Metacritic Triple Feature

here’s proof that all the time i’ve spent neglecting this blog has been time well spent. i’m pretty stoked to be writing about reality television, a long-standing guilty pleasure of mine. now if i could only figure out how to parlay my addiction to taco sauce into a career, i’d be set.

the first article ranks the 10 best and 5 worst reality TV competitions of all time. i’ll confess only to you guys that i haven’t seen all the shows i ranked, just read about them online, but i definitely plan to see VH1’s “Tool Academy” because a show that turns douchebag reform into a competitive sport sounds awesome.

Ranked: TV’s Best and Worst Reality Competition Shows
When Survivor and Big Brother premiered in 2000, the competitive reality show was all but unheard of. By 2003, the Emmys had created an award for Outstanding Reality-Competition Program, which followed on the heels of the award for Outstanding Reality Program, created in 2001. In 2008, the hosts of reality programs were honored with a category of their own.

Today, there are schools for people who aspire to be contestants on reality competitions. And there are competitions that test virtually everything — from one’s kitchen skills to modeling chops to design expertise, with prizes that include professional contracts, cash money and even the chance to...

next up is a ranking of “Bachelor” and “Bachelorette” seasons, which didn’t go over very well with the Metacritic crowd, who left very few comments on the piece, most of which amounted to “these shows suck and i can’t believe you bothered to rank them.” whatever, cool guys. i had fun writing this and, most importantly, i got paid to do it.

Ranked: Best and Worst Seasons of The Bachelor/The Bachelorette
We can only imagine how insane industry types thought the idea for The Bachelor was when they first heard it in 2001. Find love on a reality TV competition? Who would sign up for that? And the final couple is supposed to get engaged at the end of the season after dating for only six weeks? Surely, no one is that foolish. But foolish they were and they did sign up in droves, producing 14 seasons of the hit series and six of its spin-off, The Bachelorette.

Hosted by the timeless Chris Harrison, the franchise has kept a loyal following through the years of contestant cattiness, whirlwind dates in faraway places, hot tub make-out sessions and, of course, the most dramatic rose ceremonies...

finally, we have a list of must-see reality TV premiering this fall. worst thing about this article is that the “Untitled David Hasselhoff Project” had not yet released details at presstime so the show had to be omitted from the list. (i’ll catch you next season, Hoff!) best thing about this article is the first comment: “Cool, more partisan leftist ideological hackery soaking through even the most politcally irrelevant articles. And the left wonders why the rest of America is so fed up.” i love the internet!

Fall Reality TV Preview: 15 New & Returning Shows
As the summer winds down and kids start getting ready for school, the fall lineup of reality TV programming follows, with the networks rolling out a show for every night of the week. The crop of returning series this season is mostly predictable, with tried-and-true reality favorites such as Survivor, The Apprentice, America’s Next Top Model and The Amazing Race — all of which are premiering a double-digit season. Shows featuring trainwrecks are also making a comeback, as evidenced by Hoarders and Celebrity Rehab With Dr. Drew.

The new series include Sarah Palin’s shamelessly self-promoting TLC special on the great state of Alaska, plus MTV’s intriguing take on documentary filmmaking, The World of Jenks. This season also debuts recession-themed programming, seen in the WE’s new series Downsized and the unemployed executives competing on...

Chakra Kadabra

needless to say, these past few months have been a bit wonky for me, with fallout that i’m still trying to process. if i’m proud of anything at all, it’s that my process as a 34-year-old is so much healthier than it was at 24 when i was more prone to self-destructive behavior. all i will say about that time is thank god this blog didn’t exist back then.

today, my process is much tamer, borderline boring even, as i meditate and do yoga through my stress. i’ve also been spending a lot of time alone, working mostly, but also sitting and thinking, with a restlessness pulling at my insides. it’s a restlessness i know all too well, nondescript but imposing, this time pulling me toward something rather than spinning in place as it has before. until about a month ago, it had been pulling at me nonstop. my choice to attend the Landmark Forum in april was likely a part of its pull, drawing me toward anything that looked like it could help me through my flux.

it’s a mixed bag for me, this self-help stuff. generally, i like some of it, up until the point that i begin to hate it, at which point i hate all of it with a passion. Landmark was a good example of this hatred, with its churchy dogma and stupid lingo of affirmations that required me to submit to them at the expense of everything i knew to be true. fuck that.

self-help books also evoke this hatred, as i cannot get through a single chapter of a self-help book without wanting to vomit. to me, they are like romantic comedies — with the same predictable formula dressed up in new packaging. uninspired and insipid. you’ve read one, you’ve read them all. fuck them, too.

i hear therapy is good, though i’ve never been despite all my closest friends telling me i should go. (what’s up with that, anyway?) but i worry that my bachelors in psychology will render me the Worst Patient Ever, one who will get up and leave the instant i hear the shrink say, “that must have been really hard for you. talk to me about how that made you feel.” yeah, fuck you, too.

i don’t do pills either. i don’t doubt that others need theirs and i don’t judge them for it. they can take their xanax, valium, prozac, lithium and oxycontin. i really don’t care. personal choices are personal. and my personal choices will have me finding joy in my dogs, my friends, fine food, good music, books and art. the meditation, yoga and time alone have also worked wonders. but still, that damn restlessness keeps pulling.

recently, its pull led me to the door of a psychic, who was really more of a healer. she came highly recommended, so i traveled to Cambria for an overnight trip with a friend to see her. i met her for about an hour and a half of conversation and a clearing of the chakras. i’ve seen my fair share of psychics before, one of them very good, but most of them bad to average.

as a psychic, Darcy wasn’t particularly extraordinary. she did see a few things about the future, none of which i care to share here and all of which she qualified with the disclaimer that she’s taking my temperature only on that day and that we could have a different reading on another day. free will and those pesky personal choices make very few things in life preordained.

we talked a little about the past, which i already know, so there’s little point in talking about it. she did see a few things, among them my father’s recent heart problem, which she said has resolved itself for now, which is good. she said my own health was also good. then she told me that one of the “guides” watching over me is a grandmother whose name has an E and N in it. (my maternal grandma’s name was Eugenia.)

then i laid down on a massage table for the chakra clearing and that’s when she really earned her wage. the seven chakras are new agey shit i can really get behind. yoga and meditation had introduced me to them already, but i never had them cleared so i didn’t know what to expect.

Darcy started at my base chakra and worked her way up to my head, her hands not really touching me, just hovering over my body. as she moved up my spine, she would stop and see things. she saw where i was in my cycle, she saw that the titanium rods in my back were near my heart chakra. she said i was too tethered to the past and needed to let it all go, and at one point “pulled out the tethers.” she saw where there were blockages (my third eye chakra) and where there were none (my throat chakra, which she said was clear because i “speak my truth”). she finished by “shooting some light into my spine” and sending positive energy through my body.

the clearing must have lasted less than half an hour. oddly, i didn’t really feel any sensation in my body during the process, not even tingles. but when she was done, wow, did i ever feel amazing. my back felt super straight, my head clear and light, my body perfectly balanced. i was relaxed but awake, calm but energized, as though i had just emerged from a spa. and that pesky restlessness had finally ceased. i took a walk in town afterwards, drank tea (which i rarely drink) and bought a moonstone ring at a local shop. everything was wonderful and illuminated. i was happy and serene.

that evening, i enjoyed a laughter-filled dinner with my friend and a night of dreamless sleep. as we drove back to LA the following day, the goodness didn’t subside, staying with me for an additional few days. then the tide turned and the bloodletting began.

apparently, chakra clearings can produce some intense side effects that include crying fits, feelings of dread and obsessive thoughts about failed relationships. of course, this disclaimer was nowhere on the warning label. but here came the sorrow, pouring out of me like a fountain of vomit and, despite my best efforts, i could not stuff that genie back in the bottle. i was a mess. so i let it pour and pour it did. for two solid weeks, there were tears, vodka drinks and the replaying of far too many sad songs. it was awesome!

actually, it sucked ass, but it also needed to happen. i knew i had been avoiding the heavy processing i needed to do — taking refuge in work, in my bravado, anything that would distract me from the restless pull that needed to pull me to the ground. of course it won out in the end, as it always has, pulling me to the door of the healer who worked her magic on me and gave me not what i wanted, but what i needed.

now, four weeks after the clearing, i am feeling loads better despite the occasional pulls into mess mode. but i don’t fight them anymore. i let the visits come and snake around me, suffocating me momentarily before releasing their grip and taking the sorrow with them when they leave. i know the visits will become less frequent with time. and i know i’ll keep pushing through them because i have to.

Gone, Baby, Gone

all the comments from the first seven years of this blog have vanished. i’m trying to be all zen about it, but i’m royally pissed off. i’m mostly pissed at myself for ignoring the emails i got notifying me that my old comments service provider, Haloscan, was being taken over and dissolved, taking its database of comments with it.

i should have paid more attention to it, i realize, but i was busy breaking up with my boyfriend and trying to keep my head screwed on. i couldn’t be bothered. so now i’ve been bothering the customer service reps who work for Haloscan’s new owner, Echo, who keep telling me, “your comments are now GONE. didn’t you get our emails?” yes, yes, i got them but aren’t they tucked away somewhere safe? nothing ever really disappears from the internets, right?

ok, so no comments. i’m sure i’ve reread them more than anyone else did, and i will miss them more than anyone else will. it’s all very sad. RIP, my little friends. maybe i should throw them a funeral. or maybe you all should go back and leave some new comments on old posts. we can re-live 2005 together.

in other news, something else important has disappeared: my free time. these past few weeks have buried me under a pile of freelance work that i’m not even close to digging my way out of. august will be my busiest month of this year, with looming deadlines for a magazine i copy edit, a website i’m helping to launch and articles i’ve promised to write. this means blogging will be light this month, which sucks because i have news to share about my awesome new roommate, my visit to a psychic and even a new home improvement chronicle.

on the bright side, my wallet will be heavy, which is good because mama needs a new couch. i also need a massage, a facial, a vacation, a gardener and a cabana boy to peel me grapes. for now, though, i’ll settle for just a little more sleep. the past few weeks have been stressful and the next few will be even worse. but when they’re done, hopefully i can have some serious fun.

One-Hit Wonders: July 2010

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The Elephant in the Room

i’ve been struggling with this post and too many times considered deleting it. i thought i didn’t really need it, that the people closest to me already know this stuff, and that in the interest of moving on i should just move on and never mention that whole breakup thing again.

i worried about writing something i’ll regret, recognizing that the way i feel today is not indicative of the way i’ll always feel. but i suppose the same thing could be said of everything else i’ve written here over the past seven years, so perhaps it’s moot. this is how the conversation with myself has been going — point, counterpoint.

but, ultimately, this is the place where i chronicle the events in my life. it’s as much for me as it is for any audience that cares to read it, and i would be remiss if i didn’t address the breakup of my relationship, which lasted five years and played a major role in my life.

the truth is things were rocky for a while and then got ugly at the end. this is due in large part to the fact that we kept living together after breaking up, a circumstance that made us forget all the reasons we got together in the first place, reasons i’m only starting to remember again with the help of time and distance. it’s a shame, because if this post were written four months ago, when we initially decided to split, i’m sure it would read very differently than it does today.

today, it reads more like relief than grief, more best of times than worst of times. nowadays, i’m happier than i’ve been in months. i’m sleeping better, enjoying the outdoors with my pups more and feeling optimistic about my future again. i’m not saying that to be an asshole; it’s honestly the way i feel. that’s not to say i won’t cherish the memories we shared and all the rest of that jazz, but they all seem so remote to me now, relegated to a past lifetime i no longer want to revisit.

if you’ve been reading this for any length of time, you know that Mo and i have played makeup-breakup a few times over the past five years and you may assume that this is just another one of those breaks. (lord knows enough of my friends have said this to me.) if there is any bright side to the ugly ending, it’s that there is no ambiguity this time. it is over. we are currently not speaking to one another, and as far as i know he has left town. so there is no longing for the past. there is some heartache, yes, but it’s more fleeting than paralyzing. on the whole, i feel pretty good.

though i admit it’s odd to find myself here: newly 34, one year from advanced maternal age, with no partner to walk into my future with. i’d like to think that it will all work out for me in the end — that i’ll find my prince and get my happy ending — but i don’t want to be naive.

i also don’t want to be a cliche, so you won’t find me on jdate among the countless other thirtysomething jewish girls, their clocks ticking, looking to land a lawyer husband. marriage is not my life’s goal. if it happens at all, it will be only once and to the right person.

motherhood, however, is a goal. thankfully, i have several years left before i reach menopause so it’s still on the table. maybe i’ll hit my scary age, visit the sperm bank and go it alone. maybe i’ll adopt with a partner later in life. it could happen in a number of ways, all of them equally valid. of course, my preference is that it happens the old-fashioned way, but i’m no longer beholden to that as the only approach.

which leads me to... dating. re-entering that world both terrifies and excites me. i dread it, but well remember the sweet possibilities it can bring. if nothing else, it should make this blog more interesting to read. though maybe not right away as i don’t intend to become anyone’s girlfriend anytime soon, but i don’t intend to sit in a dark room and cry either.

right now, my only intention is to have a fun summer. i sense myself approaching the requisite post-breakup phase of carefree days and endless socializing. and i intend to enjoy it because i know i’ll become someone’s girlfriend eventually. my heart will reconstitute itself in time and want to be given away again. there will be future blog posts filled with declarations of love and cheek-to-cheek photos.

but until then, the good-time gal is back. i am single and ready to mingle.

34: The Party

cancers rule: because my house is still not ready to receive an influx of guests, the annual birthday party this year was (again) a joint venture held at Raidis’ house and featured a star-studded cast of friends who helped us celebrate our big day in style.


the style: i bought a red dress for the occasion — new shoes, too! — had my makeup professionally done by a kind neighbor and endured this hair treatment called the Brazilian Blowout, which is basically a relaxer for white girls that should make my hair appear freshly flat ironed for three months. in short, i spent way too much money for one night and only regret that i didn’t take my hooker look to the streets to make some of it back. oh well, drinking with Raquel was much funner.


more drinking: Nick and Chad are pretty fly for white guys.


the eating: in case you don’t already know, i’m slightly obsessed with bacon and actually missed a bacon-themed party my friends Michelle and Kevin were throwing on the same day because of my stupid birthday. a dozen bacon-maple doughnuts from Nickel Diner helped me (and Cerreah) grieve.


the twins! i’m not suggesting that all black people look alike, but these two really do. in addition, Phillip and Polly both have names that start with the letter P. coincidence? or just a coincidence? you be the judge.


cute couple alert: newlyweds Damien and Kelly are sort of perfect together.


another cute couple: Wade and Courtney are also newlyweds who met at a party i threw many years ago. i suppose this makes me a jewish matchmaker of sorts.


all the single ladies: Fellas: Grace is also single — and clearly stunning.


the magic chicken: in addition to my bacon obsession, i’m also enamored with a tiny plastic chicken that promises to make all my dreams come true. it works in the same way that a genie does, except that i can ask for more than three wishes. in truth, it works more like The Secret, where you set an intention and the universe delivers.


factory farming: the magic chicken is the brainchild of my crazy friend from espain, Juan, who has spawned quite the cult following for the little bird. there is a Magic Chicken FAQ, a facebook fan page and a customer support number. and here he is inculcating Ann and Justin into the magic chicken army.


Elliot with his chicken: the bright side to my Landmark Forum experience is that i made a friend there. thankfully, Elliot is good natured enough to withstand my merciless teasing about the fact that he continues to take Landmark classes. i’m hoping the magic chicken cult can lure him away.


c/o ’94, represent: i am one of those weird ones who still keeps in touch with her high school friends, mainly because they are fucking awesome. from left to right: Raidis, Marina, Anna, Sergio, Cassie, Mike, Valerie, Suzanne, Cintia, Chris, Nicole.


Sergio, Cassie, Deo: more high school friends doing what we’ve always done, 16 years later. ok, that suddenly sounds very sad. i swear i’ve made friends since high school.


here are some now: Felicita and Bumni ham it up.


there’s only one: the crazy espaniard himself, the chicken pusher, lovely Landmarkian, Keshot founder and long-time friend of mine, Juan Juan Juan, whom i love love love.


another love: have i mentioned how much i love my Ann?


and yet another: and also my Marina?


ok, one more: and Polly too? in addition to a few notable others, some of whom were pictured already — Raidis, Zee, Sharon, Grace, Zahra, Courtney — these girls comprise my life support system.


after midnight: i felt the love flowing all night, sometimes even overflowing, particularly when i slipped into my bacon shirt and was eaten alive by my friends.


what’s that over there!? with a little redirecting to the red velvet cupcakes, i managed to escape unharmed so i could ride out one of the best birthday parties i’ve had in ages. thanks to all who showed and made the first day of my life as a 34-year-old fabulous.

One-Hit Wonders: June 2010

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34

well, hello there. how are you? i am fine, thanks for asking. did i mention it was my birthday recently? i turned 34, which is one of those weird interstitial ages, the bookend of the coveted 18-34 demographic. i suppose i have one year left to be trendy and watch MTV. after then, it’s sensible shoes and VH1.

this birthday sort of snuck up on me, but i’m glad it did. it’s like a cab that arrived just at the moment i needed a ride from one part of town to the other, from one chapter to the next. it’s a fresh start, all new beginnings and seasons changing and tides turning.

except that i don’t really feel a year older this year. so far, 34 has felt a lot like 33, which felt a lot like 32. the years have begun to blend into one another, and i often find myself having to think hard every time someone asks me my age.

the worse part about aging is still the aging part, with my metabolism slowing, wrinkles deepening and gravity winning every battle. each day, i can see my genetics at work, determined to give me the same bunions my grandma had, the same droopy eyelids my mother has. the gray hairs have become relentless. i tire easily. my back aches constantly.

the best part is all that wisdom shit i’ve heard people talk about for years. i’m finally starting to get it. i’m finally starting to get comfortable with the world as it is and my place in it. i don’t sweat the small stuff anymore. i trust my own instincts. i know the areas i need to work on and i know which ones i don’t. i feel clear-headed, driven and in control, secure in the knowledge that i’ll land on my feet because i have to and that life will take care of everything in the same way it always has.

as in years past, this year’s birthday saw a fabulous party held at my friend Raidis’ house, whose own birthday is two days after mine. the party was damn near perfect, with great friends having a great time (photo essay forthcoming). i felt loved and deliriously happy.

this should be a good year.

The Landmark Forum: Day 3 (Part V)

(sorry for the delay in publishing this sucker. if you missed my earlier essays on my Landmark experience, you can find them here; read from the bottom.)

“life is meaningless and we are meaning-making machines.” this is the crux of the Landmark Forum, the conclusion we arrived at after three grueling days of instruction. everything had led up to this, the big transformative lecture, given sunday afternoon at around 4pm, the one that would make us “pop” into our new and improved selves whose futures were brighter than before.

life is meaningless and we are meaning-making machines.

we are all going to be dead one day. you can’t take anything with you. there is no inherent meaning in anything. there are only experiences, which we ruin with our interpretations of them. we project our views onto everything and everyone around us, views whose only function is to reinforce our belief that we are right.

we need our meanings to live, to make sense of the world, to make sense of ourselves, to put everything in a neatly labeled box. we put ourselves in that box, too — with fixed ideas about our strengths, weaknesses and limitations, ideas that are artificial and borne of trauma.

the weekend had been spent examining that trauma and the ideas it has created, ideas that have cemented themselves into the baggage we have carried from one life experience to the next, baggage that has made us self-righteous and self-conscious, that has stopped us from pursuing our dreams and becoming the person we were meant to be.

the time had come to let it go. because the simple truth about life is that things happen and then other things happen. none of it means anything, even when we force it to mean everything. life is just events. and a transformed life is taking those events at face value and not coloring them with our judgments and interpretations. a transformed life is joyful and limitless, positive and fearless, honest and authentic. on this side is nothing, on the other side is everything.

Angie delivered this speech while running around the room. she had clearly given it many times before and knew which words to emphasize and how much eye contact to make. as expected, the crowd drank the kool-aid with great enthusiasm, questioning nothing, with a few vocal dissenters resisting the idea that their lives held no meaning. some people had their head in their hands, crying uncontrollably, while others looked elated, as though all their burdens had been eradicated.

“do you get it? do you get it?” everyone was asking everyone else. a buzz weaved through the room. people were hugging, some were still crying; smiles were everywhere. after being lost at sea for two days, we had finally hit the shore and walked toward it as changed people.

life is meaningless and we are meaning-making machines.

Angie opened the floor up for questions and the hits kept coming, with several suddenly transformed participants gushing about their new personal philosophies and listing the myriad ways their lives would change. the unhappy campers stepped up to the mic as well, looking forlorn and arguing with Angie about purpose and god.

i looked uneasy, as usual — and felt bewildered. i didn’t feel particularly transformed and wasn’t sure whether that made me totally crazy or perfectly sane. why was i resisting so much, i wondered? why was i looking at all these seemingly happy people with such a judgmental eye? why did i refuse to walk toward the light of unfettered possibility, toward a life without the trappings of the past — the baggage of hurt and rejection, disapproval and disdain, ridicule and grief, heartache and disappointment?

why did i cling so fiercely to that baggage now that Landmark threatened to remove it? why did i not want to transform into a blank canvas on which i can create a future that’s more beautiful than the past? “go there,” i told myself. “just let it take over. look at all these happy people around you. don’t you want to be happy like them? what do you need your misery for?”

but i can’t do it. my ego refuses to vanish. it needs the pain. it wants the pain, with its hard-won hurts to linger and learn from. it needs to interpret the events in my life, because events inherently do have meaning. otherwise, it’s just birth, love, school, work, marriage, loss, death, and then the end?

how could i not ascribe meaning to any of it? how would i be able to keep stringing sentences together, sentences that are sometimes about pain and disappointment, about stories aching for interpretation? how could i create a life where meanings no longer existed? i would need to cancel this blog, abandon my Dish-Interested column, stop reading the newspaper and live in a cocoon.

i won’t do it. as corny as it sounds, i need to suffer for my art. i need to accept every ounce of pain that life is kind enough to bestow upon me, because that pain will keep me honest in my work. without it, i’ll have nothing to write about. without it, i’ll lose any heaviness that resides in my heart, the teen angst that still lingers in my soul and the Russianness that defines the very fiber of my being and transform into an over-inspired L.A. asshole who’s high on her own positivity and can only write about one topic: self-help.

me writing articles on self-help? me becoming one of Those People who frames her life in daily affirmations, loads up her shelves with stupidly titled self-help books — “A User’s Manual for the Human Experience,” anyone? — and confuses enlightenment with a moralizing superiority complex that nauseates all her friends? me transform into THAT?

the thought disgusted me.

i looked around again. people were still smiling, seemingly overjoyed with their newfound non-identities — glowing, vibrant and beautiful. they looked alive and, suddenly, they all looked alike: a mass of empty vessels, colorless, humorless, detached, eyes glazed over with a semi-smile etched onto their faces. they had crossed over. i had lost them. i suddenly felt very alone.

“do you get it?” the guy sitting next to me asked. i turned to face him. he looked positively giddy. “life is meaningless,” he said, “so we should just enjoy it and quit worrying about what everything means. that’s so awesome!”

“yeah,” i said, “i got it — years ago. you’ve never heard anyone say that life was meaningless before? didn’t you read ‘The Stranger’ in high school? this is just rehashed existentialism. it’s not that awesome.”

the idea that i was being a bitch didn’t escape me, nor did it bother me much. the idea that i paid $420 and wasted three days on a clichéd motivational seminar that amounted to nothing more than “seize the day” bothered me A LOT.

the dinner break came and i congregated with my newly transformed friends, who were all sorts of happy. it was as though they were all part of a group orgy where everyone came at the same time, everyone except for me. i tried not to play Debbie Downer during dinner and instead ride on the coattails of their good vibrations, which was easy to do as their positivity was quite contagious. i found myself getting contact high.

i also found myself still getting criticized by the group, this time for rejecting the transformation, but i countered their arguments with accusations that they were making meanings out of my actions — meanings Landmark would not approve of.

after dinner, i would congregate with my fellow Landmarkians for one final time. there was a “graduation ceremony” the following Tuesday that i skipped, the one we were encouraged to bring our friends and family to (even if that meant flying them into town) so they could learn about the transformative possibilities of Landmark.

clearly, i didn’t believe in these possibilities for myself, at least not if they were administered by Landmark. while i could get behind some of the coursework — such as examining one’s past in order to make peace with it and living life to the fullest — the mildly abusive coaching sessions, the nonsensical lingo, the emphasis on obedience masked as integrity and the discouragement of independent thought make Landmark Education a company i could never give another dollar to.

because even though Landmark claims to give participants their lives back, it can also take their lives from them. Landmark understands better than anyone the human inclination toward creating meaning, and after chipping away at our identities for two days, Landmark fills the empty space that it created with its dogma. it made sure to do all the thinking for us, with homework every night and assignments at every break that deprived us of any time we could have spent thinking for ourselves.

Landmark filled the gaps, owning us, dominating us, brain-washing us by erasing our personalities and chasing away our quirks and idiosyncrasies — things from our pasts that may scar us, but that also define us as fully formed individuals. instead, we were left with a blank slate on which to create a future of our own making, a blank slate we are told we can do anything we want with.

but we can’t do what we want; we can only do what Landmark wants, because we are no longer in control. and Landmark wants us to take more classes, to hand over more money, to enroll our friends and family in our transformed lives, otherwise our great experiences might end. this is why Angie insisted we drink no alcohol or take drugs during the process. Landmark wanted to be our drug. and it became a drug akin to cocaine, whose addicts feel invincible.

why would we ever want it to end? Landmark has made us feel alive again by re-engaging our senses and awakening us to a world of possibilities that we knew existed yet somehow could never access. Landmark helps us access it now, because Landmark’s promise is power — a power it’s convinced us can only be found in its coursework, even though it’s resided in us all along.

i don’t doubt that plenty of individuals have benefited from Landmark’s coursework, and i admit that i felt invigorated in the weeks immediately following the Forum, as i would have after taking any motivational seminar (which is all the Landmark Forum is). but in time that vigor faded and life became average again.

i suppose i could have returned to the Center and gotten my next fix by enrolling in another course that would have made me feel invincible, only to come down again and then re-enroll and re-enroll until my savings were depleted. but cheesecake is much cheaper. hell, even cocaine is cheaper.

so even though i never suspended my disbelief and reached Landmark’s nirvana of transformation, i am glad i took the Forum. if nothing else, it reminded me of a few basic truths about life and reawakened a few dreams i intend to accomplish in this one. it also helped me appreciate my past as something meaningful that should be cherished instead of discarded, even the miserable parts.

and, despite all its attempts not to, Landmark actually strengthened my personal belief system, making me even more secure in who i am and how i think, so much so that i could fail a self-help seminar and feel just fine about it.

Status Change

i’m single again. actually, i’ve been single for months but circumstances kept Mo and i living together until he was able to secure new accommodations and move out, which he did just a few days ago. so now i’m living alone again, which i suppose makes me officially single.

to commemorate the occasion, i made the (always dramatic) status change on Facebook, moving from In a Relationship to Single. at least i bypassed that nonsensical It’s Complicated phase, though living with an ex-boyfriend does tend to complicate one’s relationship status. i do not recommend it.

the reasons behind our split are also complicated, but ultimately involve some longstanding issues we could never seem to resolve, issues that needed to be resolved before we could move forward as a couple. what those issues are are none of your fucking business. i will say that they do not concern cheating, lying, stealing or any of that type of salacious drama.

if i’m close to you in real life, you probably already know this news anyway. if i know you and haven’t discussed this with you before, i never plan to so don’t ask. and please save your sad eyes and “time heals all wounds” clichés for someone who needs them because there are few things i hate more than being pitied. i already know i’ll be fine.

the truth is i’ve already had a few months to get accustomed to my new status as a single person and i’ve been around the block enough times to know that the world will not end because of my heartache. so truly, i am doing fine. i suppose i could say more about it and maybe should write some sappy referendum on love and life and loss, but i don’t really feel like it right now.