That time I maybe joined a cult...

A friend handed me a blank, white credit card and said, "I don't want to say anything else about this except that its... well, it's just cool. You'll get an email in a couple of days.".

A few days later I received a cryptic email saying I'd been sponsored for the Latitude Society. It asked me to input a time and date I'd be available to be at a specific address. Once I input them, it played a short video of scanning the card I'd just received through a card reader outside some ornate, unmarked doors. A few weeks later I found myself outside those same ornate, unmarked doors located somewhere in the heart of San Francisco's mission District. I slid the blank credit card through the nearby card reader and the doors unlocked. I opened them and walked inside, through dark curtains. I was confronted by a classic Alice and wonderland rabbit hole:

It was a narrow room with pulsating lights and a droning soundscape. In front of me was an ornate fireplace with a polished hardwood slide instead of a firepit. The slide went into complete darkness. This was the point of no return. I took a deep breath then slid in, getting knocked from left to right as the slide descended in the dark.

I was unceremoniously chucked out into a dark blue room. There was a ticket taker sitting unmoving behind frosted glass and three doors on my left. I stood up and tried the doors but they were locked. Suddenly, a secret panel opened in the wall. I was presented with a box where I had to place my phone, wallet and any other personal items. Unable to go back or proceed, I had no choice, so I placed what I had in the box and closed the door. When the panel locked shut, I heard a noise and the first of the three doors unlocked. I opened it to be confronted again with darkness. I walked into the dark a few yards before I felt the roof closing in on me. I could only navigate by touch, so I put my hands on the ceiling as it lowered while I walked forward.  Eventually I was crawling on my hands and knees through a space roughly 2.5 feet square. The tunnel turned and climbed hills and valleys till I finally tumbled out into the next space.

 ...A sacred library. 

This library contained an incredible, self-reading one-page book that narrated it's story to me. Once the book had completed it's story, it directed me onward. 

The next hour or so was incredible. Here are a few of the highlights:

-Secret speakeasy with creepy holographic imagery

-mystery bellhop

-tracking locations by ornate copper plates secretly embedded into San Francisco city streets

-a wordless handoff with a stranger in a local bar for a silver coin.

-a hidden arcade where a sentient IA tested my worth.

I came out of the experience baffled. What just happened to me, and who the hell is running something so expensive and extravagant in complete secrecy? 

Well, early this week, the mystery came to an end. Like most amazing ideas that come out of San Francisco, it died once it failed to turn a profit. Apparently such an ornate secret organization takes about 3 thousand dollars a day to maintain, and the inherent problem with a secret society: it can't make cash by advertising. 

The genius and ultimate failure was in the execution. Once someone completed the experience, they were given the option of joining the organization and buying credit cards to give to others. It allowed people, for 30 bucks, to gift someone a singularly unique experience rather than, say, a giftcard that'll probably get used for groceries and instantly forgotten.

So, hat's off to you Latitude Society. You made me feel like a kid again, imagining crazy adventures and exploring secret worlds hidden just under mundane skin of everyday life. You crazy knuckleheads created something truly amazing.

Though very little info about this is available, it being a secret society and all, you can read a bit about it HERE.

The Big Dumb Pool

Temperatures were just shy of 100 degrees over labor day weekend, so we decided to get a kiddie pool for Cammi. I stopped by Target, but they were all out. Although... they did have larger, nicer pools at an end of summer clearance price of 75% off! Sure, Cammi would enjoy a little pool, but this pool we all could enjoy! Just look at the fun that photogenic family on the cover is having!

Plus, easy set up!

The box claimed a water depth of 13 inches. Deep enough to lounge on a small air mattress, but not too deep for Cammi. I ignored the little warning bells that started going off in the back of my head as I struggled to get the heavy box to the checkout counter. When I dragged the box into our backyard and upended it, hundreds of individual pieces, screws and bolts poured out. The "easy" set up was going to take me hours in the hot sun. Even worse, the blue tarp that made up the pool walls looked pretty big. Janna walked out with a look of horror on her face.

"Stop right there." She said,"Don't unpack any more of that. Take it back. It's huge!"

Deep down, I knew she was right, but I'd just spent an hour hauling this brutally heavy and awkward box around. I didn't want to take it right back. Plus, I'd promised Cammi she'd go swimming, and I wasn't about to break a 2 year old's heart, so I soldiered on.

Hours later I was dehydrated and sunburned, but I had the thing installed. It was massive. Forget the 13 inch water depth, the walls were over 3 feet high, and our entire backyard was pool.

I also realized I couldn't fill the thing up in a drought without being a monster, so I filled it with a comical 3 inches of water.

Cammi and I jumped in and played for hours, till our cheeks were rosy in spite of the sunblock. We had a blast, but I knew we had to return it. I told Janna that we'd play with it in the morning, then I'd get to disassembling the thing.

Early the next morning, Cammi and I threw on our swimsuits and rushed out to the pool, only to be greeted by...

A dead squirrel

This was not some random squirrel. We knew him well. The neighbors had named him "Don", and he was a jerk. He spent his days on our back fences squabbling with the neighboring bluejays. If you've never heard the noise a squirrel makes, it sounds exactly like someone loudly and forcefully sucking spit through clenched teeth. He only took short breaks in his tirades to tear up my lawn and bury forgotten nuts and berries. He died like he lived. Pissing me off.

So, that was that. I consoled Cammi, fished out Don and got to disassembling the pool. I didn't want to waste the water, so I pumped it into our empty compost bin, where the water combined with years of caked debris to form brown, compost, dead-bug, squirrel-water that I'd later use to water my sad little drought-lawn for the first time in months.

Disassembling and re-packing the pool took all day in the brutal heat. It was like re-packing a tent, only exponentially worse. Like, you know it must be able to fit into that tiny box, because you remember taking it out of there, but there is clearly now more mass than the box can contain. By the end of day I was defeated, exhausted and soaked in sweat and the filthiest water imaginable. Around 7pm I hauled the torn, re-taped and waterlogged box of pool back into Target. The two kids at the returns counter stared at me glassy-eyed as I told them my story.

"So, what's your return policy?" I asked,"Can you take this back."

Without emotion one of them said,"Our policy... well, we need you to unpack it and spread it out here so we can make sure nothing is damaged, then re-pack it."

"You must be joking." I said, as something died in my soul.

"Yeah, I am." He said as they both broke into hysterics. "Just come behind the counter and help me haul this thing into our salvage section."

Real funny guys.