technically the poor dumb McCain supporter made an erroneous assertion and was appropriately corrected by her candidate. But where was the cultural correction, from John McCain AND political pundits, and religious and cultural advocates?

Where are the community organizers using this as a catalyst to launch discussion groups on racial and cultural bias?–a poignant and sadly prevalent (from what I can see of these McCain/Palin rallies) thorn in the side of American society. Because that race happens to be the much-demonized (in American culture) Arab one, it gets little or no air time.

In another clip, an incensed Macanite says he is “scared” of Obama becoming president because he “cohorts with” (not 100% sure that’s really a verb) domestic terrorists (like Bill Ayers). We’ve had nearly eight years of a Bush administration that has made mince meat of our constitutional rights, forced us into a bloody LONG aimless war under false pretenses, damaged our relationship with the rest of the world, aided in slaughtering the economy beyond repair, and this guy’s “scared” of…Obama. I don’t know what planet he’s living on, but I know what planet he’s afraid of (to indirectly quote Public Enemy).

At other rallies, supporters did everything but wield torches and burn Obama supporters’ houses down, yelling out such disturbing things as “kill him.” These human beings’ (by the slackest definition of the word) brazen vocalization of their small-mindedness has broadcast an image to the rest of the world of our very own ‘American Gothic’-turned-horror flick. Obviously the sentiments were already teeming beneath the surface, but it took someone folksy and furious like Sarah Palin to release them into balls of fiery hatred.

I think if we look back in world history we may recall another political aspirant who branded himself folksy and riled up audiences of ignorant, provincial, desperate citizens. It was none other than Adolf Hitler, who rose to power by rallying the dumb-asses in beer halls across Bavaria in those desperate times for Germany. It is easy to dismiss this reference as over-the-top and exaggerated. According to my friend’s dad, a Dutch World War II German work camp survivor, it starts with the so-called ‘little things’ that slip past most of our radars. Before anyone knows it, “the natives are growing restless” evolves into a full-blown mob scene of witch hunts and violence.

Perhaps it is time that we, led by the media–our global school ‘home room’–started widely opening up a constructive discussion about such Hatespeak in America today. Some may view this anger as ‘justified’ and brand me a “coastal intellectual elitist” for suggesting an intervention. I would then retort that I feel pride, not shame in the fact that I try to expose myself to different cultures, and attempt to be informed and feed my intellect. But it might be too late; they may have already reversed the meaning of such attributes, transforming them into the gravest of possible insults.

These cool pix just landed in my inbox from Richard Nash at Soft Skull and Counterpoint. The latter is publishing a new book of Graham Rawle’s 21st century reinterpretation of “The Wizard of Oz” (out in November). Rawle is a London-based artist and author of the cross-dressing novel “Woman’s World.”

Last night I went to the Montalban theatre to check out Nike Sportswear’s Cinema Tuesdays screening curated by Flux. The Montalban is an old theatre named after (and owned by) none other than Ricardo Montalban of “Fantasy Island” Mr. Rourke (”smiles everyone, smiles”) fame. I was informed that Nike Sportswear had taken over the venue through October 31 to hold a special events series, ‘Nike Sportswear at the Montalban.’ I guess this is an extension of the pop-up shop phenomenon, in which stores temporarily take over certain venues for a limited time and really deck out the place with a specific theme, etc. Temporary is the new permanent. Anyway, this Hollywood venue was really cool, kind of revamped by Nike Sportwear with great decorative touches like buffalo (I think or some other large animal) statues in the tri-screen viewing room and such.

The event itself gets an A+ for drawing a pretty hip crowd to a Belvedere hosted bar and movie theatre complete with little perks like a DJ, comped popcorn, candy and beverages. I’ll be looking out for other Nike Sportswear events at the Montalban as I think they’ll probably be well-curated as well.

The film was by acclaimed Chinese director Wong Kar Wai (”In the Mood for Love,” “My Blueberry Nights,” “2046,” “Chungking Express”). “Ashes of Time Redux” is, I believe, his only martial arts movie and the director’s cut of a 1990’s work. It is set for release in L.A. and New York this Friday.

I love Wong’s work on a cinematic level. “In the Mood for Love” felt like sumptuous wallpaper in my house when I put the DVD in. Like that film, “Ashes” was strong on aesthetics and weak on plot. The story was so intricate that the people in front of me were talking through the entire screening, trying to make heads and tails of what it was all about. There was some simple yet profound, dramatic themes like that of memory and the past preventing happiness and so on. But overall, it reminded me so much of these Cantonese martial arts soap operas that my Chinese grandmother used to watch.

When I would spend my summer vacations in Hong Kong I would sometimes sit in front of the TV watching the mellodramatic shows (which had no subtitles) like the folks sitting in front of me at the Montalban, trying to make sense of it all. There were certain archetypes or themes that always resurfaced (and they resurface in Wong’s film) like the laughing crazy woman, family feuds (brother stealing brother’s wife), the close-ups of beautiful Chinese women over-the-top weeping as tears tickled their overdone makeup. My friend said the music sounded like it should have been in one of those big bank commercials. And in light of the current banking crisis, the film was equally tragic in its tortured characters and sad plot.

It was split up into seasons (winter, spring, summer and fall) yet seemed to go on interminably. At one point I whispered to my friend, “Indian summer?” There were about 25 false endings like (to paraphrase): “and then he went back to his home town where there were no peach blossoms waiting for him.” Cue me picking up my purse. Whoops, it’s not over yet. “He realized that memory was holding him back,” or something to that effect. Me: picking up my purse again. “Then he realized the truth…” or something. You guessed it: me picking up my purse AGAIN!

I’ve got nothing against long epic movies but I strongly feel that there should be a dramatic build-up and one (maybe two tops) pay-offs at the end. Some of the landscape scenes were gorgeous–postcards of a forgotten world (now I’m sounding like the screenwriter). The fighting scenes were brutal and recalled, at least for me, something out of “Gladiator.” All in all, a fun night, and an ok movie. Call me uncool, but in the end I’d prefer to stick to my memories…of my wonderful grandmother and her hokey South China soaps.

This weekend, clutzy me knocked over a super-thin wine glass while gesticulating wildly during ‘game night’ with friends. It shattered and a large shard stabbed the middle finger of my left hand.

Went to the doc’s today and she told me I’d done some damage to the nerve (thus a mix of numbness and shooting pain). She asked the technician to X-ray said digit. That was the first time someone actually requested that I flip them the bird. Unfortunately I didn’t have my camera which could have chronicled what has to be one of the better X-ray artifacts. Anyway, I’m taking it as a sign from the cosmos to hang up my fighters’ gloves, at least for the Fall/Winter season as it heals, and to give peace a chance. [I will–on doctor’s orders–however have to exercise it daily when I take it out of the splint but I’ll try not to be like everyone else in L.A., and refrain from doing it while road raging in my vehicle].

A month or so ago I finally made the switch from HBO to Showtime…not that it’s a Sophie’s Choice situation where I had to knock out one to choose the other…But, after watching a string of HBO shows that took place in therapists’ offices and depicted people more boring and depressed than myself or anyone I know (not to mention the “educational” historical shows and self-righteous docs), I opted out.

It happened in a circuitous way. One day my DirecTV just conked out for no apparent reason. I spent an hour on the phone with tech support and they finally gave up and told me I’d have to fork over the cash to have one of their service people come and repair my box. After throwing an “I need a man” tantrum (something that women who live in cities highly populated by metrosexuals go through at least once or twice a month) I figured out the problem and fixed it myself. When I called tech support again to tie up loose ends, I explained the whole thing to the lady…including the “I need a man” tantrum and the ultimate sense of victory I experienced upon fixing the glitch myself. Upon hearing this, she replied, “You don’t need a man,” and in a nod to the sisters proceeded to give me three free months of Showtime (as if to say, “you don’t need a man, you just need David Duchovny” or at least that’s how I read it).

Long story longer, I got myself quickly up to speed on his hit show “Californication.” The season premiere episode ran just a few days ago. I was proud to note that they had filmed the party scene in Laurel Canyon, the famed Treehouse (once inhabited by Frank Zappa), if I’m not mistaken. Of course that’s where the sleazy rock n’ roll producer who doesn’t like condoms lives, and that’s where the wild party takes place…because it’s a canyon (insert vulgar joke).

Anyhow, I am trying to enjoy watching this show (although I think “Weeds” is a hell of a lot better). But I think “Californication” is basically “Big’s Revenge.” By that I mean, it’s a reaction to horny hetero men being irritated by the long-standing popularity of “Sex and the City” with its enigmatic and asshole-ish Mr. big character. So let’s write a show about some good old fashioned sleazy pervs (Hank Moody and his agent) and have all sorts of adolescent sex jokes on par with the Dirty Sanchez…blah blah blah. The part that doesn’t work for me (even though, I know it’s a comedy so maybe it doesn’t need to) is believability.

Having lived in L.A. (and New York) I can tell you that there is no way that middle aged novelist Hank Moody would be getting as much instant tail as he is. He’s a writer of books–lowest on the creative totem pole in this town. Now, had they made him a screenwriter (even that’s a stretch) or a producer, an agent, a hot young actor…sure, I could see poon-tang being served up on a tray for him, but middle aged writer…puh-leeze, even John Grisham couldn’t get laid in this town.

This is, by the way coming from a HUGE “X Files” fan who related to the song, “David Duchovny, Why Don’t You Love Me.” He’s still a handsome guy, and I get it, his character’s got gritty charm. But, as one media-savvy friend of mine who works at an ad agency pointed out, David Duchovny needs to work out a little more…he’s hardly the Fox Mulder he once was. Has anyone else noticed that they only use way-above-the-naval naked shots of him? All of this sounds harsh–but I’m betting it wouldn’t if I was talking about some aging female star.

I used to fantasize about Fox Mulder. But since he’s had his Extreme Makeover into Hank Moody, I’m kind of grossed out. Beyond the flabbiness of it all, if his wife or agent says he smells “like pussy” one more time, I’m going to hurl and be thoroughly convinced (as the DirecTV customer support lady was) that I don’t need a man…at least not in this town.