NPR's Mixed Multitude

Ofeibea Quist-Arcton!

It took me a while to get it right. O-fei-bea with the beat on “fei,” which sounds like “fay.” I practiced in the car.

Felix Contreras, Yuki Noguchi, Neda Ulaby

Such beautiful, musical names, they almost ask to be sung.

National Public Radio hosts, reporters and commentators have long been Smith, Clark, and Brown, with respectiable representation by the likes of Shapiro, Hargerty and Mondello. The outlier exceptions were striking: Sylvia Poggioli, who pronounces her name like she’s savoring a dish of orchietto en brodo, and the Transylvanian-tongued poet, Andrei Codrescu.  

Over the past decade, however, public radio had treated us to a dulcet explosion of diversity:

Meghna Chakrabarti, Maria Hinojosa, Madalit del Barco

 A generation ago, Meghna would probably have chosen to be Meg and Mandalit might have opted for Mandy. No more. There are fewer nicknames and less lopping off the “extra” syllable.  Anglicizing is out and sign-offs are often delivered with pronunciation authentic to the ethnic source.

Lourdes Garcia-Navarro, Lakshmi Singh, Shankar Vedantam, Soraya Sahrhaddi Nelson

This is as it should be on television and the rest of the radio dial, too, because this is what you get when you assemble a random assortment of American names.

Barack Obama, for goodness sake!

 

IN WITH THE OLD

The yellow pages are lying on the stoop. What am I supposed to do with it?

 I look up addresses and phone numbers online. I check out services and goods through social media and bulletin boards. I consult yelp.   

Actually, I'm not even talking about the yellow pages. What landed at my front door is the yellow book and it's about 1/4 the size of what the yellow pages used to be. It's hardly big enough to press flowers.

I ought to deposit the yellow book directly into the recycling bin, but for some no-good reason at all, I feel sorry for this vestigial, pointless pile of paper.

I suppose I'll shelve it near the atlases, where it will sit, untouched, for the next twelve months. Until the next one appears, unwanted, next year. 

My favorite blog: The Mikveh Lady has Left the Building

 

                       

In case you didn't know, I am the founder and board president of a 21st century incarnation of mikveh -- the ancient Jewish practice of immersion.

The Mayyim Hayyim blog is one my pleasures and I occasionally contribute to it. This is what I just posted there. I hope you don't mind the pitch; it's that time of year, too.


I love this blog.

I love the diversity of topics and the diversity of voices.

I love the title. “The Mikveh Lady has Left the Building," which means that Jewish lie is changing. And where there is change there is life.

A blog is just a blog, but this blog is proof positive that Jewish life in America is vital, creative, and inspiring. And the fact that we’ve had 16,622 views confirms the fact that you think so, too.

Since you are reading these words, I have to assume that you want to make sure that Mayyim Hayyim can keep on blogging and, by the way, opening the door wide to Jewish ritual, meaning, and community for all Jews, for people becoming Jewish, and for their families and friends. All this for folks in the Boston area and way, way beyond — including Raleigh, NC and Jerusalem, to name just a few places we're helping change happen.

All this costs money.

So do something. Make a donation. Right now. Click here.

$18, $180, $1800. Whatever.

2011 is coming to an end, so go out on a mitzvah.

The gates are closing.

And by the way, I love you, too.


Posted on December 28, 2011by mayyimhayyim

Spiritual Teachings of the Canine Masters

It’s not the destination, it’s the journey. Walking around the block, around the block, around the block.  

Be here now. Walking around the block, there is a choice: keep my head down and miss the whole thing or notice the birdsong, the air against my cheek, the red tricycle on the neighbor’s lawn.

I am not the center of the universe. Who picks up the poop?  

I am worthy of love. The ecstatic greeting at the door, whether it’s been six minutes or six hours since I left.

Give thanks. Who’s a good doggie? Buddy is. Yes he is.

Pumptop TV

 I was filling up the tank, self-serve, $3.35 a gallon. (A “good” price at that moment.)

I barely noticed 10 inch screen at the top of the pump. Out of the corner of my eye, I registered a message about the lethal dangers of texting behind the wheel. Then there was an “Entertainment Tonight” -type teaser about a movie I don’t want to see,  Mario Lopez thanked me for watching, and a screensaver appeared with information about the station's hours and services.

Eek. I had watched four minutes of PumpTV without even realizing it.

There are screens flickering in cabs and elevators, in airports and at supermarket checkout counters. Entertainment is not the point; sales and pacification are the name of the game.

If you’re watching a screen, maybe you’ll be less angry about the four-hour flight delay. If there‘s cheery music, soothing commentary, and pretty pictures, maybe you’ll give in and buy the chocolate bar from the rack by the register. (You want it -- you know you do.)

Last time I was called for jury duty, I brought a book with me, hoping to turn the wait into an opportunity for uninterrupted reading. But there was a TV screen bolted to the wall in the holding pen and after the recorded civics lesson was over, I had no way to escape the laugh track, as we were being “treated” to an honest-to-goodness sit-com.

I'm sorry. This is getting to be an Andy Rooney rant, so I won’t speculate on the impact of flickering screens perpetually aimed at children sitting in the back ofthe minivan. I’ll stop now.

Have a nice day.

E-books -- up close and personal

My husband, the information technology guy in my life, sent me a link to a new service called Kindlegraph -- a platform that allows readers to get electronic books “autographed” by the author.

The whole e-book thing makes writers and editors and agents and booksellers very antsy. And the whole business of publishing is in scary flux.

So … do I give comfort to the enemy by adding my titles to Kindlegraph? Or am I, as Evan Jacobs, the creator of this service suggests, “building a relationship” with readers who’ve gone digital?

There are some writers who refuse to permit their books to be digitized, but I can’t get myself worked into a righteous lather about e-reading. This is latest chapter in the history of reading technology. Lest we forget, the book followed the folio that followed the scroll (that wiggled and tickled and jiggled inside her). Like the book, which made reading available to people who did not live in monasteries, electronic readers are a force for democratization. Just think: if all the great libraries of the world go on-line and if access to the net continues to accelerate and reaches every corner of the globe, the opportunities for inspiration and education explode. Which is all to the good. 

I’m a fan of the electronic universe that has enabled a more immediate connection between readers and writers. Email from readers arrives from all corners of the Globe and, except for the nasty ones, I answer them all. It doesn’t feel like a lesser relationship than one forged on paper; in fact, the ease and speed of electronic communication makes it seem less formal and more personal.

At most of my book signings, at least one person will come up and apologetically tell me she (mostly she) read the book on an electronic device and has nothing for me to sign. I try to absolve such readers and thank them for buying the book. Now, I’ll tell them I can e-sign.

You need a Twitter account to send me a request. I will send a note that will then be zapped directly to your Kindle, if you have one; if you use another machine, you get an email about how to download it. On Kindles, the autograph will appear in a separate file, creating a virtual autograph book, which I think is kind of adorable. It’s free - unless you’re doing this on Kindle’s 3-G connection, which will set you back 15 cents.

 Here you go!

http://www.kindlegraph.com/widgets/author/AnitaDiamant

Architecture

I'm in love with buildings -- that is to say, beautiful buildings. Buildings that sing or shout to the sky or make me smile or sigh, or fill me with awe.

I was in Los Angeles a few weeks ago, and was driven around the city by a friend who pointed out the old and the new. The new cathedral (huge but hushed in color), the Disney concert hall (a wild aluminum ride) the design center (three glass forms in saturated primary shades of red, green, and blue -- my favorite) and lots of stunning "old" Deco buildings -- some being repurposed as musuem, library, whatever. I liked the Bauhausy stuff too, lots of it hung with neon red bouganvillia.

Most architecture is voiceless, soulless commercial schlock. Boxes, McMansions, tall towers that do not yearn for the sky, ticky-tacky. Plenty of that in L.A., too. Like everywhere.  And yet, the kvetch that nobody makes nothing no good no more is wrong, wrong, wrong.

Last night, I had the honor of sitting in the Shalin Liu Perfomance Center in Rockport, Mass. Here is a building that makes love to your eyes and ears and heart -- though more from the inside than from the exterior, which is handsome but may a little historico-cute.

Inside, the most dramatic aspect is the backdrop onstage -- a huge picture window out onto the harbor, forever framing the sunset, complete with soaring seagulls and boats moving silently by. But it's the details that do me the magic. Walls formed of granite pieces, recalling the hand work of stone masons. The plank ceiling held aloft by improbably thin, chic black poles. And the light fixtures! Last night, they glowed, gold, and as night fell, reflected back to us inside. That huge window made them seem to dangle, multiplied over the black sea. They looked like lanterns lit by candles, honey-colored, soft, perfect. Wow.