Was it a joke, or was it "lost in translation? Toronto Blue Jays shortstop Yunel Escobar learned that what we say and do in Spanish is not always interpreted the same way in English. Yunel thought it was a joke to write, "TU ERES MARICON" (You're a faggot) on his eye-black stickers that are sometimes worn under the eyes to reduce the sun's glare. His action has led to a flurry of criticism and actions including a press conference to apologize, a three-day suspension and three days of docked pay that will be donated to You Can Play and the Gay & Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation.

Yunel Almenares Escobar is a 30-year-old Cuban born who is single and who resides in Miami, Florida. He attended Matires de Barbados School in Havana, Cuba. Like many young men his age I have been with in Puerto Rico and in Cuba, I can attest that the word, "maricon" is many times used to describe many other things other than its official derogatory meaning. It can be used to mean, "Dumb, Idiot, Weak," or to add emphasis when you want a friend's undivided attention.

In fact I have a close Puerto Rican friend that I have known for over 30 years that still to this day will leave a voice mail, "oye maricón te llamado mil veces y no me devuelve mi llamada." Literal translation: "Hey faggot I've called you a million times and you have not returned my call." I laugh and at no time do I feel offended because I know he is not calling me a faggot, he uses the word to show his displeasure with me not returning his call in a joking matter. Throughout my 24 years covering baseball I have heard that same word many times in a clubhouse, dugout and on the field, but only among Latino players and only to each other in a joking manner.

Growing up in the South Bronx 'hood I can remember countless descriptions used to call someone with that word and a few others that if translated for their meaning would also make non-Spanish speakers react. Therefore, I believe that Yunel has learned his lesson, just as my friend will probably not say 'maricon" to a non-friend who has not returned his call, or use it in a business meeting to get someone's attention. Yunel should have never written his personal cultural "joke' for the world outside of his intimate Spanish speaking world to see.

Perhaps this is one of the many "lost in translation" words and actions that will continue to occur as our growing Latino community begins to spill over into the rest of the English speaking society.

What do you think?

Read more at www.latinosports.com

It seems that music playlists dominate the "breakup" genre. (If you're reading this from 1992, please insert the work "mixtape" in place of "playlist.") As in, "Here's a playlist of music that will make you feel better about your pathetic life," even though it never, ever does.

When I go through a breakup (which may or may not have just happened), I watch a series of movies, in a certain order. Together, they -- at least temporarily -- manipulate my emotions for the better. I am not saying that these are the "best" movies for getting over a breakup, but I am saying that these are the best for me -- kind of like when people have their own strange cures for hangovers that never, ever work for me, either. (If you have better suggestions, please, share in the comments. Yes, for both breakup movies and hangover cures because both may or may not be applicable.)

Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

When I first saw Eternal Sunshine in theaters in 2003, I was also going through a recent long-term relationship breakup. You know, looking back, I can't imagine watching that movie in any other state of mind. I was Joel Barish. (I am Joel Barish.) I wanted more than anything for the ghosts of the memories to disappear. Why won't they disappear!? Watching Joel fight for every last single memory -- memories that he willingly vanquished -- because no matter how lousy emotions make a human being feel, it's also what shapes us. And it's self-defeating to not remember the good times. When I'm not thinking clearly, it's nice to be reminded of this. (Even though I don't always believe it myself.)

Lost in Translation

Perhaps it's just the fact that nobody is happy in this movie that somehow inspires happiness. Both Bob and Charlotte are in different stages of marriage, yet both are miserable. I will say, no movie inspires me to visit Japan by myself more than Lost in Translation. Unfortunately, I know how this story goes: Leaving the airport with that strange sense of adventure and anticipation, almost screaming out loud, "Look at me! I am on an adventure by myself. I will learn something about myself." Smash cut to a week later and I haven't left the hotel bar in four days because it's kind of terrible to travel by yourself. (I may or may not have experienced this exact same scenario after a breakup in 2005, which resulted in me being by myself in Dublin for reasons I still don't understand.)

Leaving Las Vegas

Because, if nothing else, things aren't this bad. (Unless they are. And if they are, this list won't help you or me anyway.)

Brewster's Millions

For no other reason than to offset the depression from Leaving Las Vegas. Though, I do always wonder what Montgomery Brewster did with the $300 million he inherited. I mean, if I were Spike Nolan, I would have done everything in my power to have Monty committed before he plows through his $300 million, too. And, later, when Monty was making out his will, do you think he set up a family member to have to play that same sick, twisted game. Also: How has this movie not been rebooted with Anthony Mackie and Kevin James?

Star Wars

(This one probably only applies to me. Moving on ...)

(500) Days of Summer

(Look, I know including (500) Days on this list is cliché, but I can't help it. Though, in honor of this inclusion, I'm going to write this entire paragraph in clichés.)

Unless you've been living under a rock, you know some would say (500) Days of Summer is pitch perfect. In fact, the film is uneven at times, but it also resonates. Revisiting (500) Days recently, the craftsmanship of the story is cumbersome. If had a nickel for every time someone said that the story is told too much from the male perspective, I'd be a very rich man. And I was taught to never take wooden nickels. But, as they say, a penny saved is a penny earned. However, it goes without saying, in this day and age, (500) Days of Summer is one for the ages. Even in the worst of times, it will leave you on cloud nine. So, put the pedal to the metal, with your best foot forward, and watch this toast of the town.

Almost Famous

I know how lucky I am to be doing what I love for a living, especially right now. You see, in movies, usually the breakup is followed by a job loss, or vice versa -- so that the character can truly hit rock bottom. Here's the thing: I don't want to hit rock bottom! I am perfectly content at being at mud middle for now. Perhaps it's just the profession that I'm in, but, boy, watching Almost Famous is an uplifting experience. It can't help but remind me of all of those late nights, busing from city to city while trying to write a cover story on Stillwater for Rolling Stone. (I am fully aware that I am confusing myself and Patrick Fugit's character -- just let me have this one.)

Mike Ryan is senior entertainment writer for The Huffington Post. He's been listening to a lot of The Postal Service lately. You can contact him directly on Twitter.

If you are like us, you often have a tough time deciding what to eat for lunch. Let's say, as an example, you live in an Arabic-speaking country and have narrowed it down to sandwiches. This local Subway may have been trying to make your decision a little easier.

We hope Subway is not thinking of changing their slogan from "Subway, Eat Fresh!" anytime soon.

This looks like it was a pretty simple typo for the description of their Seafood & Crab sandwich, but we're still a little afraid to try it out.

Check out more hilarious fast food fails.

[via Reddit]

The word for "to bother" or "to annoy" in Spanish is molestar, a fact which creeps out some English speakers.

Watch comedienne Tig Notaro discusses her experience of hanging a 'No Moleste' sign on her hotel room door in a Mexico. Born in Jackson Mississippi, Notaro has been featured on "Last Comic Standing", Comedy Central Presents special and "The Sarah Silverman Program."

"Nope, no moleste... not tonight. Try a couple doors down," Notaro says.

WATCH RELATED:

From the launching pad of Second City Chicago to "Saturday Night Live" to the big screen, Bill Murray has become one of the most iconic comedy actors of the past thirty five years. So he has that going for him.

Alternating between trademark deadpan wit and scatterbrained goofiness, Murray has pushed out in a wide variety of roles over his career, with some of his most diverse takes coming over the past 15 years. A brief dossier for the Oscar nominee would reveal that he's chased gophers, faked his way through the military, fought a giant marshmallow man, learned the meaning of Christmas, lived the same day over and over again, befriended a brilliant little playwright and got lost in translation in Tokyo, all with an even keeled brilliance that few can touch.

Part of his allure, however, also comes from his eclectic public image; the hatred for doing press, the difficulty studios and producers have contacting him, the late night forays into New York City karaoke bars and whispering into unsuspecting pedestrians' ears... amongst many other things.

There's a Murray movie for every taste; below, check out the clips from some of his most famous flicks and vote on your favorite.

WATCH:

At the end of the summer I attended a parlor game, a book group, where one of the questions was, "Which novels have you read more than once?" 

It took a while to get to my turn, and while I was listening to the rest of the circle, I spied the the host's children climbing up the back stairs to their beds. --With their nighttime reading.  

I craned my neck to read the titles of the storybooks they were clutching, and I could tell from fifteen yards away, just from a glimpse, that at least one favorite was something by Maurice Sendak.

When you're pre-puberty, every book you read is a book you've read not twice, but a million times! Every parent who reads their children bedtime tales knows how it feels to want to kill yourself before you have to recite Chicka Chicka Boom Boom one more night -- or in my generation, James James Morrisson Morrison Weatherby George Dupree.  

But we read these verses to our little beans again and again -- and you think to yourself, "One day I shall miss this."

I don't remember when my mom stopped reading to me at bedtime. With my own daughter, I think it was around second grade, when she could certainly read to herself, but still loved being read to. She liked my narration so much in Eloise that I once recorded it on a tape cassette so she could hear it while I was on book tour. And Charge It, Please!

I think I lasted until Junior High before I started requiring unending variety in my reading habits. Until then, I was happy to read Harriet the Spy or To Kill a Mockingbird or Paul Zindel's The Pigman one. more. time. The familiarity of a great novel is one of the most sensual pleasures I know. You never stop gleaning from it; it cradles you in your blanket.

This summer, my 53rd, I discovered repetitive novel reading again. Two things happened: I went to see the Coen Brother's revival of True Grit, loved the dialog, and resolved to read the novel. I also went on a book tour for five months where insomnia in a new hotel or guest bedroom was my constant threat. 

What a discovery. I could not get enough of Mattie Ross's opening lines --  

"People do not give it credence that a fourteen-year-old girl could leave home and go off in the wintertime to avenge her father's blood but it did not seem so strange then, although I will say it did not happen every day." 

-- as told by author Charles Portis. When I discovered Donna Tartt was reading True Grit on an audio edition, I completely lost interest in everything else and became as maniacal as any three year old who will only listen to The Cat in the Hat. 

 I would say I have read or listened to True Grit, and another Portis title, The Dog of the South, about twenty times each this summer and I am not yet REMOTELY sick of them. I will never tire. Furthermore, their stickiness has raised the bar on my standards --   I don't want to read another new book unless it warrants repeated incantations; I want to be that insatiable child again, every time I lay down with a new tall tale.

How did reading get to be such a faster-pussycat-hurry-up activity? We listen to favorite songs over and over without apology or distraction. They make us feel good, no explanation necessary. The same is true of movies -- no one in the family complains when you want to watch The Big Lebowski or Lost in Translation or Season 1 of Law and Order over and over again. It's understood.

But with books, there's this myth that it takes a "long time" to get through one, and that you have to gather speed and keep moving, keep turning the pages, ever-new, ever-seeking, in order to read all the classics, all the must's, all the new year specials, all the awards. If you pause to linger, you will MISS OUT, lose your rank, become some doddering old fool who hasn't moved on since Margaret Spoke to God.

But it really isn't like that, is it? I can read most novels in a bedtime or two; if they're entertaining, you don't want to put them down. Why do I then cast them aside, if they were memorable? Ever-lasting enchantment shouldn't be so quickly tossed. Why not linger in your bubble bath if the water's still warm and no one's pounding on the door?

This realization has made me think differently about my own writing. I wonder if anyone has read one of my books more than once-- that would be the greatest praise. My YA author friend Jill Wolfson heard out my theories, and she said, "You should write books for kids. There is nothing like getting a fan letter that starts out with, 'I have now finished your book for the tenth time...'"

I looked at her with slobbering envy -- yes, yes, that's what I want! I want my poetry in people's dreams, I want to stick around like a spell! I want fragments of my novels blurted out by fifth-graders and people in comas.

Justly, the key to writing page-worn novels is reading more of them, I'm certain of it. Typing them out is my new sugar snack. I dare you: sit down at a keyboard and type the entire first chapter of something you adore. I've been returning to my youthful pleasures with a vengeance. Right now I'm listening to Dashiell Hammett's Red Harvest, which I first read in high school and within whose pages I also apparently cleaned a lid of pot-- I keep finding all these little seeds. I'm tilling it for second time in four days, and it's a beauty.

A colleague of mine here in Asia sent me this photo (below). It's a yellow hazard sign, the kind commonly seen propped up in public areas in airports and train stations to alert passersby that the floor is wet and therefore slippery. I'm sure the phrasing of the original warning is correct, but the English translation inspired a chuckle -- "Carefully Slip and Fall Down."

Some might say that it is not culturally sensitive to giggle at these incorrect translations. I actually think quite the opposite is true. If we lose our sense of humor about our differences, whether they be cultural, political or linguistic, we run the risk of not wanting to get out of our comfort zone and take the time to understand each other. "Different" is a far more intriguing notion than "the same," right?

In my travels, I've been on the receiving end of the chuckling many times. I remember about 20 years ago, my wife and I celebrated our honeymoon by traveling through the newly accessible Central Europe. One day we got lost, so I tried, in my best (non-existent) Polish, to ask a few locals for directions back to the village in which we were staying. Every response included an awkward laugh and no real assistance with walking directions. Finally, cobbling together an appropriate question in German solved the mystery of the laughter -- apparently, according to the next local I met, I'd just spent quite a few minutes asking complete strangers "Where is the underwear?"

The point of these little misunderstandings is that it is so easy for things to literally get lost in translation. That can't be an excuse for curtailing the conversation altogether. Even when a common language is being used, a simple wrap-up phrase at the end of a conference call, such as "Let's talk about it tomorrow," doesn't necessarily translate, because our tomorrows are different depending on our native time zone.

Being in China again reminds me of my first trip here. I was famished from an afternoon of sightseeing, so I made for the nearest restaurant. It had the feel of a place for locals. I sat and waited, getting more ravenous by the minute. After awhile, to my frustration, I noticed others were being served while it seemed I was being ignored. It was unclear to me why, but I thought perhaps they did not want a foreigner in their restaurant. Eventually, I became so irritated I got up and blocked the waiter. He looked quite surprised and suddenly seemed willing to take my order. Later, when I recounted the story to other travelers, they informed me that it was necessary to be quite assertive with restaurant staff. From then on I observed that this was indeed normal Chinese behavior. So what I initially took as offense -- a prejudice against me as a foreigner -- was simply a cultural norm lost in translation.

Adaptability is key, and it goes both ways. I've observed the Chinese adapting to the habits of the foreigners living and working in their country as well. For instance, I rarely wear a suit, almost never a tie and not even a jacket so much these days. This business casual approach, which is pretty common in the U.S. (After all, when was the last time you saw a billionaire in a tie on the cover of a business magazine?) definitely raises some eyebrows in China but it is being tolerated by my colleagues here. In fact, one of our marketing execs here said that, probably not surprisingly, advertising types here are starting to loosen up their wardrobes, although most business leaders remain quite formal in their attire.

The result of using our cultural or language barriers as an excuse to not try to make things work can be costly in business, and specifically in the hospitality industry. So, I'm all for keeping our sense of humor when trying to reach out and understand each other. It's good for business, but it's also kind of fun.

"Style is knowing who you are, what you want to say, and not giving a damn." -- Gore Vidal

WORDS TO LIVE by -- and even more important when one lives in a foreign land. Think of Sofia Coppola's Lost in Translation. Sooner or later every expatriate feels lost -- and must rediscover who she is and express herself in a meaningful way. The women I'm about to present uncovered their entrepreneurial spirits and became designers. They transformed their self-identities -- their individual styles -- into products that organically fit them as well as their new lives abroad.

I'd like to point out that what these designing women did not do was put products on the market just to make a buck, which seems to be the name of the game throughout what has become our throwaway culture. The high road of honesty, beauty, and principles -- on every level -- which also transcends into true style has been replaced with a mass superhighway of products that manipulate and push people's buttons. A cheap thrill.

Never forget: There is nothing more attractive -- nothing more stylish or deeply, spiritually important -- than authenticity. I was knocked out by each one of these women for reasons you'll soon understand.

Meet designers ...

1) Kasia Dietz

Kasia Dietz designs a line of one-of-a-kind, reversible handbags, totes, and clutches that are "made in Paris with love."

Ms. Dietz first began designing the bags a few years ago while she was still working full-time in an advertising career in New York. Mixing her passion for art, design and fashion, she came upon the idea of taking raw canvas and printing it -- creating 'wearable art' -- with an added element of reversibility. "I... designed the 'minimalism' and 'nature' collections," said Ms. Dietz, "and set up a website with the help of a friend. From there things took off!" Among others, the Japanese loved them, and she did quite well with sales.

"During this process," says Ms. Dietz, "I uncovered my mom's prints that were collecting dust since the late 1970's and incorporated them into my designs." When her mother, Barbara Dietz (originally from Poland), was expecting her, she began to carve wooden blocks with designs of flowers, animals, zodiac signs, and more -- and then print T-shirts with them (as well as bedsheets, flared pants, etc.). With the help of Barbara Dietz's P.R. and marketing skilled husband (and Kasia's father), the hand-made prints were a big hit with clients like Bloomingdale's and Bergdorf Goodman.

I love the roundness -- and familial comfort -- in this story, since Ms. Dietz has brought her mother's art back to life -- and uses her family name in memory of her father who passed away almost 20 years ago.

Then, in 2007, the tall and slim creator took a break from normal life and traveled the world, always keeping a mindful eye on design, fabrics, colors, and art. "When I moved to Paris in August, 2009, I had the desire (and finally the time) to continue designing, considering I had collected 13 months of inspiration from my travels and was living in what can certainly be considered a fashion capital. But getting started was very tough, not to mention intimidating with my lack of contacts and poor language skills. I spent many afternoons carousing the garment districts of the Sentier and Montmartre looking for fabrics and a manufacturer."

She relaunched her site on December 1st, and sales are steadily growing. "My plans are to continue designing timeless reversible bags and totes, clutches, purses, etc. in fabrics that inspire me as well as printing my own canvas bags as in the latest 'Paris' collection. Perhaps a NYC and London collection and more designs incorporating travel."

Me, I'm a bag lady and could have a different one for every occasion. If I had to choose? I'm eyeing the Right Bank bag, since I'm a Right Bank girl. I could also be tempted with one of the number of my arrondissement.

Naturally, Ms. Dietz's love of travel and design are apparent in her bags, which can take a girl anywhere, whether she's out on the town or planning a weekend away. For Kasia Dietz's collection, go to www.kasiadietz.com. Select bags will be sold in NYC at Gramercy Project, 240 3rd Avenue, NY 10013.

2) Michelle Guiliano

Necessity is the mother of invention is a phrase that could have been coined for Michelle Guiliano who designs functional gear and technical clothing for babies, so parents -- like herself and her husband -- who thrive on outdoor activities will feel confident in taking their little ones on outside adventures with them. In fact, Ms. Guiliano's designs are so on target that her company BolderKidsTM Ltd. was named a Finalist in the 2011 ISPO (International Sports Business Network) BrandNew Awards that were held in Munich last month.

Ms. Guiliano and her Danish husband, Jesper Westfall (pictured below), moved to Zurich 10 years ago, and their two boys were born there before they bought a house across the Swiss-French border in Divonne-les-Bains, France. She is an amateur endurance athlete, triathlete, and former rowing coach for Columbia University who became fed up with the inferior outdoor clothing products available to her kids when they were under the age of four. "It was a bit too reminiscent of being an athlete 20 years ago and having to buy a men's small for any performance fabrics," said Ms. Guiliano, "which, then, alas didn't perform for women because without the right fit all is lost. Here we are again with an underserved niche market segment -- babies and their outdoor loving parents. Well, I got motivated to build something great to get everyone outdoors with greater safety, comfort, and style."

She founded BolderKids in March, 2009. Hand-sketching the first designs for the Go Farther Performance Infant Carrier Collection, Ms. Guiliano used paper and plastic bags to make the first prototypes. She united the most practical elements of timeless Scandinavian design with Schoeller bluesign approved ecological performance soft shell fabric (made in Switzerland) to create her mittens, boots, and infant carrier. These handy products may have been too late for her own sons, but families with babies and young children can benefit now.

Ms. Guiliano was heartened to see the international community recognize that even the youngest outdoor explorers need clever design and quality innovation. And you've got to love her brand's cool slogan: Play Hard. Go Far.© What a great baby present for lovers of the outdoors!

By the way, this is a tri-lingual family. Welcome to the new global world!

Check out her video that demonstrates the infant carrier system: ISPO BrandNew Awards. For more on BolderKids, go to www.bolderkids.com.

And last though certainly not least...

3) Kirsten Hovenier and Mikée Westerling

Crossing the border into Switzerland, one finds a much different style than exists in France. Kirsten Hovenier and Mikée Westerling can tell you all about the Swiss and their clean and fresh design, their wonderful materials and solid craftsmanship. These designing women are using original, up to almost one hundred-year-old Swiss army blankets to create handmade and cozy pillows in different sizes, sturdy footstools, agenda covers, firewood holders, duffle bags, napkin rings, totes, and more to stunning effect.

Ms. Hevenier and Ms. Westerling, both from the Netherlands originally, have lived in several countries but moved to Switzerland with their families in August, 2007. They discovered the handsome army blankets, developed a great love for them, and began using them in their own homes. They turned the blankets into cushion covers for the sofa, took the blankets with them for long Swiss summer evenings, and used them for picnics on the banks of Lake Geneva. Everywhere they went, people loved them.

Ms. Westerling and Ms. Hevenier have a great story to tell: "In the late 19th century until the early sixties, the Swiss army produced the covers for a war which, fortunately, never happened. The blankets were stored in caves in the Swiss Alps, which served as military depots. The traditional production ceased in the sixties and blankets remained in stock: brand new and unused, but at the same time, pure vintage, a rare combination! And DEKEN discovered this hidden treasure."

I am thinking what lucky girls they were, but it took more than luck to start their company. Ms. Westerling had worked as an interior designer while Ms. Hevenier had been a management consultant. But once their idea for using the Swiss blankets to create casually chic, handsome products for the home was hatched, the whole plan was laid out within two days. Thus DEKEN -- Dutch for blanket -- was born.

These Swiss army blankets are beautifully distinctive: gray-brown with the typical red and white cross and sometimes even a stainless steel coin or seal. Because of reliable Swiss quality, the blankets are indestructible -- and marked with the initials of the maker and the year in which the blanket was made. Each blanket is different.

I can tell you I'm lusting for some of that gorgeous Deken myself!

To see more of the Deken collection, check out www.deken.ch or www.swissarmyblanket.com. Deken is also sold in Camps and Cottages in California.

In cooperation with KarlenSwiss, Ms. Hevenier and Ms. Westerling have expanded the DEKEN collection with bags, cushions, and footstools made of the Swiss, Antilles and Dutch mailbag. The KarlenSwiss collection will be in stores in the US.

Where there's a will, there's a way. And these designing women have found theirs with their own impeccable style.

Beth Arnold lives and writes in Paris. To see more of her work, go to www.betharnold.com. She believes in creativity. Crack your world open with it.

From Honolulu it was on to Tokyo. This was set to be one of the longest and possibly most difficult legs with the baby. It was a flight that would last nine daytime hours and when we got off in Narita it would already be 10pm in Hawaii.

We flew ANA (All Nippon Airlines) and it turned out to be a remarkably smooth experience. Unbelievably there were three baby boys (all under the age of two) in our bulkhead row but they all behaved like rock stars and the attendants were great passing out toys, special kids meals and making sure that the bassinets were set up as soon as the seat belt sign went off. I have found that it is really important to make sure that Jacopo gets his normal naps on the flight so he isn't overtired but then push him to stay up until normal bedtime when we land, he loves airport stimulation so that works pretty well. And with all the babies on board it turned into a bit of a romper room between the sleeping hours. My husband and I also do half hour shifts so that both of us get time to do other stuff on board.

Tokyo was an amazing experience with Jacopo. I have always wanted to stay at the Park Hyatt (my husband always stayed there when he was with his bands from RCA) and it was even more on my wish list after Lost in Translation (one of my favorite films ever) and am happy to say that it totally lived up to the hype especially on the service front. It is one of those hotels that actually make you a little unable to cope when you get back to reality because everything is taken care of for you in an instant. And I have to say that Jacopo seemed to feel the same; he seemed to luxuriate in every detail.

If you only get to do one thing in Tokyo make sure to head to the Meiji Shrine particularly on the weekend when there are weddings taking place and the brides are in gorgeous kimonos. There are tons of kids around and the park is just beautiful. And there is a "pony park" nearby called the Yoyogi -- they don't offer pony rides in January and February but Jacopo still enjoyed checking out the shaggy Shetland ponies with their draft horse babysitters.

You can tell what kind of movie Somewhere is going to be right from the very first scene: A Ferrari races around a not-very-long track, though we only see a portion of the oval. Once, twice, three times - and, finally, after the fourth lap, the car stops within camera range and the driver, actor Stephen Dorff, gets out and then he...

What? Not a lot. He stands there. Then suddenly we're back at his hotel, Los Angeles' fabled Chateau Marmont. He's hanging with his friends, drinking - until he trips on some stairs and falls out of the frame. When we see him next, he's zoned out on his hotel-room bed, with a pair of rented pole dancers. Twins, no less.

Other things happen in Somewhere, the second seriously Antonioni-esque film of this year (The American was the other) and one that is bound to divide viewers dramatically. The rap on this film is actually true: This is a film in which very little happens and very little is said. It starts with Dorff - as movie star Johnny Marco - driving his car and ends with him walking away from his car into an uncertain future.

It is the kind of movie that normally drives me crazy - one in which nothing (or very little) happens. And yet write-director Sofia Coppola grabbed me from that first scene - so obviously a challenge to an audience, so deliberate in its attack on expectations.

What we get are the interstices in Johnny Marco's life - what happen when he isn't busy being Johnny Marco the movie star and has to figure out just who the offscreen Johnny is. We see him lounging in his hotel room with friends, drinking and blankly hanging out. In that opening sequence, he's lying on the bed in his bedroom, seemingly zoned on painkillers, his arm in a cast, while those twin dancers (coyly clothed) do synchronized pole-dancing routines on portable poles. He watches, giving the faintest hint of a smile but no other reaction (until he invites the women into his bed).

He has to take part in a press junket and photo sessions for his latest movie - and a brief encounter with his costar, played by Michelle Monaghan, reveals just what kind of disconnect informs most relationships in his life. He barely has stock answers for the questions, looking bemused at the things people want to know about him (and like he's not sure who he is to be answering such questions in the first place).

His one real bit of connection is with his pre-teen daughter, Cleo (Elle Fanning). She's obviously been an afterthought in his life but he also obviously loves her when he's with her. He just doesn't know how to do it. Still, having spent a day with her, he seems eager to spend more - and winds up whisking her away to a press junket for the film in Venice and back again.

Johnny is a lost soul whose blankness translates as depth on a movie screen, apparently. But he's obviously in some sort of existential crisis - trapped in downtime between films, uncertain who he is, who he was or who he should be. He escapes into drink and drugs and sex - but he knows that those will not save him from waking up and still being Johnny Marco.

Click here: This review continues on my website.

Cairo Time is the title -- but Cairo time, as experienced by Juliette, a magazine editor who has arrived in the Egyptian capital to meet her husband for a vacation, is something new and seductive.

Cairo time seems languid and revealing, at least about oneself. It unfolds amid the Mediterranean heat and the environs of the ages. It transpires in the midst of a culture nearly as old as civilization and as modern as a cell phone. It reveals itself as something foreign, something exotic and something immensely appealing.

None of that is discussed, in Ruba Nadda's Cairo Time, a movie of many delights for the patient viewer. The chief delight, next to the travelogue beauty of the setting, is the performance of Patricia Clarkson as Juliette, the central character in this exceptionally romantic film.

Juliette arrives in Cairo, expecting to connect with her husband Mark, a diplomat. But she gets to her hotel to find a note from him, explaining that he's been called to the Gaza Strip to mediate a dispute and that he expects to be back in just a couple of days.

In his place, he has detailed a former employee and friend, Tareq (Alexander Siddig), to show her the city and help her deal with any problems she may have. But her only problem seems to be Mark's absence and the fact that, the longer she's by herself in Cairo, the less she seems to miss him.

Instead, she immerses herself in the culture, seeing it both as a tourist and as the guest of Tareq, a local. Is she lonely? Does she miss her husband? Maybe. But she also learns to enjoy her own company, to savor the experiences she is having by herself.

And, gradually, she finds herself drawn to Tareq, who is unmarried but hardly unattractive. She even tries to help him reconnect with an old lover -- and yet cannot deny the attraction she is feeling to him. Nor can he, though he considers her husband a good friend.

Nadda doesn't hurry her story -- or even make it particularly elaborate. If anything, Cairo Time is reminiscent of Sofia Coppola's Lost in Translation, in its willingness to simply show people having feelings without talking about them. Yet, thanks to a marvelously nuanced performance by Clarkson, and a smoothly engaging one by Siddig, we feel both the heat of the Egyptian desert and the warmth that grows between these two people.

The film lives and breathes through Clarkson. With her butterscotch hair, her sleepy eyes and her quietly husky voice, she is a woman in full possession of herself -- but one who longs to let herself go, even if just a little. It's a stunning performance of many facets, in which Clarkson conveys as much in a look as many actresses struggle to reveal with overt histrionics.

The pyramids figure in the story as a symbol of Clarkson's marriage: She has promised her husband not to visit them until they can do it together. Yet they loom in the background, sometimes distant, sometimes tantalizingly close. They carry a weight, an imposing presence so strong that, even when you can't see them, you can feel them in all their various meanings.

Cairo Time seduces the viewer with its beauty, with its wealth of emotion that doesn't have to be discussed to be felt. It pulls you into another world so deeply that you are disappointed at having to leave it at the end.

Click here: Find more reviews, interviews and commentary on my website.

Update Posted Below

Of the 500 films archived in the National Film Registry at the Library of Congress, less than two dozen were directed by women. As I bemoaned this shameful statistic to everyone within earshot, my colleagues reminded me that very few women have ever written or directed a major Hollywood movie. They're right, of course.

The situation for women who want to make movies is grim. Despite the fact that film schools graduate as many women as men, just 4% of Hollywood directors are women. That's roughly the same minuscule percentage of women archived in the National Film Registry. (You can help change that by voting below.)

The movie business "is absolutely consistently more difficult for women from beginning to the end," said Debra Zimmerman, executive director of the nonprofit organization Women Make Movies.

How difficult? Did you know that a woman has never won the Oscar for best directing? Maybe more to the point, only three have ever been nominated: Lena Wertmuller for 1975's Seven Beauties, Jane Campion for 1993's The Piano, and Sofia Coppola for 2003's Lost in Translation.

"It always comes back to male being treated as the default state of humanity, and female a deviation therefrom. This creates a culture in which men's stories are considered human stories to which everyone is expected to relate, while women's stories are considered an inferior subset," said cultural anthropologist Melissa McEwan, who writes about the political marginalization of gender-based groups on the Web site Shakesville.

When a woman's story is dismissed as "less than," it makes women "others" and makes them seem mysterious to men, explained McEwan. "This underwrites the justification for ignoring women's stories on the ground they are inaccessible and uninteresting to men."

The majority of women directors today are indie, arthouse, or experimental filmmakers -- a creative bunch, however, the statistic also suggests women are being denied access to financial backing. Filmmaker Cristina Cassidy told The Huffington Post, "I honestly believe my current film would have gotten backing in a snap if I was a guy. I know that sounds like sour grapes, but it's true."

Even Nora Ephron, the writer-director (and fellow HuffPost blogger) whose hit movies include Sleepless in Seattle and You've Got Mail, has difficulty getting studios to greenlight her screenplays. "I always think every movie should begin with a logo that says, for example, Warner Bros. did everything in its power to keep from making this movie," scoffed Ephron.

It's a self-reinforcing cycle that results in women-centered films being branded genre films, McEwan told The Huffington Post. "Nora Ephron makes 'chick flicks,' but Michael Bay doesn't make 'dick flicks,' he just makes movies."

Hollywood is still an old boys' club. But does the National Film Registry have to be? Maybe not, because you can nominate films for inclusion. The Washington D.C. chapter of Women In Film & Video (disclosure: I am a member) has nominated the following women-made films to the Registry in 2009:

-- The Big House (1930), written by Frances Marion

-- New Sensations in Sound (1949), animated and produced by Mary Ellen Bute

-- Growing Up Female (1971), written and directed by Julia Reichert and Jim Klein

-- Will (1981), produced by Jessie Maple

-- Big (1988), directed by Penny Marshall

Clockwise from upper left: Penny Marshall, Jessie Maple, Mary Ellen Bute, Frances Marion
(Not pictured: Julia Reichert)

Why these women?

Frances Marion was the first woman to win the Oscar for an original screenplay, and is still the only screenwriter (male or female) to win back-to-back Oscars in this category. She is often cited as the most renowned female screenwriter of the 20th century.

Mary Ellen Bute was a pioneer in the use of abstract animation to "show" sound. Her short film New Sensations in Sound predates Disney's Fantasia, yet it is rarely seen today.

Julia Reichert's Growing Up Female is considered the first film of the modern women's movement. It's a vital resource for young women who have no idea how much has changed for women in just one generation. Since feminist films are not yet represented in the Registry, this movie would be the first one.

Jessie Maple is included in nearly every who's who of film except the Registry. Will is the first post civil rights feature-length film produced by an African-American woman. (Hollywood guilds are more than 80% white.) Maple's film received the Special Merit Award at the Athens International Film Festival.

Penny Marshall is the first woman to direct a film that earned in excess of $100 million at the U.S. box office. The film, Big, also received a nomination for Best Original Screenplay and gave Tom Hanks his first Oscar nomination. Marshall's long career as a producer, director, and actress deserves recognition by the Registry.

Vote today to include more women in the National Film Registry

The Registry has been charged with illustrating the vibrant diversity of American filmmaking, but how can they possibly achieve this goal if the stories they archive are almost exclusively told from a man's point of view?

To nominate the work of Frances Marion, Mary Ellen Bute, Julia Reichert, Jessie Maple, and Penny Marshall to the National Film Registry, click here through November 20, 2009.

Please do vote. (You, too, fellas!) The number of public votes a film receives is a factor seriously weighed during the selection process by the Librarian of Congress and members of the National Film Preservation Board.

Hollywood billboard courtesy of the Guerrilla Girls in 2006.

UPDATE 1.7.09: Of the 25 new titles (Dec. 2009) selected for preservation in the U.S. National Film Registry, just one full-length feature film was made by a woman. Written, directed, and starring Mabel Normand, the silent picture is called Mabel's Blunder. In addition, four short works made by women were added to the Registry: Janie Geiser's 1994 experimental film The Red Book, Helen Hill's 1995 animated short Scratch and Crow, Sally Cruikshank's cartoon Quasi at the Quackadero, and photographer Miriam Bennett's 1932 short A Study in Reds, which spoofs women's clubs and the "Red menace" anxiety of the time.

While "Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs" ruled at our box office "Cloudy with a Chance of Falafel" reigned in Israel. This got us thinking: What movie titles didn't have such artful equivalents?