Thursday, May 17, 2012

Chuck Brown’s Musical Impact: Deep Into Washington, And Beyond

(By Chris Richards, Washington Post, May 17, 2012)

All songs must end, but not when Chuck Brown played them.  He spent the early ’70s trying to make a name and a living, knocking out top-40 covers in District nightclubs and cabarets. One night, in an attempt to keep the dance floor from thinning out, he told his band to fill the dead air between songs with a beat. So his drummer kept the sticks moving. His percussionist kept slapping at the conga. His audience kept their heels on the parquet. His beat connected the songs.  Then, his songs connected the city.

A proud community formed around Brown’s music. He called it go-go because it wouldn’t stop. Day-Glo concert posters stapled to telephone poles in the ’80s promised 4 a.m. curfews, but Brown was happy to play his guitar past sunrise. His music endured through the dawn and through the decades, into the 21st century, but never too far outside of Washington, where he loomed so large.  “Chuck was like the Washington Monument,” says radio and television personality Donnie Simpson. “He was like Ben’s Chili Bowl. He was the big chair. He was all of that. Chuck Brown was Washington D.C. . . . People feel you when it’s genuine and Chuck was always that.”

He gave Chocolate City its own sound and made fans a part of it through call-and-response routines that would send them home hoarse. Night after night — at the Howard Theatre, at the Masonic Temple on U Street, at Kilimanjaro, at the Ebony Inn, at Pitts Red Carpet Lounge — they’d scream: “Wind me up, Chuck!” It was a plea. A prayer. An exaltation. He’d sing back in a rough, rumbling voice that was soaked in charisma.  “He was a symbol of D.C. manhood, back in the day, because of the authority that he spoke with,” says Darryl Brooks, a local promoter who worked with Brown across the decades. “He just spoke from a perspective that black men could understand.”

As go-go bloomed in the early ’80s, New York City musicians were using drum machines and turntables to mint a futuristic new sound called hip-hop. Down in Washington, Brown was sneaking Duke Ellington melodies into his urgent young music. He may have been pioneering a new funk dialect, but he kept one foot in tradition, refusing to let go of the blues licks he learned during his stay at Lorton Correctional Complex.

As the ’80s blurred into the ’90s, rap music became a global phenomenon, but go-go stayed staunchly local — and Washington anointed Brown as “the godfather.” Has American music ever produced a figure so singular? He was a man who could stop traffic in his city but could stroll down the sidewalks of the world unnoticed.  But Brown’s music would still bleed into pop music from time to time. A drum break from “Ashley’s Roachclip,” a song he released in 1974 with his band the Soul Searchers, was sampled by everyone from Ice Cube to the Geto Boys to Duran Duran. Elements of “Bustin’ Loose,” Brown’s definitive 1978 hit, were reincarnated in Nelly’s 2002 chart-topping rap single “Hot in Herre.”

Elsewhere, Brown’s musical influence was more intravenous. Competing funk bands admired him, and his sound spilled into jazz when Miles Davis snatched up Brown’s drummer in the late ’80s.  But in Washington’s go-go scene, he remained a giant who leaves no heir.

“I lost a musical mentor and very personal friend,” says “Big Tony” Fisher of go-go’s legendary Trouble Funk. “I don’t think I met anyone who made me laugh more than him and made me dance — made us dance — more than him.”  “He’s like a musical father to all of us,” says Andre “Whiteboy” Johnson, leader of veteran go-go troupe Rare Essence. “He obviously influenced generations of people — not just one — a few generations of musicians around here. I know what he wanted was to see the music get bigger and better, so that’s all we can do — just keep pushing forward and try to do him proud.”

In the ’90s, Brown expressed concern about the direction of go-go. He worried about his legacy and whether the sound would ever thrive outside of the District. But in his later years, he showed nothing but pride in his creation. As younger bands torqued his beat into more aggressive shapes, he was still quick to applaud them, grateful that go-go was still going.

The sound spanned generations, and so did Brown’s fan base. “Some people remember a Friday night in 1984. Some people remember a show from 2011,” says local R&B singer Raheem DeVaughn. “There are so many memories.” (DeVaughn also says Brown’s illness prevented the godfather from joining him and rap superstar Snoop Dogg in the studio two months ago.)

The music still courses through Washington. Even if you never dropped a bead of sweat at a Chuck Brown concert, you’ve heard his voice blasting from open car windows, at the ballpark, maybe even on a television commercial for the D.C. Lottery or Chips Ahoy.  There was a musicality to everything about the man — even his voice-mail message: “Thank you for calling, now here’s what you do/Leave your name and your number and I’ll get back to you/Have a niiiiiiiice day.”  He stretched the penultimate word out like it was music. Like it was another song that he didn’t want to end.
 
http://www.washingtonpost.com/lifestyle/style/chuck-browns-musical-impact-deep-into-washington-and-beyond/2012/05/16/gIQAUo6zUU_print.html 

Monday, May 14, 2012

Joss Whedon Picks His 'Buffy' Top 10

(By Lanford Beard, Entertainment Weekly, May 10, 2012)

It’s safe to say Joss Whedon fans are having a flippin’ fantastic week. The Avengers just made all the money, with a record-breaking $207.4 million domestic opening, and got the official greenlight for a sequel. Now, Buffy fans are getting insight into Whedon’s most cherished memories from the series with the announcement that Whedon’s 10 favorite episodes are airing as an all-day marathon on Logo May 19, starting at 10 a.m. ET.  For any serious Buffy fan, picking only 10 episodes would be impossible, so it’s fitting that the creator should whittle down the list. Check out Whedon’s picks.

Joss Whedon’s Buffy Top 10

“Prophecy Girl” (112)
Buffy proved herself beyond doubt in the season 1 finale when she closed the Hellmouth and dispatched the dreaded Master.

“Innocence” (214)
Just say no, kids. To sex with your vampire boyfriend. Buffy’s decision to give it up unlocked the evil in Angel and kick-started an amazing half of season 2…

 “Becoming Part II” (222)
…that was capped off by this (literally) soul-destroying episode in which Buffy sent Angel to Hell. As he was sucked into the void, Willow’s spell restored his humanity, but it was too late. The Slayer fled Sunnydale to the strains of “Full of Grace,” and so began the onslaught of Sarah McLachlan weepers that continue to haunt us via sad puppy eyes to this day. (Heightened the next hour when “Angel” played during Dawson’s Creek‘s season 1 finale.  Epic.)

“The Wish” (309)
The first appearance of Anya! And as a slutty, psychotic Willow! After seeing Xander and Willow kiss the episode before, Cordelia wishes Buffy had never come to Sunnydale. Obviously, this was a terrible, terrible idea.

“Doppelgangland” (316)
Obviously Whedon has a thing for vampy Willow. He wrote this episode specifically for her.

“Hush” (410)
The only one of Buffy’s eps to be nominated for a writing Emmy. And its most powerful moments featured barely a single word of dialogue. What did it have? Heart-snatching, voice-snatching ghouls called The Gentlemen and proof that the Scoobies didn’t need their snappy repartee to get down to business (though we were more than happy to have their one-liners back the next week).

“Restless” (422)
Whedon’s more experimental episodes, the season 4 finale skimped on the slaying in favor of surreality. Each of the main characters traveled through a dreamlike state that hinted at what was in store for season 5, most notably the introduction of Buffy’s suddenly-there sister Dawn.

“The Body” (516)
You’d think Buffy would be desensitized to death. Then it struck home. The shocking, non-violent death of Joyce Summer hit Buffy harder than anything else on the series. Paralyzed, she crumpled into a ball on the floor of their home. Heartbreaking.

“Once More With Feeling” (607)
I’ve got a theory, it was the bunnies that made this one of Whedon’s faves.

“Conversations with Dead People” (707)
Buffy, Dawn, and Willow are all visited by ghosts from their pasts… or are they? This real-time episode was a series first and got to the heart of Buffy’s deeply conflicted psychology in the final season.

I am certainly not going to argue with the man who created the Buffyverse. Each of these episodes deserves its place on this list. Happily, some of my favorite characters are featured, including Oz, Faith, and Spike… not to mention the hilariously inept nerd trifecta of Warren, Andrew, and Jonathan (Jonathan, was of course played by Danny Strong, who has become a big-deal writer of films like Recount and Game Change). Even more happily, the episodes are noticeably light on Dawn and Riley.  Here are a few others I would liked to have seen:

“Go Fish” (220)
Admittedly, this is a lightweight episode, especially in the context of Buffy’s battle with evil Angel, but seeing Xander’s surprisingly fit physique in a Speedo? Priceless.

“Graduation Day” (322)
Buffy enlisted all of Sunnydale to help her vanquish the town’s biggest baddie yet — its own mayor. The episode was also the last regular appearance of Angel, who headed to L.A. to fight evil — but never quite as awesomely as he did with Buffy.

“The Gift” (522)
Buffy sacrifices herself to save the world. Need I say more?

“Smashed” (609)
Back and utterly haunted by the happiness she saw on the other side, Buffy gives in to her attraction to Spike. As a building collapses around them, they have, passionate, darkness-filled sex for the first time.

“Grave” (622)
Willow gives into her rage after Tara’s death, nearly destroying the world in the process. Alyson Hannigan was outstanding.

So those are some of my favorites. What episodes are on your Buffy top 10, PopWatchers? What episodes should have been included on the list that weren’t?

Sunday, May 13, 2012

New Law Threatens Amsterdam’s Cannabis Culture


Not that I ever went to Amsterdam for the pot, but this ruling seems like it will crush some of the tourism trade.  There are lots of good reasons to see the city anyway but the availability of the pot shops and sex trade always made the idea of Amsterdam more appealling somehow.  It's like you were being slightly more risque going there instead of, say, Switzerland.

New Law Threatens Amsterdam’s Cannabis Culture

(By Anthony Faiola, Washington Post, May 4, 2012)

Hendrix (Jimi) gazes down with bloodshot eyes from a portrait on the wall. Jagger (Mick, “Gimme Shelter”) groans on the sound system. And sitting joyous amid clouds of swirling smoke at the 420 Cafe is Savage (Jason, of Morgantown, W.Va.), a tourist who arrived a few days ago on one of his frequent trips to the Netherlands.  He does not come for the tulips.  Yet even as he eagerly anticipates his turn on a joint the size of Texas in his pal’s hand, this 38-year-old visitor is troubled. Word is spreading fast through the United Nations of Stoners: For foreign tourists — generations of whom were drawn to this city’s open cannabis culture — these could be the last days of Purple Haze (or Lemon Larry, White Widow, NY Diesel, Space Cake and any of the other earthy-spicy morsels on this city’s extensive marijuana menus).

Enforcement of a new law banning all but Dutch residents from pot “coffee shops” started in southern cities in the Netherlands, where drug-related organized crime became one of the main drivers of the new regulations. Roadside signs put up by authorities across the south now bluntly warn visitors, “New Rules, No Drugs,” with at least one cafe shut down by police for serving foreigners and several others closing voluntarily in protest of the tourist ban.  But for global Bohemia, what truly matters is the second phase of the plan: On Jan. 1, the ban is scheduled to go into effect across the rest of the country — the 250 cannabis cafes of Amsterdam included. Just like that, a thriving scene where aging hippies toke with the Occupy movement’s tweeting classes, where themed pot cafes seem to teleport you to Paris of the 1890s, Casablanca of the 1920s, Haight-Ashbury of the 1960s, could vanish in a puff of smoke.  “This is huge,” Savage moaned, head in hands. “I mean, how could they do this to us?”
 

From the macro perspective, the move could deal a blow to global efforts to legalize marijuana — a movement that through legal medicinal sales has been making steady gains in the United States, where even televangelist Pat Robertson has come out in favor of treating cannabis like alcohol in the eyes of the law. Now, opponents could seize on the rolling back of tolerance by even the accommodating Dutch as evidence that legalization might not work as well as advocates claim.  But for weed lovers of the world — a group for whom Amsterdam became a sort of rite of passage and a liberation from the confines of home — the personal loss could be incalculable.


“The coffee shops became extensions of your living room, a place where you find a 65-year-old Brazilian lawyer talking to a 20-year-old American backpacker, both relaxed and open because they’re smoking weed”, said Jonathan Foster, 40, a Rhode Island musician who in 1995 opened Grey Area, Amsterdam’s only American-owned cannabis cafe.  In his cramped space, Foster said he has helped the likes of Willie Nelson, Snoop Dogg and Woody Harrelson get high. “Nationalities mix, people bond. The idea that could go away is too much to imagine.”
 

A judge in The Hague ruled against a legal challenge to the ban last week, but cafe owners are appealing that decision. If their case fails, many owners say they will simply ignore the ban and hope Amsterdam city officials — who have publicly come out against it — will look the other way. They take stock in the fact that it took authorities 10 years before they truly began enforcing the official ban on alcohol and marijuana sales at the same establishments.  But with national authorities insisting on the ban, a cloud of another sort is suddenly hanging over Amsterdam.  Walk through the red-light district, where beckoning women in fishnets display themselves in dimly lit windows, pass the bigger cafes such as the Grasshopper and Homegrown Fantasy, and soon you come to the 420 Cafe, where you can always spot the first-timers. Fresh-faced young things bravely walk through the door. Bravery quickly fades. Is this really, like, legal? But eyes light up at the menu. Dude, no way. They’ve even got hash.


Bongs, papers and vaporizers (the “Rolls-Royce of toking”) are free with purchase, along with a dense atmosphere rich in THC (tetrahydrocannabinol). In one little corner, deep conversations (at least they seemed so at the time) are going on in English, Turkish, Spanish, French and Hindi. At the register stands Steven Pratt, 420’s budtender and sommelier of Amsterdam weeds, many of which are grown in the Netherlands and discussed with the same academic passion as wines in France.  The new policy would see cannabis cafes become members-only clubs, with “pot passes” to enter issued only to registered Dutch citizens and resident foreigners. But the idea of registration ­directly clashes with the notion of liberation being peddled at cafes, and many owners and Dutch clients insist they will simply refuse to comply.


Technically, buying pot and hash in the Netherlands has always been illegal, but since 1976 a sort of “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy arose over possession of less than five grams. By the 1990s, pot coffee shops or “cannabis cafes” were issued “toleration licenses,” effectively allowing them to sell small quantities of soft drugs as long as they didn’t also sell alcohol. The opaque procurement of large stocks by cafe owners clearly violates Dutch law, but authorities simply look the other way. 
 

Statistics show the rate of marijuana use in the Netherlands is actually lower than in the United States or Britain. The pushback against drug tourism came as a result of a rise in organized crime. Opponents say the Netherlands has become the wholesale supplier for illicit sales across Europe. In 2010 in the southern town of Helmond, for instance, a cannabis cafe was attacked with hand grenades, and the mayor and his family were forced into hiding after being threatened by suspected drug runners.


In recent years, Rotterdam and other cities have sought to curb cannabis cafes, with the current nationwide total of 650 about half the peak numbers in the 1990s. Nearly one-third of those are packed block to block along the pot-scented streets of central Amsterdam, where tourists account for up to 90 percent of the cliental at some establishments.  If the new law is rigorously applied here, cafe owners insist it will simply mark a return to the days of unsafe street-corner deals.  “You might hurt tourism and the cafes, but a few new guidelines are not going to stop people from buying weed in Amsterdam, trust me,” said Michael Veling, 56, owner of the 420 Cafe.

The Upside Of Being An Introvert (And Why Extroverts Are Overrated)

(By Bryan Walsh, Time magazine, Feb. 06, 2012)

I'm in the bathroom of the American embassy in Tokyo, and I can't leave. Somewhere in the elegant rooms beyond, the ambassador is holding his annual holiday party. Diplomats from around the world, U.S. military personnel and reporters are mingling, sipping Champagne and picking at hors d'oeuvres. As TIME's Tokyo bureau chief, I should be there, trolling for gossip or mining potential sources.  And for 20 minutes or so after arriving, despite the usual nerves, I did just that. But small talk with stiff-backed strangers at a swanky cocktail party is by far my least favorite part of my job. Send me to a famine or a flood and I'm comfortable. A few rounds of the room at a social event, however, leave me exhausted. So now and then I retreat into the solitude of the bathroom, watching the minutes tick by until I've recovered enough to go back out there.  My name is Bryan, and I'm an introvert. If this scene sounds familiar to you, then chances are that you're one too.

We're not alone, even if it sometimes feels that way. By some estimates, 30% of all people fall on the introvert end of the temperament spectrum--but it takes some explaining to understand just what that label means. For one thing, introverted does not have to mean shy, though there is overlap. Shyness is a form of anxiety characterized by inhibited behavior. It also implies a fear of social judgment that can be crippling. Shy people actively seek to avoid social situations, even ones they might want to take part in, because they may be inhibited by fear. Introverts shun social situations because, Greta Garbo--style, they simply want to be alone.

"Introverted people aren't bothered by social situations," says Louis Schmidt, director of the Child Emotion Laboratory at McMaster University in Ontario. "They just prefer not to engage." While extroverts draw energy from mingling with large groups of people--picture former President and extrovert in chief Bill Clinton joyously working a rope line--introverts find such social interactions taxing.  Simply being an introvert can also feel taxing--especially in America, land of the loud and home of the talkative. From classrooms built around group learning to open-plan offices that encourage endless meetings, it sometimes seems that the quality of your work has less value than the volume of your voice.

And as if the world weren't slanted enough toward the extrovert, study after study has made sociability seem like a prerequisite for good health, right along with low cholesterol and frequent exercise. Very shy and introverted people have been shown to succumb more rapidly to diseases like HIV and to be at greater risk for depression than their extroverted counterparts. In schools, it's the bolder kids who get attention from teachers, while quiet children can too easily languish in the back of the classroom. "Our culture expects people to be outgoing and sociable," says Christopher Lane, an English professor at Northwestern University and the author of Shyness: How Normal Behavior Became a Sickness. "It's the unstated norm, and against that norm introverts stand out as seemingly problematic."

But that unstated norm discounts the hidden benefits of the introverted temperament--for workplaces, personal relationships and society as a whole. Introverts may be able to fit all their friends in a phone booth, but those relationships tend to be deep and rewarding. Introverts are more cautious and deliberate than extroverts, but that means they tend to think things through more thoroughly, which means they can often make smarter decisions. Introverts are better at listening--which, after all, is easier to do if you're not talking--and that in turn can make them better business leaders, especially if their employees feel empowered to act on their own initiative. And simply by virtue of their ability to sit still and focus, introverts find it easier to spend long periods in solitary work, which turns out to be the best way to come up with a fresh idea or master a skill.

Introversion and extroversion aren't fixed categories--there's a personality spectrum, and many, known as ambiverts, fall in the gap between the two traits--but they are vital to our personality. "Our tendency to be extroverted or introverted is as profound a part of our identities as our gender," says Susan Cain, author of the new book Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can't Stop Talking. "But there's a subtle bias against introverts, and it's generating a waste of talent and energy and happiness." It may be time for America to learn the forgotten rewards of sitting down and shutting up.

If you want to know how tough a society of extroverts can be for introverts and how quiet types can learn to adapt, you could do worse than talk to Cain. A graduate of Harvard Law School--not an institution known for churning out timid folks--she practiced corporate law for seven years before she began writing full time. During most of those years in the legal system, she hated what she did. Not every day--Cain loved research and writing--but it soon became clear that her soft-spoken, introspective temperament might not have been the best fit for a high-powered law firm. Eventually she left law and began working on her own, coaching clients in negotiating skills and working as a writer. "When I started practicing the law, I thought the ideal lawyer was bold and comfortable in the spotlight, but I was none of those things," says Cain. "I could fake those things, but it wasn't my natural self."

Faking it is exactly what a lot of introverts learn to do from an early age. And that masquerade covers up something primal and deep. Scientists have begun to learn that the introverted or extroverted temperament seems strongly inborn and inherited, influencing our behavior from not long after we're out of the womb.  That was the conclusion of a pioneering series of experiments by Harvard developmental psychologist Jerome Kagan. In a 1989 study, he and his colleagues gathered a sample group of 500 4-month-old infants and exposed them to new experiences in the lab, including popping balloons, colorful mobiles and the smell of alcohol on cotton swabs. About 20% of the infants reacted intensely to the stimuli, crying and pumping their arms. About 40% stayed relatively quiet, and the remaining 40% fell between the two extremes.

Kagan predicted that the infants who had the most noticeable responses--the group he called high-reactive--would likely be introverted as adolescents, whereas low-reactives would likely be extroverted. When he brought his subjects back into the lab as they grew older, his hypothesis proved true: high-reactive infants matured into more inhibited, introverted teenagers. "There's a strong footprint on temperament that you see early in life," says Dr. Carl Schwartz, a psychiatrist at Massachusetts General Hospital in Boston and a former student of Kagan's. "It's not deterministic, but if you're a highly reactive baby, you're less likely to become a bond trader or Bill Clinton."

Psychologist Elaine Aron, author of the 1997 book The Highly Sensitive Person, explains what's behind this. People who are introverts by nature, she says, may simply have a lower threshold for stimulation than others. It doesn't take too many popped balloons and crowded rooms before they learn to compensate by keeping a low, quiet profile, conserving their limited energy. The definition of hell for an introvert isn't other people--not exactly. But people are stimuli, and a cocktail party or brainstorming session full of them can blow their neural circuits. So they limit their exposure. Meanwhile, extroverts are a little bit like addicts who are always in search of a high, seeking out stimuli--in the healthier form of social situations--that would make an introvert's head ring.

In studies conducted with functional magnetic resonance imagers, Schwartz found that the amygdalae in the brains of those original high-reactive subjects--now adults--tend to light up when they're shown pictures of unfamiliar faces, while the amygdalae of low-reactive subjects show less activity. That makes sense: the amygdala processes fearful stimuli, among other functions, and the introvert's first reaction to new people or experiences is usually guarded caution. "It's not genes or the environment alone that drive this," says Schwartz. "It's the environment in dialogue with the genes."   Caution, inhibition and even fearfulness may be healthy--and smart--adaptations for the overstimulated person, but they're still not characteristics many parents would want in their children, especially in a society that lionizes the bold. So it's common for moms and dads of introverted offspring to press their kids to be more outgoing, lest they end up overlooked in class and later in life. That, however, can be a mistake--and not just because our temperaments are difficult to change fundamentally.

The very fact that introverts are more sensitive to their environment often means they're fully aware that they appear out of step with the expectations of others, and they can easily internalize that criticism. Just about every adult introvert can remember being scolded, even if gently, for being too quiet as a kid. Anytime a teacher grades on classroom participation, introverted kids will be at a disadvantage. There's nothing wrong with parents' nudging their shy children into the world, but there is something wrong if it's more than a nudge. "You don't want to break the kid by overwhelming their coping capacity," says Jay Belsky, a psychologist at the University of California at Davis. "The key is sensitive encouragement."

But introverts also have tremendous advantages. Sure, there are thrills to be found in the situations extroverts crave, but there are dangers too. Extroverts are more likely than introverts to be hospitalized as the result of an injury, for example, and they're more likely to have affairs or change relationships frequently, with all the collateral damage that can entail. And while we all seek rewards, extroverts may be too hungry for them. That can lead them to be ambitious, which is fine, but it may also make them prioritize ambition over avoiding serious risks, which is not. "Extroverts are much more likely to get really excited by the possibility of a reward, but because of that, they won't always pay attention to warning signals," says Cain. "Introverts are much more circumspect."

What happens when people chase rewards--particularly the financial kind--while ignoring the attendant risks of catastrophe and collapse? You get train wrecks like the economic crisis of 2008 and 2009, for which extroverts may deserve a lot of the blame. Camelia Kuhnen of Northwestern University's Kellogg School of Management found in a study that a variation of a dopamine-regulating gene associated with thrill seeking is a strong predictor of financial risk taking. People with a gene variant linked to introversion, on the other hand, took 28% less financial risk than others. And this applies beyond finance. The overconfidence that characterizes many extroverts can lead to grave political mistakes like the failed Bay of Pigs invasion, in which President John F. Kennedy--a supreme extrovert--failed to foresee the strength of the opposition in Cuba.  Studies also show that introverts tend to be better gamblers because they have so keen an awareness of risk. It's no coincidence that Warren Buffett, the world's greatest investor, is widely considered to be a homebody, happier reading annual reports or playing bridge than going out and socializing.

The introvert advantage isn't only about avoiding trouble--for yourself or the global financial system. Florida State University psychologist K. Anders Ericsson believes that deliberate practice--training conducted in solitude, with no partner or teammate--is key to achieving transcendent skill, whether in a sport, in a vocation or with a musical instrument. In one study, Ericsson and some of his colleagues asked professors at the Music Academy in Berlin to divide violinists into three groups, ranging from those who would likely go on to professional careers to those who would become teachers instead of performers. The researchers asked the violinists to keep diaries and found that all three groups spent about the same amount of time--more than 50 hours a week--on musical activities. But the two groups whose skill levels made them likelier to play well enough to perform publicly spent most of their time practicing in solitude.

In later studies, Ericsson and his colleagues found similar results with chess grand masters, athletes and even ordinary college students studying for exams. For all these groups, solitary training allows for a level of intense and personal focus that's hard to sustain in a group setting. "You gain the most on your performance when you work alone," says Ericsson. "And the introverted temperament might make some kids more willing to make that commitment."

The trouble is, fewer and fewer of us have time for solitary contemplation and practice anymore. It's not just the assault of e-mail, cell phones and social media; in fact, many introverts prefer these digital tools because they provide a buffer that telephone conversations and face-to-face meetings don't. But the very geography of the American workplace is designed to force people together. Some 70% of American workers spend their days in open-plan offices, with little or no separation from colleagues; since 1970, the average amount of space allotted to each employee has shrunk from 500 sq. ft. (46 sq m) to 200 sq. ft. (19 sq m). Much of this is done in the name of collaboration, but enforced teamwork can stifle creativity. "You need to give people time to think if you want them to actually get work done," says Cain.

It's not just introverts who suffer when work becomes an endless series of meetings and brainstorming sessions. Anyone who has spent time in any organization knows that there is rarely a correlation between the quality of an idea and the volume at which it is presented. Defying the loudest speaker--and the groupthink that tends to build around that person--can be painful for anyone. Gregory Berns, a neuroeconomist at Emory University, has found that when people oppose group consensus, their amygdalae light up, signaling fear of rejection. The risks of groupthink are perhaps most apparent in criminal juries, where the desire for social cohesion can sometimes short-circuit justice.

The right kind of leader can break that pattern, and the right kind of leader may be an introverted one. Introverted CEOs are more common than you might think, given the caricature of the hard-charging, fast-talking executive. By one estimate, 40% of high-powered American businesspeople fall on the introvert end of the spectrum, a group that appears to include the likes of Bill Gates, Charles Schwab and Google CEO Larry Page. The ability to assess risk and remain focused on the long term can pay off big in the boardroom. So can the capacity for listening, a trait that can be too easily lost in the isolation of the C-level suite. "Introverted leaders tend to be more detail oriented and better able to hear their employees," says Jennifer Kahnweiler, an executive coach and author of The Introverted Leader.

There's even a case to be made that introverted CEOs are the business leaders of the future. Wharton Business School psychologist Adam Grant has found that introverted leaders mesh best with empowered and independent employees, while traditionally extroverted executives work best with employees who take orders easily. "In a faster-paced service-and-knowledge economy, it's much more difficult for leaders to anticipate all of the threats and opportunities that face their organizations," says Grant. "This need for employee proactivity has created a distinct advantage for introverted leaders." And that, in turn, may spell an advantage for their companies.

In fact, Americans may all be living under an introverted leader right now. Barack Obama isn't shy--no shy person survives a presidential campaign--but he shows tendencies toward introversion, including the love of solitude that helped him thrive as a writer. As a leader, Obama is more facilitator than dominator, and before he was a politician he was an academic--a line of work that probably has more introverts per capita than any other profession except long-haul truckers. As Obama told TIME's Fareed Zakaria recently, he simply prefers to spend his limited free time with his family rather than at Washington parties. "The stereotype that politicians are extroverts has a basis in fact," says Aubrey Immelman, a psychologist who runs the Unit for the Study of Personality in Politics at St. John's University in Minnesota. "But Obama is relatively modest on that scale."

That sets him apart from many of his predecessors, like the gregarious George W. Bush, whose bonhomie was one of his great selling points--to say nothing of Clinton, who had to be physically torn away from crowds. But if extroversion is great on the campaign trail, it doesn't always help in the business of governing. Both Clinton and Bush endangered their presidencies by engaging in what turned out to be graver risks than they might have imagined: one with an intern, the other in Iraq. An introvert like Obama is more inclined to think before he acts, and if anything, the President has been criticized as too risk averse.

Yet Obama's temperament may hold him back in other ways too. He is known to keep a tight circle of advisers, which is a terrible way to become exposed to new ideas or fresh perspectives. The vaunted listening skills of the introvert are pointless, after all, if there's nothing new to hear. The President's rare attempts at schmoozing, like his "golf summit" with House Speaker John Boehner last summer, can seem forced and false. While the who-would-you-want-to-have-a-beer-with test may be an overworked criterion when it comes to choosing among presidential candidates, it does help when that candidate reaches the Oval Office and has to strike bargains with an often obstreperous opposition.

But just because all of us--our Presidents included--have powerful inborn traits doesn't mean we can't stretch the limits of our personalities when the stakes are high enough. Take Brian Little. He's a research psychologist and superstar academic lecturer; his class on personality at Harvard was perennially one of the most popular at the university. He's also a serious introvert, one who needs to take solitary breaks after intense social activity, even--yes--hiding in the bathroom from time to time. "The feeling of stress is always there," says Little.

Yet he pushes through the constraints of his temperament because the social value of lecturing and speaking--of truly connecting with his students--trumps the discomfort his introversion can cause him. Little calls this phenomenon Free Trait Theory: the idea that while we have certain fixed bits of personality, we can act out of character in the service of core personal goals. The key, he explains, is balancing three equal but very different identities. There's our mostly inborn personality, the one that wants us to be introverted or extroverted; that's the biogenic identity. There are the expectations of our culture, family and religion--the sociogenic identity. And then there are our personal desires and our sense of what matters--the ideogenic identity.

An introvert like Little could live in a way that satisfies his nerves, never leaving the library, but then his ideogenic self would starve. He'd miss out on doing what matters most to him, even if doing it occasionally sends him into a cold sweat. "Am I just going to let things wash over me, or am I going to strike out and change and grow and challenge?" says Little. "The answer depends on what you want out of life."  So it can be for all of us introverts. From the moment we wake up to the second we go to sleep--preferably after relaxing with a book in bed--introverts live in an extrovert's world, and there are days when we'd prefer to do nothing more than stay at home. But while our temperaments may define us, that doesn't mean we're controlled by them--if we can find something or someone that motivates us to push beyond the boundaries of our nerves. I'm happy to be an introvert, but that's not all I am.

Thursday, May 3, 2012

‘THE AVENGERS’: Assembling 7 Reasons why it’s the Best Marvel Movie Yet


(By David Betancourt and Michael Cavna, Comic Riff’s website, May 2, 2012)

EDITOR’S NOTE: “We’re not a team. We’re a time bomb.” So says Mark Ruffalo’s de-Hulked Bruce Banner, as if he were describing not only the Avengers but also “The Avengers,” the hotly anticipated mega-movie that’s set to detonate Friday against its box-office rivals. Some cumulative alchemy of the preceding Marvel movies and the proceeding popcorn-movie season — plus a slew of good reviews — has “The Avengers” poised to become one of the year’s top-three commercial flicks, threatening to set records. But is the film all that the buzz says it's cracked up to be? Comic Riffs contributor David Betancourt hit a screening of Hollywood’s latest superhero entry to see whether it passed his Extreme Fanboy Test. His verdict? It reigns supreme.

MARVEL STUDIOS gave us fair warning.  Back in 2008, at the end of the first “Iron Man,” Samuel L. Jackson’s Nick Fury said to Robert Downey Jr.’s billionaire industrialist: “I am Iron Man? You think you’re the only superhero in the world? Mr. Stark, you’ve become part of a bigger universe. You just don’t know it yet. ... I’m here to talk to you about the Avenger Initiative.”  Those words launched a studio’s real initiative — Marvel’s bold plan to roll out four more films: an Iron Man sequel (which would debut Scarlett Johansson as Black Widow) and movies featuring the Incredible Hulk, Thor (which briefly introduced us to Hawkeye) and Captain America, all linked with the presence of S.H.I.E.L.D (as well as hidden scenes at the end of each film). Then, the biggest step: Assemble all the heroes together for a super-film.  The studio’s initiative has paid off — and not just because those Marvel films have grossed more than $2-billion at the global box office.


Marvel brilliantly cast every Avenger: from Captain America (Chris Evans, despite the fact that most fanboys knew him as the Human Torch of the Fantastic Four) to Thor (Chris Hemsworth) to the first inspired casting choice that made everything since possible: Downey Jr. wearing the Iron Man role like a second skin.

So what happens when they finally mix together iron, super soldier serum, thunder and lighting, gamma radiation, a Russian spy and bows and arrows? We get one of the best comic-book movies ever — and the top movie from Marvel Studios by a fair margin.  Here is why (and caution, of course: mild spoilers ahead):

1. ‘THE AVENGERS” fleshes out each superhero — and our villain — smartly.
Everything about Joss Whedon’s film is on point — even going so far as to pay homage to the original first issue of the comic from 1963, which featured Loki (Tom Hiddleston) as the main villain (just like the movie).   Among the Avengers, Captain America struggles to adapt to life 70 years past his present, as well as to the edgy sense of humor of Iron Man.  Bruce Banner’s big brain is needed, even though the doc’s not interested in letting the Hulk out of his mental cage. The Black Widow is dealing with her own personal issues, and Thor must accept that he has to help take down step-brother Loki for the sake of Earth.  Even when the skin is gamma-green, characters are fleshed-out with white-hot intelligence.  

2. HOW BLACK WIDOW holds her own:

With a lesser director and actress, it would be easy for Scarlett Johansson’s Black Widow — who doesn’t have the powers quite like the rest — to be lost in this big-boys-with-toys club. But Scarlett's Black Widow stares down the Hulk and Loki — and her powers of persuasion are sometimes the strongest talent of all.

3. IRON MAN’s suite of new suit tricks:
With all the nifty flying maneuvers and impressive weapons arsenal, we tend to forget that Iron Man’s high-tech suit also makes him very strong. In “Avengers,” he easily goes toe to toe, blow to blow with Thor when they battle in a heated disagreement.

4. THOR’s hairy conflicts:
Even better than Thor’s mano-a-hammered-mano showdown with Iron Man:  the Hulk and Thor duke it out in spectacular fashion. (When the Hulk tries to pick up Thor’s hammer Mjolnir? Nothing good.)  And then there’s Thor’s relationship with Loki that plays like ancient tragedy. At most every turn, he tries to make his villainous sibling see the error of his ways.

5. THE STARK snark:
What's better than Iron Man’s maneuvers? Tony Stark’s quick-quips, verbally thrusting and parrying, when the armor’s off.  Robert Downey Jr. doesn’t need the super-suit to light up the screen — and here, his deft, laser-sharp lines play even brilliantly when delivered with cheek and edge to those on his own team.

6. THE HULK as “smash!” hit:
Enter Hulk, up-stage right. New addition Mark Ruffalo is winning as a thoughtful Bruce Banner — the best big-screen Dr. Banner so far, superior to the gifted Ed Norton and Eric Bana — but his CGI alter-ego steals entire scenes.  Verdict: Hulk like Whedon!

7. THE EXQUISITE build:

It’s no mean feat to keep the wealth of storylines and characters all propelling clearly and cleanly to the unifying Big Finish. By the time we get to the Avengers forming a circle on that blasted-out Manhattan avenue — literally having each other’s backs in a moment already viewed by millions — the film has built to the finale beautifully.  Verdict: Whedon knows crescendo!

BONUS: You know how Marvel movies always feature a treat after the credits? “The Avengers” offers its own tease after the credits.

Wednesday, April 25, 2012

Is Poetry Dead? Or, In The Age Of The Internet, Does It Offer Us What Nothing Else Can?

(By Lauren Wilcox, Washington Post, January 13, 2012)

There are few opportunities in today’s world for a private audience with a personal hero, but the last appearance of the poet W.S. Merwin as the country’s poet laureate was, for an unusual number of people, one of them. The appearance itself was a rare one: At 82 and living on a former pineapple plantation on Maui, Merwin was well past the stage of his life when he might have regularly stumped for poetry, if he was ever that sort of poet — which he was not. And he was a bit of a recluse.  But Merwin was slated for a rare double bill: In addition to giving a reading for the “closing of the literary season,” as the Library of Congress was advertising it, he would also be holding a book-signing. In front of a packed house in Coolidge Auditorium, Merwin spoke for nearly an hour, reading a few poems, including one of his about words yet to be written, which ends,“it could be that there’s only one word / and it’s all we need / it’s here in this pencil / every pencil in the world is like this.”

After the reading, as he took his place behind a desk on the top floor of the building’s Great Hall, the line was already forming. What happened there, between the poet and his acolytes, was curious. Merwin may be reclusive on principle, but in person he is magnetic — warm, intimate, irresistibly charming. He gazed up at each new face with fresh interest, as though at a long-lost friend.  And each person approached the desk with unconcealed reverence, as though at the end of a pilgrimage. What they wanted to tell him was always, in some way, about themselves: “You speak in my voice,” a woman said. “Your first book was published the year I was born,” another said. One woman asked him to dedicate a book to her friend’s dog, who had recently died; she read what he had written, and her eyes filled with tears.

An hour or so into the line, a man with a soft drawl told Merwin he appreciated his passion for preserving nature; he had been working to replant a family farm whose forests had been cut down. Merwin perked up. “What kinds of trees?” he asked.  “Mostly oaks and ashes,” the man said.  “I’ve had some old trees that have been good friends of mine,” Merwin said. Before him, the line stretched interminably. Well into the evening, the director of the Library of Congress’s Poetry and Literature Center gave Merwin the opportunity to bow out, but he declined. He had been sitting at the desk for two and a half hours by the time the last person left.

The idea that poetry is the deadest of the dying arts, an airless attic where overwrought metaphors go to dry up and drop their wings, is perennial. A 2003 column in Newsweek — “Poetry Is Dead. Does Anybody Really Care?” — was bitterly and defensively refuted (mainly by poets), but it tapped a rich vein of suspicion nationwide that the last time poetry really mattered was long ago, perhaps sometime in the ’50s, when poets were literary celebrities and household names, and schoolchildren knew reams of verse by heart.  It’s true that the mid-20th century was a heyday of sorts for American poetry. Poets were published and reviewed in daily newspapers and general-interest magazines, and their book releases were significant events. The poetry scene that most people knew was made up of a few highly celebrated poets (with notable exceptions, usually white and male) writing a few kinds of poetry (“the raw and the cooked,” as Robert Lowell famously described it).

It’s also true that in the years since, that scene has all but disappeared. One significant change for poetry was that 50 years ago, universities were coming into their own, and they offered poetry a home. Poets who became professors found ready audiences and a decent living, and gradually, poetry’s center of gravity began to shift. The number of MFA programs, literary magazines and small presses exploded. It was, in its way, another heyday.  But it was also as Dana Gioia argued in his 1991 essay “Can Poetry Matter?” increasingly isolated and invisible. Over the years, poetry’s connections to life outside the university began to atrophy. Poets were professors instead of insurance executives and doctors and housewives (as were Wallace Stevens, William Carlos Williams and Anne Sexton, respectively). They read and published for each other. In the hands of scholars, poetry lost its birthright as an art of the people and became the recondite province of tertiary education. “Though supported by a loyal coterie,” wrote Gioia, “poetry has lost the confidence that it speaks to and for the general culture.”

The void left in the general culture began to be filled by other forms: spoken-word poetry; the competitive performances called poetry slams; rap and singer-songwriters; the new popularity of the traditional form called cowboy poetry; open mikes at coffeehouses. The emphasis was largely on the spoken and sung, as well as elements such as rhyme and rhythm that print poetry often eschewed; subject matter was often fiercely political or personal. Some of this, like the work of spoken-word poets Nikki Giovanni and Amiri Baraka, was accepted into the canon, but the rest never really was.

Poetry began to cleave along the same lines as fine art does today: insiders and outsiders, academic and folk. Meanwhile, supporters of print poetry, fearful that it was being ignored — or worse, was no longer relevant — began prescribing it to the public like a tonic. In 1996, the Academy of American Poets designated April as National Poetry Month to provide booster-ish support; Poetry in Motion, an ongoing program by the Poetry Society of America and the Metropolitan Transportation Authority, was begun in 1992 as a sort of an affirmative-action program for poems, foisting poems on the captive audiences riding mass transit.  And yet to say that poetry no longer matters is a gross misreading of the facts. The public has not been ignoring poetry. People are not standing in line for two and a half hours to shuffle their feet, speechless, in front of the nation’s elderly poet laureate because they believe that poetry is no longer relevant. They have simply been waiting for poetry to find its way.

On a recent weekday in Frances Harrington’s classroom at Hart Middle School in Anacostia, there was a steady volley of balled-up wads of paper into the corner trash cans and a constant mid-level clamor from the desks. The effect wasn’t disorder so much as uncontainable exuberance, which was shepherded by Alan King, one of Hart’s writers-in-residence, a big man with a gentle, shambling presence.  King teaches creative writing at Hart, in an after-school program called the D.C. Creative Writing Workshop as well as in some of the school’s English classes. He had asked the seventh- and eighth-graders of Harrington’s afternoon English class to read a poem called “Appetite,” by Tim Seibles, and use it as a model for a poem about their own cravings. “I have eaten the donuts, the plain-cake, / healthy, whole-wheat donuts,” the poem begins. “…I attacked without reason like a great / Afro-American shark finning the crowded / streets of America — my nappy dorsal / splitting the air, the pale victims / going down fast like Fig Newtons . . .”  “Okay, based on what we know about sharks, are they neat eaters or messy?” King asked the class, explaining the poet’s use of simile.  “Messy,” they chorused. The students hunched over sheets of notebook paper, frowning.

The program’s approach to creative writing is surprisingly traditional. It teaches poetry the way poetry has been taught for nearly a century, the way it is taught in MFA workshops across the country: by studying a poem and then writing one. The program’s teachers are published writers who either have or are working on degrees in creative writing. The best of the student work is published in the school’s literary journal, hArtworks.  If the work is sometimes challenging for the students, the program’s director Nancy Schwalb, who started the workshop in 2000, prefers that to the alternative. Schwalb originally created a competitive poetry slam league for middle-schoolers citywide, but she ended up dismantling it. Judging, she felt, was often a popularity contest that had the kids “relying on cuteness or humor” in their performances; more important, they weren’t learning to write.  “The focus on publishing their work, seeing their work in print, really encourages the kids to be more literary, to use more literary devices,” Schwalb says.

A blond-headed girl named Dajanik Brooks stood next to her desk and read her poem aloud. “I eat chips like a Pac-Man game. I crush on seeds like a trash truck.” There was a smattering of applause.  “Can I freestyle?” asked a boy named Myron Jones, hoping to riff aloud. He was rising restlessly up and down from his desk.  “If Mr. King says it’s okay,” Harrington said.  “I’m freestyling!” Myron said. “It’s going to be tight.”  “Okay, you’ve got some strong images there,” said King, as he looked over the shoulder of a boy in the back whose paper was almost entirely filled with writing.  “I get all strikes when I go bowling,” Myron offered, experimentally, from across the room.  Harrington walked over to King’s side. “How much more do you have to write?” she asked the boy.  “A little bit,” he said softly, without looking up. The eraser was chewed off his pencil.  “You can read what you have,” King said.  “I don’t want to read,” the boy said. He crooked his arm over the paper and began writing again, feverishly.

Now in its 12th year, the program is a fixture at Hart; Schwalb has had to open it to students at Ballou High School, just up the road, so that kids could continue to attend after leaving middle school. At any given time, the club has at least as many members as Hart’s football team. That the students have latched onto poetry so devotedly remains, for Schwalb, a mystery. In part, she thinks, poetry provides intellectual challenges that the kids crave — she recalls a class that once became obsessed with the word “languid” and deployed it unsparingly: “Everything was languid that year.” And in part, she thinks, poetry makes a place for an inward focus. To read poetry is to access a vast archive of research on the human condition. To write it is to join the conversation, to find ways of speaking to oneself and to others, and the kids at Hart need it as much as anyone.

About a third of the club’s members are referred there by the school’s social worker “after being thrown out of everything else,” Schwalb says. As it turns out, they are the ones most likely to stay. James Tindle, now 18, was first referred by the social worker at age 11, when he was “one of the bad kids,” he says. “I was always out on the street.” When he joined the writing club, “Everything that I thought I wanted to do with my life changed. I found poetry, I found singing, I found acting, I found dancing.  “This one room changed everything,” he says. “The streets were nothing.”  And then there is the work itself. It is not spoken-word, though it might share some of the same roots. Nor is it a rote imitation of contemporary poetry. Instead, it is something new in the canon: the intersection of poetry’s two disparate worlds.

The richest of the student writing at Hart takes the voices and stories of the writers and the conventions of their teachers and makes something that is bigger than either. It seizes age-old literary devices and shouts through them. It tells harrowing stories with language that is glitteringly surreal (“My real name is midnight”) and bluntly of this world (“We know things, being young / you not gonna understand.”). A poem like “Get Your Elbow Off the Table,” by middle-schooler Davon Ford, has the immediacy and clout of raw speech but a deft command of that speech as poetry. (It begins, “I was raised by get your elbow / off the table, don’t never say you’re / not able, get dat money real faithful / type of family.”) Writing club students routinely sweep citywide print-poetry competitions: This year, 10 of the 40 winners of the Parkmont Poetry Contest were from Hart or Ballou. As much as the kids need poetry, it seems, so does poetry need the kids at Hart.  There was a knot of students waiting by the locked door of the writing club room by the time Schwalb and King arrived at 3 p.m. When everyone was settled, King assigned readers for the day’s poem, an ode to urban summers called “The Block Hydrant,” by Bryan C. Murray. “From this shopping cart, I sell icicles: / to overheated jungle-gymers / who don’t know “please” / just Gimme a ice …”

The readers delivered the stanzas at a clip. A boy named Rashad Rosenboro made a show of ignoring them, putting on a pair of headphones and fiddling with an electronic device. By the time King assigned the afternoon’s work, a poem on “dealing with the heat,” Rashad had entered into a silent, almost invisible battle with another boy, Joshua Dunsmore, who was sitting next to him.  Schwalb read a poem by one of the students, Aaron Williams, about going for a swim, titled “The Burning.” “The heat has mugged my joy,” it concluded. “I feel lightheaded, navigate / to the promised land. / Now I am set adrift.” Aaron covered his face with his backpack while she read.  Schwalb exclaimed when she had finished. “Aaron, it’s like coming in first in the thousand meter!”  “I run the sixteen-hundred,” Aaron said.

Suddenly, there was a scuffle in the corner: Rashad had thrown a punch at Joshua. In the electric slow motion that followed, King removed Rashad from his desk and began to march him across the room to the door. Joshua, a grim smile on his face, accompanied the pair in lockstep, his hands balled into fists, until they reached the door and Joshua let them pass.  When the room was calm again, Schwalb went from student to student, collecting poems and encouraging people to read. Somehow, without ever having appeared to lift a pencil, Rashad had written a poem, which he had left on his desk.

Dang it’s hot!
It’s so hot outside
I don’t know what to do
I wanna go to Alaska
What’s the point I need to die any way
How many people feel like me
I wish I can see these people
How many times have you heard people say what I say—
Can you find my soul?
No you can’t, under all this heat

When Rashad was allowed to return, King walked over to his desk. “That was a good line in your poem, Rashad, that last line was really good,” he said, leaning over him.  Rashad flicked his hand as though swatting a fly. “Shush,” he said, staring past King. “Shush.”  What is happening at Hart Middle School is also what is happening, on a larger scale, around town. The District is particularly well-placed for such a movement. It has always had its luminaries: Whitman, of course, who worked for a time in the Attorney General’s Office; Robert Lowell, Randall Jarrell and Maxine Kumin, who each spent time in town as poet laureate, when that post required a year in Washington. But to an unusual extent, poetry here has lived in the community at large, where small gatherings — of writers, readers, listeners — have tended their own flames. The scene flared up in the 1920s (the Harlem Renaissance had a branch here) and exploded in the 1970s (with a wave of new publications and groups such as Dupont Circle’s Mass Transit poets) and again in the 1990s, as spoken-word poetry and open mikes proliferated.

Today, the varieties are legion. If mid-20th-century poetry was a kind of poetic oligopoly, with a few dominant voices, then poetry today is an open market, where people come to test the value of their wares. There are reading series and workshops for the avant garde, for traditionalists, for social activism and marginalized voices. There is Sulu DC for performance arts of the Asian American Pacific Islanders, Subcontinental Drift for the South Asian American community, Crescent Moon Nights for Muslim poets, and the weekly open mikes at Busboys and Poets.

The drawback to this pluralism is that it can be hard to hear any one voice above the rest. Quantity does not equal quality, of course. And the scene is so fractured, with so many small journals and venues, that the best voices may go unheard by a wider audience. “Poetry today has many different constituencies,” says poet Michael Collier, who teaches at the University of Maryland. “This makes it incredibly vibrant, but it also makes it difficult to describe, and to cohere.” With fewer gates come fewer gatekeepers — the reliable publishers and reviewers who select the best for the rest to read. To the reading public, this can make the scene impenetrable, or simply invisible.  But this “ferment,” as District poet Kim Roberts calls what is happening in the scene today, also encourages a cross-pollination of forms — the traditional with the radical, the formal with the ordinary — is new for contemporary poetry. Whatever this new poetry’s politics or its background or its concerns, that crossbreeding is its strength.

One of the hardest-working redoubts of this movement is the Federal Poets, founded in 1944 for workers for the federal government and has been meeting ever since (members no longer have to work for the government). The group, whose original participants wrote mostly purply, rhyming verse on such subjects as the weather, or dessert, is now an unclassifiable mix of subjects and styles. Some of its members have backgrounds in writing, but others don’t. Most members have been attending meetings for years and some for decades.

On a Saturday afternoon, a dozen members convened for their monthly workshop at the West End Public Library. On this day, the first poem to be workshopped was “Tangerine,” by Michelle Seaman, a prospective member who wore her grayish-brown hair in pigtails. A tango class was practicing in the room next door, and at intervals the tinny strains of the bandoneon came wavering through the wall. Seaman read the poem, a wistful rumination on childhood’s losses, in a sighing singsong that seemed to temporarily hypnotize the room. “Loraxes, each of us, speaking / for the trees. Our little fists raised / in defense of thin-branched chokecherry…”

There was a short pause when she finished, and then the group descended on the poem like a swarm of locusts.  “Loraxes, define,” said Dean Blehert, a lean, bearded man who had joined the workshop in 1983, and who for 30 years wrote and distributed Deanotations, a broadsheet of his poetry, to subscribers worldwide.  “He’s the little character that speaks for the trees,” said Seaman, referring to the Dr. Seuss book “The Lorax.”

“Maybe it needs another stanza to kind of feel out the brother,” said Don Illich, in glasses and a T-shirt with the Chevrolet logo on it, who at 38 was one of the youngest in the room. “Where is he, what is he doing?”  “I see it as a fairly simple poem,” said Blehert after a moment, “and that’s its strength and weakness. The weakness is its fairly obvious message. I don’t know that filling it up with biography is going to do it.”  “Thank you, everybody,” Seaman said. It was her second visit to the workshop. At three visits, she would become a member, and there were muttered allusions to the hazing she would likely undergo the next time.

The group worked through several relatively straightforward descriptive poems, poems conceived around a single notion and its ostensible poeticness — a cave full of prehistoric paintings, for example, or an old bluesman in his shack — fussing with the mechanics of hyperbole and the effects of imagery. The day’s last poem was by Doug Wilkinson, who has a lanky guy in navy corduroys, with a boyish face and graying hair. Wilkinson’s route to poetry had been, even by Federal Poets standards, circuitous. He had grown up in the San Fernando Valley, in a household that was, he said, “against education.” His father, who ran a furniture refinishing business with Wilkinson’s uncle, felt that “men should work; that was what was appropriate.”

Wilkinson’s parents declined to send him to college, so after graduating from high school in 1974, he began working his way through with a series of odd jobs that included transporting diseased body parts for doctors in Hollywood and making artificial trees. (At one point, he needed his mother’s signature on a financial aid form; she refused. “I want to write a poem about that,” he told me, “but I haven’t figured out how to do it without sounding like I’m crying.”) Then, when Wilkinson was 27, his father died, leaving him and his brothers each $60,000, which Wilkinson promptly used to enroll in school full time.

Wilkinson’s studies were a search for what he calls, slightly self-deprecatingly, “the big answer.” “I took everything I could find with ‘religion’ in the title,” he says. “The anthropology of religion, religion and society, the history of religion.” He discovered philosophy when, in a course called “World’s Great Religions,” a student asked which religion was true, and the professor told him that that was a question for philosophers. For 20 years, Wilkinson steered a course through various higher-learning institutions, studying philosophy and religion. He began, and then left, a Ph.D. program in spirituality at Catholic University and a master’s program in Hinduism at American University. For a time, he thought he would become a monk.

But no matter what he studied, “I never found the big answers,” he says. Working as a bookseller, he began to read poetry. He assembled a collection of poems that had an element of spirituality or that grappled with the questions that dogged him. He wrote a poem after breaking up with his girlfriend. He began to think that poetry was the sort of methodology, applicable to life’s unknowables, that he had been trying to find; “a way of thinking.” He joined the Federal Poets and began writing regularly.  Wilkinson’s relationship to poetry has a devotional aspect to it. He keeps with him a folder of his 25 favorite religious poems, arranged in order of importance; the order occasionally changes. No. 5 is “Tasting Heaven” by Robert Bly; No. 3 is “The Summer Day” by Mary Oliver, which ends, “Tell me, what is it you plan to do / with your one wild and precious life?”

To support himself these days, Wilkinson is a driving instructor and sells books on the Internet. The demand is mostly for textbooks. In the 10 years he has been selling, no one has ever bought a book of poetry.  The poem that Wilkinson brought to the workshop was called “An Explanation.”

When I was fourteen, my brother
sprayed Windex into my eyes
and then laughed. Time froze
and a supernatural being
who looked just like a human being
pulled me aside and told me
that I had a choice
between being blinded but loved by my father
and retaining my vision.
I chose, and time began again,
and I didn’t remember the supernatural being
or the choice, and I ran
and told my father what my brother
did, and my father got mad at me
and told me that I needed
to get along better with my brother.

The group seemed underwhelmed by the poem. “Doug comes up with really interesting scenarios, but it just feels flat,” Don Illich said. “The father saying you just need to get along better ...” He trailed off.  “Maybe the brother could shoot a water pistol in your eyes,” someone suggested.  “Well, Windex is pretty good,” said Blehert, and there was a brief discussion about whether that would actually blind you. Blehert stared at his copy of the poem. “The indication is, if you retain your vision, you won’t be loved,” he said thoughtfully.  “Maybe look for a twist that matches the quality of your other twists,” someone suggested.  Wilkinson was sitting very still in his chair at the end of the table. “None of what you have said — is what was meant — by the title,” he said slowly.

There was an expectant pause. “The choice that the supernatural being gave him is the explanation — for why his father — did not love him.” The room considered this for a moment, and then someone realized it was nearly 5 o’clock, and people began to collect their papers and push back their chairs.  Outside it was warm, and the sun was slanting across the sidewalks. Wilkinson and Illich and other members of the group retired, as they often do, to the Greek restaurant around the corner, where they crowded into adjacent tables to wind down the afternoon. They talked about writing, but they talked about other things, too. 

Thursday, April 19, 2012

Tough Pricing Questions, Tougher Answers

(By Richard Turen, Travel Weekly, April 19, 2012)

Is it my imagination, or are the questions getting more difficult? Are consumers peppering us with test questions that require better responses than the industry standbys that served us well, lo these many years?  Of course they are. Our clients spend hours reading online reviews and hearing tales of our demise. But there are some voices out there, newly awakened, who still think we have value. They're suggesting that consumers take us for a test ride before making any commitment.  Here are a few consumer questions travel sellers have to deal with every day, plus snippets of the responses they might hear from better agents I've interviewed over the years.

Some of these responses are tough, almost guerrilla marketing in nature. I don't agree with all of these approaches; some of them are based on half-truths. But they're examples of how some of the most successful agents handle these tough questions. I do believe we've been fighting well-armed price predators with feathers. If you believe it's time to lock and load, that you're at war with commodity travel marketers, consider what follows a blueprint for battle:

Why should I use your services when I can book directly?

You're going to be charged for my services whether you use them or not. My fee is built into the cost of your travel product. If you book direct, the supplier simply pockets the commission, and you get nothing in return.

If you use my services, on the other hand, you have an advocate. You represent one booking to a supplier; I represent dozens, and my consortium represents many more. We have volume clout. You have none.

I am a caring consultant who will be with you every step of the way, beginning with the special documentation I'll send you. Book with Henry Headset and you're just computer data.

It sounds like I get no price benefits with you vs. booking direct. Why is that?

Suppliers set the value on the products they sell. They don't appreciate it when a seller demeans their product by selling it for less. So, yes, we will both have the same prices. But our agency has negotiated exclusive benefits for our clients, so our package will make you feel good about your purchase. It's always going to be in your financial interest to use our services.

Why should I book now? What happens if the price goes down later?

There are three key reasons to book now. First, early bookings guarantee a space on the tour date or in the cruise cabin category you want, with the best possible placement. There are preferred cabin locations in virtually every cruise category, and it is in your interest to reserve your space now.

The second reason has to do with marketing. Tour operators and cruise lines are reluctant to give those who book last better pricing than those who were willing to commit early. They hate having to go back to those already committed to paying one price to tell them they can now pay less. So the odds are that the earlier you book, the better the pricing.

An even better reason is that, sure, budget travel suppliers are constantly changing their prices. But we don't sell them. We look for price integrity before we will agree to represent a travel product. Thus, the tour operators and cruise lines allow us to automatically qualify you for any new marketing discounts. We guarantee price protection, so you have no worries.

After I called you, I called a discount travel agency and found that their price for exactly the same cruise was $450 per person less than your quote. $900 is a big difference. Will you match it?

We appreciate the opportunity to respond. Our relationship with [the supplier] is extremely close, and we can match the offer. However, we'll need a copy of the cruise line guest invoice. No price is legitimate if it doesn't have the imprint of the cruise line on the fare quote or a confirmation number. Once we receive your invoice with the lower price, we'll get back to you within 24 hours with a price match plus a gift for your time and trouble. If it's not a legitimate price, you at least will know that you were dealing with an unethical travel seller.

I'd like to book with you, but [fill in the blank]'s website offers a 5% rebate on any tour. Will you do the same?

You will typically pay more for your vacation in a year than you'll pay your physician, attorney or accountant. In those cases, would you choose the best professional or the one who offered you a rebate?

Tour companies hate rebaters, and you take some real risks by booking with one. Imagine being a guide on the first day of an upscale tour somewhere. As the guests mingle at the introductory cocktail party, one obnoxious couple lets everyone know that their travel agent was willing to work for practically nothing and rebated a good portion of her commission. Now the tour director has an unhappy group, some of whom might have been booked by one of the tour company's top-producing agencies. Tour companies have gone to court to prevent online rebating of their products.

Online rebaters clearly don't feel the tour is worth the brochure price, and thus they are unsupportive of the company. So, should there be problems while you're traveling, they will not be able to wield any influence on your behalf. You'd be working with an industry pariah, which is a real risk. Of course, our agency offers price protection. So just send us the quote and we'll bring it to the attention of the tour operator. If it is a legitimate price, we will match it.

Will I get a better price on my cruise from one of the large online discount sites?

They'd like you to believe you will, but most often you won't. Cruise lines simply do not want you to book their products online, because every online booking is thought to generate between 12 and 15 phone calls to the cruise line's reservations center; online bookers get little or no counseling about things like insurance options, safety issues, shore excursions, onboard dining options and reservations, pre and post arrangements and myriad other reservation issues.

What really gets the cruise lines upset is that they're paying the online travel agencies commissions, even though they're not doing their job. They would much prefer that you book with a professional travel consultant who can answer all your questions, not with some outsourced contractor in Mumbai.

We're price-checking at least four or five agencies and online brokers. We'll book with whichever offers the best quote. Will you send us your best price?

Of course not! We save our best rates for our most loyal clients, which is why we have such a high repeat factor and are successful.  If price is your sole criteria, you'll want to work with a part-timer doing agent work as a second job, with no industry standing. They'll rebate much of the 10% to 15% of the price that is their commission. I'd recommend that you first check them out with the Better Business Bureau.

If the very lowest price is not your only criteria, we suggest that you contact the first agent you invited to work on your vacation, because the truth is, all ethical travel agents get exactly the same rates on the tours and cruises they sell. Since the first agent has already spent time researching your request, we urge you to use her.