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Entries from July 2008

an uncrazy review of the landmark forum

July 31, 2008 · 32 Comments

WARNING: This is a frickin’ long post. Seriously. Get some popcorn and a couple shots of vodka before you start reading.

I promised a Landmark Forum wrap-up, and here it is. Can’t say I don’t deliver.

To be honest it’s not really what I wanted to write about tonight, and I don’t think it’s going to be wildly entertaining for many peeps. But on the other hand, when I was leading up to my forum weekend I was soaking up every blog post about Landmark I possibly could, whether positive or negative. So I feel like now that I’ve done the forum myself, I should contribute to this dialogue in some way.

Annoyingly, most of the reviews I stumbled upon while I was researching the Landmark Forum had one thing in common – EXTREMISM. (Yes, I used all capitals for that. What of it?) It was either the cheerleaders with their verbal arse-lickings of “OMG! The forum has changed my life! I will never be the same again! The last 45 years of my worthless existence have been completely overwritten! In the immortal words of Yazz and the Plastic Population, the only way is up baby!” or the conspiracy theorists whining “Run! Run away children! It’s a cult! They make you give all your money away and they don’t even let you nick out for a loo break!”

They used a lot of exclamation marks, those damn bloggers.

So anyway, hopefully this will be a more balanced review. I’m going to be completely honest about my experience, but it’s just one girl’s opinion really, so make of it what you will.

For those unfamiliar with the Landmark Forum, the basic facts are that it’s a personal development course that runs over three days in London, around the Mornington Crescent area (and also in many other countries around the world). You’re in a room with around 150 others and one forum leader. My leader was David Ure, who was Australian.

Let’s shoot out some highlights and lowlights.

Highlights

  • Watching one annoying woman’s face fall in the first ten minutes of the weekend when the leader called her a jerk and she realised it wasn’t going to be three days of rainbows and group hugging after all. Cop that, bitch.
  • Putting together the weird little puzzle of events in my life that have led me to where I am with certain people, and then actually being able to wipe that slate clean for good.
  • Realising that one of the most important things to me is having the integrity to keep your promises – no matter how big or small – and finding practical ways to implement that possibility in my life.
  • Being told that life is indeed meaningless, and feeling excited about that fact instead of depressed.
  • Getting real with myself about the insane interpretations I’ve had of things that have happened, and realising that they’re just that – things that happen – and nothing else.

Lowlights

  • This one was pretty key for me. Because I had read so much about the forum and knew what to expect, I got everything David was saying straight away. That was slightly problematic, because I felt that the entire weekend I was “getting” everything on an intellectual level, but not having these amazing “Ah-ha!” emotional moments that it seemed every other person in the room was having. I therefore spent a lot of the weekend worrying that I was missing out on some deeply personal revelation. Don’t do this.
  • There was a lot of yelling. (On the other hand, there was a lot of laughing too.)
  • There were a lot of annoying new-agey types who just wanted to hug everyone and talk about their feelings a lot during the breaks. I tried to discourage this behaviour by pointedly putting in my earphones whenever anyone wearing wooden beads or a multicoloured headscarf started to sidle my way.
  • The hard sell – YIKES. To be honest I don’t know if I’d bother showing up on the last night unless you’re particularly keen to do so. They make a big deal about how you really, really, really, really, REALLY have to come on the last night, and then it turns out they just wanted to recruit your friends and sign you up to the next course. I didn’t get anything else out of the last night, personally.

Just to answer any lingering questions you may have after reading some of the craziness lurking online about the forum, its purpose and its effects, here are some quick FAQ.

Is it a cult?
No. The people who call it a cult are stupid and sensationalist. Calling it a cult makes it sound much more glamorous than it actually is. If I join a cult I expect to be mentally seduced by a charismatic bald guy wearing leather sandals, not called a jerk and told to stop acting like a brat by a middle-aged Australian in glasses and a brown cardigan.

But don’t they take all your money and make you dump your boyfriend and stuff?
I’m not going to lie, it’s pretty damn expensive. Especially when you move into the Advanced Course, the Self-Expression and Leadership Program, etc. But on the other hand, who cares? Obviously the people who do this thing can afford to. They’re not paying for it with three years’ wages from sewing Primark handbags in a sweatshop. If you have the money and inclination, more power to you. You’d only have spent it on cocktails anyway.

There was at least one guy from my forum who dumped his girlfriend during the weekend. He did it over the phone too, while she was still at home somewhere in Eastern Europe – which, just quietly, I thought was a bit shit. But frankly, I think anyone who gets dumped as a result of their partner going to the Landmark Forum was probably going to get dumped anyway. The process just got fast-tracked a little, which is likely for the best. If you’re reading this, Eastern European Dumpee, don’t worry about it. The guy DUMPED YOU OVER THE PHONE. And then he hit on me the next day. And he wasn’t very pretty or interesting. You can definitely do better.

But don’t they use brainwashing techniques like the Koreans used on the Americans after the war or whatever?
Um… no.

Well, they do this thing where they make up really arbitrary rules for the weekend, and you’re expected to make a commitment to follow them. For example, one of the rules is no alcohol or painkillers during the full course of the forum. I definitely took some aspirin on the second day and no form of retribution befell me, so relax.

I’ve seen a lot of blogs where people try to justify this rule as, “Oh, they just want you to keep a clear head, it helps you take in the information better” etc, but actually our forum leader gave no such reasoning, and I don’t believe there was any such reasoning.

My guess is that if you can make someone follow a seemingly pointless rule, and follow it to the letter, unquestioningly… then they’re basically giving themselves over to the whole process and will probably shut off that cynical part of their brain that has to question everything all the time. I’m not saying this is a good or bad thing.

Well, actually, it’s probably good. I mean, the thing is, you’ve paid a lot of money to be there, right? You might as well embrace the concept wholeheartedly, even if it’s just for those few days. I wonder if anything I’ve just said makes sense anywhere outside of my own brain.

Don’t they make you recruit all your friends to do it as well? Isn’t it just a big ol’ pyramid scheme?
Yup. That’s marketing, baby. Hey, they’ve gotta make money, they’re not just in this business to make you feel good about your whiny little problems, jackass.

If you’re going to do this thing, you should know that there is a massive push – especially on the final evening – for you to a) bring everyone you know and have them sign up to the next forum, and b) sign up to do the Advanced Course yourself. I didn’t do either of these things. I do actually plan to do the Advanced Course at some point later this year, and I think it will be really fantastic. But I didn’t want to fork out the cash to do it immediately, and I really want to do it when I know I’ve got time for it in my life and I’m excited about it. Not just because someone is in my face saying, “Oh, you’re not signing up for the Advanced Course? Well, that’s okay. It just means that you don’t ‘get it’. You’ve still got some work to do. Yeah, see those people at the back of the room getting out their wallets? They got it. You didn’t. Sucks to be you.”

Honey, I work in marketing and I have a manipulative mother. I’ve heard it all before.

Do they really not let you go to the bathroom?
Don’t be ridiculous. Why does everyone keep saying this? They do encourage you not to be late and not to miss a minute (“That could be just the minute you need to hear the most!” Whatever…), but there’s no burly woman with a crew cut standing at the door waiting to crash-tackle you if you try to leave.

In closing…
Did I enjoy it? Not the whole thing. That weekend was actually one of the most intense experiences of my life. It was – forgive me for this hackneyed cliché (close your eyes children!) – a rollercoaster ride of emotions (cringe. I’ll be back in a minute; I just have to go scrub myself clean).

There were moments at the end of the night when I was at home in the foetal position on my living room floor crying my over-dramatic little eyes out. There were moments when I felt completely empty and pointless as a human being. But there were also moments of elation, and moments when I actually felt a significant shift in my perception of myself, the people in my life, and life in general. A good shift, I mean.

Am I glad I did it? Yep. Will I do the Advanced Course? You betcha. Would I recommend it? Word.

Okay, I’m bored of this now. I’d like to hear from anyone else who’s done the forum though. Are you a cheerleader, a conspiracy theorist, a little of both, disgruntled, excited, elated?

Thoughts? Feelings? Impressions?

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dear sleazebag, thanks for the sexual harassment

July 22, 2008 · 4 Comments

An odd thing happened as I left Swiss Cottage tube station this evening. I was walking very slowly up the stairs of the Eton Avenue exit while reading the London Lite (on a side note – gosh I love that text message column. I always want to send one in but usually by the time I’m out of the tube and have reception on my mobile, I’ve forgotten all about it. If anybody reading this wants to make me deliriously, girl-squealingly happy, please say hello to me via the London Lite text column. I. Would. Die.), and a man was walking down on the other side.

“Hello baby, you look very beautiful.”

Pffft, I thought, and kept walking.

“I love that sexy dress you are wearing.”

Since the only other person around was the homeless man sitting at the top of the stairs, I figured I could safely assume the guy was talking to me. However, as said dress features a very unsexy print of white baby deer, comes almost up to my neck and goes down to below my knees, and was paired with a buttoned-up black cardigan and opaque black tights, I felt his comment was at best misplaced, and at worst a damn dirty lie.

“Oh yes, very nice darling. And now you say thank you.”

Please allow me to repeat that last bit, just in case you didn’t receive the full impact.

“And now you say thank you.”

I’m sorry… what?

Now I say thank you? Okay, good. I’m glad you told me, actually. Because this isn’t the first time a complete stranger with an unidentifiable European accent has called me baby and made an unsolicited comment about my appearance, and I’ve never known quite how to respond before. To be honest, I would normally go for a stock standard “Fuck off”, but really that’s just out of convenience. I use the phrase so often that it’s never very far out of reach and I don’t have to scramble for it.

Now that I know what the proper response is in situations such as this, I look forward to a much smoother relationship with many of my fellow Londoners.

You know, I guess there have been other times when I’ve leapt recklessly to reactions such as irritation, indignation or disgust, when I could just as easily – and perhaps more suitably – have felt gratitude instead.

So, in the spirit of setting things right…

To the rather large black man who, as I walked past the doorway of a sex shop in Soho one evening a couple of weeks ago, invited me to come in with him “for some fun” – thanks. I know I told you to go fuck yourself, but what I actually meant was that while I already had plans for that particular night, your invitation was certainly appreciated.

To the young men who wake me up every second night yelling at each other across Primrose Hill Road, apparently trying to organise the best time and place for a gentlemanly bout of fisticuffs, or possibly a knife fight (it’s hard to tell through the thick haze surrounding my brain at 2:30am) – merci beaucoup monsieurs. If you ever do manage to coordinate your busy social calendars, give me a shout and I’ll be ringside in a jiffy.

To the anonymous man who called my landline a few weeks ago at 3am to call me darling and enquire about a particularly intimate part of my anatomy when I was home alone, insomnia-stricken and watching Silence of the Lambs on television – muchos gracias, amigo. The ensuing ten minutes of irrational fear that because the phone had rung as I was walking right past it meant you were actually looking inside my apartment made me feel so alive.

To the local fast food joints who incessantly stuff delivery menus into our mail slot… I’m going to ignore for a moment the disturbing question of how you got into our building in the first place, and focus instead on some well-deserved gratitude for your perseverance. It’s true… one can never have too many Sizzling China pamphlets. Thank you for your contribution – not just to the rape and devastation of old growth forests the world over, but also to my own personal Heathrow injection.

Wow. Oprah was right. Gratitude feels good.

Got someone you need to thank? Go ahead, share.

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cult-bound and conflicted

July 10, 2008 · 2 Comments

Just a quick one. Tomorrow I start the Landmark Forum. If my next post kicks off with OMG this is soooooo amazing the forum has changed my life it’s a whole new world of possibilities and rainbows I have so many feelings it feels like a million little butterflies have exploded in my stomach and are gushing up my throat and spewing out of my mouth in a geyser of happiness and life… well, aside from the brainwashery, I’ll obviously be sorely disappointed that I’ve somehow lost the ability to punctuate.

In other news, today I got one piece of very, very good news followed by one piece of very, very bad news. You would think the two would balance each other out and the result would be a fairly level mood of non-emotion, but no. Instead I’ve spent the afternoon lunging wildly from giddy delight to pitiful gloom, interspersed with moments of quiet contentment and sharp, swift pangs of despair.

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dear london, please stop stabbing each other

July 8, 2008 · 2 Comments

Dear London,

I can’t help but notice how many of us have been stabbing each other lately.

Perhaps, as a friend suggested, it is not so much that there is an increase in knife crime, but that the media is increasingly inclined to report on it. I don’t know. Either way, the London stabbings have not been merely brought to my attention; they have been force-fed down my oesophagus like a goose being fattened for foie gras.

Everywhere I go, macabre tallies shriek at me from newspaper headlines.

17 London Teens Stabbed To Death This Year!
No Wait – Make That 18
Oh No, There Goes Another, and Another…

This is getting ridiculous. And, frankly, embarrassing – someone in France called London the ‘City of Blades’ after last week’s tragic fiasco with the two French students who were murdered in their home. “London is a jungle,” people commented on French news sites. “Gangs kill each other with knives, but the English media doesn’t talk about it because these outbreaks of violence are occurring daily so it is no longer shocking.” It’s not that I blame them for having a go, but it’s a bit humiliating to have our civility called into question by the French, of all people.

However, I beg to differ on the English media comment. It seems to me they can’t stop talking about it.

Of course, we can’t prevent the London Lite from dedicating page after page each evening to the most recent stabbing and its fallout (taking up precious print space that could otherwise be occupied by photos of Amy Winehouse falling over), so I feel that we should instead go to the root of the problem – namely, the fact that people keep carrying knives around and stabbing each other with them.

I know it’s not all Londoners who are to blame, but there is a very small minority of us who are ruining it for everyone else. So if you’re reading this, you stab-happy few, I would like to ask you to please stop it. Keep your knives in the kitchen where they belong, and when you leave the house consider replacing your usual weaponry with some nice, useful accessories such as a man bag, a hacky sack, or this cute umbrella.

Naturally I wouldn’t expect you to throw your blades away just because an anonymous blog author asked you to. So allow me to bring your attention to just some of the many mutual benefits of this proposal, for knife-carriers and non-knife-carriers alike.

Knife-Carriers: You will avoid the inconvenience of carrying a heavy, sharp object that you could accidentally hurt yourself or damage your clothing with.

Non-Knife-Carriers: We will avoid death by knife wound.

Knife-Carriers: You will avoid a hefty jail sentence and possible anal rape while imprisoned if (when?) you get caught and charged with murder.

Non-Knife-Carriers: It’s probably worth mentioning the first Non-Knife-Carrier benefit again actually, as I feel it’s an especially good one.

Knife-Carriers: You will avoid ruining your entire life, losing all your friends, having everyone in London hate you and being the subject of a sneering press campaign, not to mention the guilt of knowing you seriously injured another human or ended their life.

Non-Knife-Carriers: We will stop being terrified of London teenagers and return to feeling merely suspicious, disapproving and superior towards them.

I think you’ll agree that this will be a win-win situation for everyone in London. I look forward to your enthusiastic cooperation. If any of the above points need clarification or if you have anything you’d like to add to the proposal, please contact me using the link below.

Yours Optimistically,

Digressica

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begging for it at Hyde Park

July 4, 2008 · Leave a Comment

Saw Jack Johnson, Ben Harper, G. Love and Mason Jennings at Hyde Park with V on Wednesday. It ruled – FACT. Jack is so especially swoon-worthy.

Highlights included a conversation between two girls overheard while standing in the three hundred metre-long queue for the portaloo:

“Are you drunk?”

“No, I’m not like gahhhhhlalala, I’m just a bit like yeah Jack Johnson alright woo.”

“Oh. I’m like yeah woo alright woo.”

One thing that always makes me smile at live gigs is the encore fake-out. You know what I’m talking about. The process goes thusly:

1. Lead singer finishes song and makes announcement something like this: “Right, thanks for coming, we’re outta here, goodnight!”

2. Entire band makes an obviously over-hasty exit

3. The audience clap and cheer a lot, while some people (amateurs) standing around you make nervous comments such as, “Is that it? They’re coming back out aren’t they? I don’t know, maybe they’re not…”

4. A few audience members exit; these are the people who are more excited about an unobstructed departure from the car park or an empty tube carriage than about seeing the act’s best and most built-up-to performance of the night

5. But wait – what’s this? The band! They’re coming back on! Oh, miracle of miracles, it’s as though we’re the best audience they’ve ever had and they simply can’t bear to be parted from us! What ho!

Historically, surely this must be the most enduring public mutual deception in the world. We know it’s a charade. The band knows it’s a charade. But it’s a reciprocal lie that we all actively participate in and enjoy. The band feels like we’ve really, really proved our love for them by screaming ourselves hoarse and clapping our hands raw, and we feel like the band really love us and are giving us our money’s worth by coming back out even after what’s supposed to be their last song.

Just once I would like an act to perform the encore fake-out, but on their return to the stage admit they weren’t really finished anyway, and they’d actually saved their very best material to play only once they felt we, the audience, had properly earned it. Because paying the exorbitant ticket price to see us perform just isn’t enough, damn it. We need you to beg for it.

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let the brainwashing begin

July 1, 2008 · 1 Comment

This year I have witnessed my adored friend LC achieve record levels of happiness, effectiveness and personal Zen. And she wasn’t too shabby to begin with.

LC attributes much of this to a course she took earlier in the year called the Landmark Forum. I can’t say I fully understand the concept, but I’ve done some research and I can tell you the following:

a) Some people call it a cult
b) Some people call it a con
c) Some people call it life-changing
d) LC has never seemed saner to me.

So partly out of curiosity, and partly out of the hope that the forum will have the same neurosis-vanquishing (or at least neurosis-taming) effect on me, I’ve signed up to this (rather expensive) ultimate-transformation-in-a-weekend myself.

Next Friday I’m off to a white-walled office block in Euston to sit in a room with around 100 other self-regarding Londoners who also have too much time and too much money. Possibly to be brainwashed. Possibly to become Digressica 2.0: stronger, faster, better, less annoying.

For just £345 and around 40 hours of my life.

I know it sounds like I’m not into the idea at all, but actually this cynical veneer is more to do with self-preservation than any actual doubts I may have about the merits of the forum. To be honest, if I hadn’t seen a change in LC myself, and if I didn’t know that she’s a clever kitten who’s unlikely to be duped by a well-executed marketing strategy (as she works in marketing, she’s usually the one doing the duping), I wouldn’t have signed up and forked over a chunk of Great British Pounds that could probably buy me a three-bedroom apartment back home in Australia.

But that doesn’t mean I have naive expectations of shedding my obnoxious, self-centred, lazy, commitment-phobic caterpillar skin and becoming a poised, prolific, super confident butterfly. I’m maintaining a healthy level of scepticism about the whole thing, which made it more enjoyable to have this telephone conversation with the guy from Landmark Education who signed me up today.

“So, what made you sign up for the Landmark Forum? What do you want to change in your life?”

“Oh, um… I guess I hadn’t thought about it in great detail.”

“Just broadly though…”

“Just broadly… I guess… um…”

“Improve your career? Relationships?”

“Yeah, that sounds right – career, relationships… productivity…”

“Right. Okay. Good. Career, relationships, productivity. What else?”

“Oh… well it’s mostly just those things.”

“Okay, okay, good. So, aside from career, relationships and productivity, what would you like to get out of the forum?”

“Um… no, it’s still just those things.”

“Okay. Good. And is there anything else apart from productivity, relationships and career?”

“Nope. Just those. But thanks.”

“Great, great. Yeah. Okay, so aside from career, productivity and relationships, have you thought about what else you’d like to get out of the forum?”

“No.”

“Great, great. Okay, so – “

“No.”

“Great.”

I’ll let you know how this thing pans out.

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slash’n'dash at Camden Town

July 1, 2008 · 1 Comment

Gasp and be gobsmacked, friends, for I have been a victim of crime.

Well, the crime didn’t actually happen, per se. Unless vandalism of personal property is a crime. But I think that’s just rude rather than illegal.

Allow me to paint you a picture: It’s Monday evening, 11 pm. I leave the Odeon cinema in Camden as the credits for Prince Caspian roll (preachy flick but nice special effects; more on that later). I stand at the bus stop waiting for the number 31 to take me home to Pretentious Hill – sorry, Primrose Hill. A dodgy-looking dude stands close to me… a little too close. Close enough to make me take a fairly substantial step away.

Then I realise… it’s cool. He’s standing there with (I presume) his girlfriend. Dudes with girlfriends are usually fairly innocuous, I think sensibly. She asks me the time.

“Eleven o’clock,” I say, looking at my watch and smiling. It’s a lie. The time is eleven-oh-three. I feel bad for not telling the truth… maybe she was on her way to something really important, something she couldn’t afford to be three minutes late for. I almost correct myself, but then I remember – I don’t like talking to people.

The bus comes. I get on it. It turns off Camden High Street and up Adelaide Road. It arrives outside my building. I get off, go up to my flat, chat to my housemate V, then go to my room to try on the purchases I made at the Gap earlier this evening. And that’s when I notice it…

My Gap bag has been slashed open.

Dun dun dunnnnnn.

At first I think perhaps I snagged it on something… but I haven’t come into contact with anything that could have made such a long, clean cut. I show V, and she confirms it – you’ve been the victim of a slash’n’dash.

But surely not, I say, still in feeble denial – nothing’s been taken. My new black top and brown cardi are still in the bag.

He probably slashed it and felt around in case you had a wallet or something in there, V tells me sagely. That’s why his girlfriend asked you the time – they do that to distract you while the other one tries to rob you.

Hmm, I say. Well, no harm done. I still have my wallet.

Then it hits me – what exactly is he trying to say by not taking the clothes I just bought? Was it a deliberate choice? Did he not like the feel of the fabrics? The colours? I know they were just wardrobe basics, but still. Did he pull it out, hold it up against himself and check his reflection in a shop window before putting it back? Did he look at the price tag and think, hmmm, summer sales – must be last season’s leftovers? Should I be worried when a would-be thief in a tracksuit and bandana won’t even steal my clothes from me? Maybe he didn’t think his girlfriend would like them.

Well, I’m glad I told that bitch the wrong time. She’ll never get those three minutes back, and I hope she really fucking needed them.

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