Thought the place is still under construction, promises of brunch are already being made at the former Paradise Lounge space at 11th and Folsom.
As far as I was aware they hadn’t decided on a name; none was listed on their liquor license. But the signage indicates that it will be called “Calle-11.” They don’t seem to have a web presence yet.
And no that’s not your mind playing tricks with you, the building is painted two different shades of blue at the moment.
Jamie Zawinski, owner of the nearby DNA Lounge posted a full history of the place a few years ago. The last part about the club’s previous owner’s destruction of the place is especially notable:
So they took a completely functional nightclub, that needed at best a coat of paint and some re-upholstery, and they destroyed it. It’s been empty ever since, and at this point, if someone gave you that business for free, I’ll bet you’d be half a million dollars away from selling your first beer.
That sounds about right, except his estimate of “half a million dollars” looks like it was optimistic. According to permits on file with SF Planning, the construction costs exceeded $2 million.
During construction the building was stripped down to its shell and the interior was rebuilt from scratch. This time around, the place features a roof deck which — If nothing else — should be a great place to sip a beer and watch public spankings at Folsom Street Fair below.
This even made it into Fox News. When they covered an unrelated story on my blog, they described MrEricSir.com as so:
The sign was first reported by the MrEricSir blog, whose other topics of interest include posts headlined: “A look behind Obama’s Mars Teleportation Scandal” and “Lisbon’s Super Mario Bros. Obsession.”
To be fair to Fox News, that’s a pretty accurate description of the kind of bullshit I tend to write about here.
Recently there’s been a major development in Basiago’s story: he’s running for president! According to his campaign website, Basiago is “a prominent figure in the Truth Movement.” Here’s a few of his campaign promises:
The President should list the Sasquatch under the provisions of the Endangered Species Act.
The President should foster global development by promoting daily per capita egg consumption.
The President should declassify and reveal the technologies in America’s time travel arsenal.
The President should end the ET cover-up in a live, televised address to the American people.
The President should issue an Executive Order banning all chemtrail spraying by US agencies.
Basiago claims to be an avid time traveler, and as such I’d presume he already knows the outcome of this election cycle. So while he may not have the financial backing of more mainstream candidates like Clinton or Trump, this guy has some inside information that may propel him to victory.
But what a strange coincidence that we’d have two presidents in a row who both once teleported to Mars at the same time. What are the odds!
If he’s not elected, we can only assume the time traveling extraterrestrials colluded with the United States government to rob this man of his rightful position as POTUS.
The fourth chapter of The Jejune Institute’s saga, “The Lost Mixtape” was an adventure that took place with a group of strangers in the Chapel of the Chimes in Oakland. Eva Lucien, the hero of the story, guided participants through a tape on a golden boombox.
You can read more about it on producer Uriah Findley’s website here, see a brief participant’s video of some of the action here, or if you’re really curious, check out the pseudo-documentary film The Institute for a more comprehensive look at the entire story.
As a participant, after completing this fourth chapter our group was asked to work together to create a mixtape and a write up describing what happened. In my group I was tasked with writing duties, others handled the mixtape. This material was all shared freely among all the groups who completed the chapter on a website. Sadly, that website no longer exists.
I’ve barely thought of this recently — until today. This morning my web host sent me an email notifying me that they’d upgraded one of my sites that I’d long ago taken offline and forgotten about. Curious, I FTP’d into the virtual server and found a single file called “our_story.txt.” I’d like to share that file openly today. I’ve removed all names (aside from my own) to protect everyone’s identity and corrected a couple grammar mistakes.
Attempting to describe everything Nonchalance, the studio behind The Jejune Institute, has put me through over the years generally makes me sound like a raving lunatic. (See also this and this.) So don’t expect anything different here. But first I should include a bit of context so my write up makes at least some degree of sense.
The Chapel of the Chimes is a beautiful columbarium in Oakland, designed in part by Julia Morgan. It’s often used for various concerts and art events.
“Eva” is the hero of the overall story, a young woman who disappeared to a mysterious other world known only as Elsewhere.
“Eva’s Fairy Tree” is a specific tree in the median of Dolores Street, first mentioned in the second chapter.
“Hobo Glyphs” is likely a reference to Nonchalance’s logo, which is basically a hole with rabbit ears (a rabbit hole… get it?)
The people following us with cameras were probably taking footage to be used in the film The Institute. From what I can recall, they mostly stayed out of our way.
“Terrance” was a fictional character, a member of Eva’s crew, aka The Savants.
“Octavio” refers to Octavio Coleman, Esquire, founder and head of The Jejune Institute.
Without further ado, here’s the story as I wrote it down at the time:
THE STORY OF THE MARBLE CAKE EIGHT
None of us were total strangers. I mean, not all of us had met in person before that Saturday morning in Oakland, but we’d exchanged e-mails. It goes further than that… on one hand we were mostly strangers to one another and yet on the other hand, hadn’t we all shared unusually similar experiences? Cult inductions, protests, radio shows, even dance moves.
For the first time, we found ourselves together, confronted with a task we had to work together and trust one another to solve. Completing this mission individually would not be possible.
—
It all started one day when a mysterious woman called us from a number in Southern California, giving each three unique mantras, a cardinal or intercardinal direction, and a date. Postcards followed with more clues.
From there we didn’t know exactly what to expect, or when we would find out more. It was a waiting game.
One Wednesday evening, Mr. Eric Sir received a text message informing him to arrive at Eva’s Fairy Tree at exactly 8 PM. He found a note on the tree: “LOOK RIGHT.”
He turned right and walked over to the curb, where a mysterious woman was standing.
“Is this right?” he asked.
She pressed him for his intentions, and slowly began to trust him. Then she brought out a strange plastic instrument.
“I’m going to play a song. A blues song. You need to make up a song, a lyric, that makes you feel blue.”
After some hesitation, Eric arrived at some lyrics. The mystery woman put the instrument away and pulled out an envelope that said “Mr. Eric Sir.”
The envelope contained a secret e-mail address that connected him to a group of eight people, along with a meeting location. The game was underway.
—
On Saturday, March 13th, the eight of us met up on a residential street in Oakland. We were [NAMES REDACTED].
[NAME REDACTED] flipped on his camcorder and we got to work.
We discovered the postcards contained clues that led us down a path. Along the way, Hobo Glyphs seemed to direct us somewhere. But where?
At the end of the path, after some confusion, our postcards indicated we were to enter a mortuary. From there we arranged ourselves in a circle and recited our mantras, one by one, in a circle.
—
The Chapel of the Chimes mortuary is a beautiful place, calm and serene, yet elegant and almost maze-like. It would be easy to get lost.
From our mantras, we deciphered a path up a staircase and through a door. There we entered a small room with an 80’s boom box that had been painted gold and patterned with floral adhesives.
We hit play. The hiss of the tape started, echoing slightly in the stone room. A voice we all knew to be Eva’s came from the boom box.
“You always knew you’d find me here,” she said, ominously. We didn’t know what to expect.
—
Eva’s voice instructed us to find a vase, which we discovered high up the wall. A metal implement removed the vase from the wall. It was filled — to almost everyone’s horror — with blindfolds. Several of us let out nervous laughs.
North, West, South, and East were instructed to take a mask; and to put the mask on the other person. We were told to take the boom box while the cardinal folks walked slowly, following Eva’s instructions, and with the hands of the intercardinal folks on the shoulders of their sighted companions.
—
Surprisingly, this walk went without many issues. Even the stairs proved of little trouble. We arrived in a garden, where Eva let us relax for a few minutes without the blindfolds on.
Soon the inevitable happened; Eva asked partners switch to tasks. Blindfolds were exchanged, and we got back to our game of follow-the-leader.
—
Another break in a garden and masks were removed. We decided to pause the tape for a bit and explore, taking photos and admiring the gardens, statues, and curiously-themed urns.
But not for long. We got back to the tape and quickly learned there was another “gift” for us in another vase. Surprisingly, we found four more blindfolds. But for what? We couldn’t all be blindfolded, could we?
—
Yes, we could.
Arranged in order of height, we faced the back wall of the room and put our blindfolds on. “Turn to the right,” Eva’s voice instructed (a task not everyone was able to follow) and put your hands on the person in front of you.
[NAME REDACTED], the shortest of the group, was in the front of the line. Should he start walking? He continued holding his camcorder and waiting for further instructions.
But instead of instructions, his camcorder hand was pushed down by a mysterious woman, who then grabbed him and started taking us around. Those of us behind him and no idea what was happening. We hoped that someone was in front of us, or we might end up in a big pile somewhere.
A few blind yards later, we ended up in another indoor garden. The tape eventually instructed us to remove our masks. We did so, and discussed briefly what had transpired.
—
Tape back on, we were directed into a small room by Eva’s voice. After a cheesy sort of guided meditation that resulted in, well, laughter, we were told to discard the boom box in this room along with the blindfolds.
She offered us one final direction, which was to enter another small room two doors away. [NAME REDACTED] found a flower inside a “vase” which turned out to be a map. The map directed us to another small room.
—
The final room we visited contained a short letter from Terrance, a full-color copy of Eva’s diary, and a golden mixtape.
We were instructed by Terrance to name our group, to record our own mixtape and write down our story (which you’re reading now.)
—
Before we left, we had some immediate questions;
1. Who was the woman who pulled [NAME REDACTED] around? He consulted his camcorder. Only a brief moment of footage of her exists on the camera. It seemed possible that she was the same mysterious figure who met with Eric prior to the event.
But still: who was she?
2. Many of us sensed that we were being followed. One man walked by several times with a camera. Was he taking pictures of us for some reason? Perhaps he was affiliated with Terrance? We had no answers.
—
After a lunch of some delicious sushi, we deliberated our group’s name before calling it a day. Some ideas were tossed around. [NAME REDACTED] suggested “Marble Cake Eight”, a reference to a Time.com poll influenced by the clever hackers at 4chan. This name stuck (despite some protests.)
—
EPILOGUE
Perhaps there’s another way of looking at this. Our mission brought together eight of us. Could we be… a family? A recondite family? Was the exercise with masks a trust-building exercise? Does that mean we experienced an expansion of “inter-personal trust”? Could it be that Octavio’s plan for us is coming true? What does this even mean?
Maybe it was a coincidence but my questions in the epilogue section turned out to be right on. At the controversial ending of the story, the Socio-Reengineering Seminar in 2011, it was revealed that although we thought we were rebelling against The Jejune Institute, in fact we’d been playing into their hands the entire time. And in fact, we were building a “recondite family” through shared experiences and trust building exercises.
Discovering this text file on a long forgotten website that’s no longer online was a real blast from the past, and I’m glad I happened to come across it. The events described here occurred well over five years ago. While it was an unforgettable experience overall — easily one of my favorite parts of The Jejune Institute — I have to admit I had forgotten many of the smaller details over the years.
So I’m publishing this blog post not only as a reminder for forgetful folks such as myself who went through this chapter of the Jejune saga, but also for like minded folks who are interested in situational and immersive design. Nonchalance clearly put a large amount of work into this wonderful production, and I’d hate for many of these details to be lost to time.
On the side of The Willows, a bar at the corner of Folsom and 12th Street, there’s a mural featuring Nintendo’s Super Mario Bros. Which is nice and all, but it raises an obvious question: is this the only Super Mario Bros. street art in all of San Francisco?
This development seems especially surprising given that Europe’s version of San Francisco has an obsession with Super Mario Bros. that’s reflected in both their street art and names of businesses.
If we want our street art scene to be competitive with Lisbon’s, we have a lot of catching up to do. If we work together and we work hard, we can address this important citywide issue.
And if you go chasing rabbits And you know you’re going to fall Tell ’em a hookah-smoking caterpillar Has given you the call Call Alice When she was just small
Local street artist fnnch has plunged the former T-Mobile store at 20th and Mission under the sea. The 20th Street side of the building is now covered in a series of orange squid, with the Mission side getting a spattering of yellow starfish. If the starfish look familiar, you’ve probably been by Ritual recently, where two similar starfish can bee seen on the sidewalk by the nautically-themed parklet.
Of course all of these homages to the sea are a little out of place in the Mission, since the actual sea is only a couple neighborhoods away in almost any direction.
One of the few places to find actual underground murals in the Mission these days — in other words the kind explicitly not approved by some shady collective — is Osage Alley. Instead of stale and increasingly contrived attempts at political statements, at Osage Alley you’ll mostly find the funky old school and copyright-agnostic murals that the Mission was once known for.
The murals on this two and a half block long alley change frequently. For some of the previous art, check out the images on Google Street View.
In the previous entry I discussed The Latitude’s Book One experience. We’ve already met Professor Kinley, been scolded by Quas, and joined The Latitude Society. This post concerns the second and final experience in The Latitude before it closed.
Unlike the first part where your ascendant paid your way in, you had to buy Book Two on your own. When I went the cost was $35.
Book Two
When scheduling Book 2 you were told to ask a question, though it was noted that no answer would be provided. Mine was “How do I know this isn’t all a dream?” Once again you made an appointment at an address in the Mission District with a five minute window. You head to the address and once there, you text a certain phone number with the ID code on the back of your white invite card. Suddenly the door buzzes open and you enter.
From the entrance hall you head upstairs to find the suite number you’ve been provided via text message. Again, you find a door with a card key entry system. You swipe your card and push the door open.
Inside is a small room. On the floor there’s a big pedestal in the middle with a bust of Quas on top. A hidden projector above you is projecting a video of a mouth on the bust.
On the ground there’s two black orbs suspended on stilts in front of you, and on both sides there’s v-shaped boards on the floor holding back a thick layer of sand on either side.
Quas immediately starts talking to you. He mumbles a lot and you’re not quite sure what he’s saying except that he seems grumpy. He tells you to put your hands on the orbs so he can learn more about you.
As soon as you do that, the lighting gets brighter. Quas becomes very animated and tells you that he has some kind of adventure for you to complete. He stops talking and the lights fade out in the room. A sound effect plays as a small opening in the pedestal lights up. You walk up to it and see a small magic wand lying in black sand.
Instinctively you pick up the magic wand. It’s a plastic cylinder with an area carved out on one end with some symbols carved into it. The symbols seem to correspond with the logos for The Latitude’s “books.” One end is rounded and the other end is flat.
You leave the building and get another text message.
BART Ride
The text message indicates that in about 45 minutes you have an appointment downtown at something called the “Alluvium Chamber.” The instructions say to take BART and link you to a podcast called a “Mantis Track” which you should listen to on the way there.
The podcast is similar in format to an All Things Considered interview, and the subject of the episode is a woman who claims to perform some type of magic. She says she uses a device that sounds strangely familiar to your new magic wand. She refers to it as an “Abraxis Stone.”
She goes on to describe BART as a “third space” where it’s neither work nor home but something in between, a place anything can happen. Like a public park.
As the interview continues she describes what she calls the “shoe game.” The game works like this: as you’re in the train station and on the train, look at the shoes that other people are wearing. Those wearing formal, uncomfortable shoes are likely on the way to work and thus in a state she calls “Prime.”
After getting off BART and mulling around for a bit, you enter the building. It’s a historic downtown high rise with a small but beautiful lobby and rickety old elevators. As the text message suggests, you simply tell the doorman you have an appointment at a certain suite number.
Alluvium Chamber
The floor you end up on has a very film noir feel to it. You find the door, which is clearly labeled “The Latitude Society.” There’s a hexagon on the frosted glass door. You hold the curved end of your Abraxis Stone up to it, and the door clicks open.
Inside you step on to a small series of planks just inside the door, which are rested on a thick layer of sand which covers the floor of the entire room.
I want to step back for a minute here: this is the fourth commercial space that Nonchalance has rented for this incredible project. This one’s got to be expensive because it’s in such a nice location downtown, and they’ve covered the entire floor of an office in sand.
Bold? Crazy? Insane? It’s a difficult call.
Standing on the planks, on your left is a framed photo of a naked footprint in sand. On your right there’s a canvas sail functioning as a curtain, and a wood box with shoe prints painted inside.
So you abide the suggestion and take your shoes off and put them in the box.
You walk into the sand and take a look around. In the middle of the room is a hexagonal table with a sandbox built in to the top. Near the entrance is another set of doors that’s locked. On all other sides of the room there’s various toys and knick-knacks on various shelves. The lighting is very playful with different colors fading in and out.
But in the corner facing the entry is another book. You head to the book and open it.
First, the book tells you to take the hourglass in front of you and flip it over. You do that.
Then, the book tells you that you have the next 30 minutes or so to find items in the room and arrange them in the sandbox however you see fit. The book instructs you to come back and turn the page once you hear a foghorn.
You walk around the room, find some objects that you like, and arrange them in the sandbox. You may move the sand around here and there, and add and remove objects. Perhaps the plastic dinosaurs would look better than the LEGO bricks? Try whatever you like.
Finally the foghorn blows, and you head back to the book and turn the page.
Now it’s time to make some decisions, the book says, and you have a couple more minutes to arrange things how you like.
So you go back and move some things around. Maybe the crystal ball would make a good centerpiece? Or should you try to squeeze the plastic flowers in somehow? It’s up to you.
After another 10 minutes the foghorn goes off again and you check back in with the book, turning the page again.
Now the book tells you it’s time to put everything back where you found it like a responsible adult, and take the brush and make the sandbox nice and level again. So you heed the book, destroying your creation and setting everything up for the next person. On the way out you turn the book back to the first page, put your shoes back on, and leave the building.
When you get back to your “glowing boxes” you open The Latitude website. Now Professor Kinley had some updates for you on his sea voyage. He explains to you in an exposition-heavy monologue about the concepts of Flux, Flow, and Prime. According to him, Prime is the every day state we’re in for our job, taking care of our families, etc. Flow is the psychological concept of the same name, also known as being “in the zone.” Finally, Flux is the state that bridges the two. Presumably the “Flux chamber” back in Book One was intended to jar you into the state of Flux, although this is never explicitly stated.
Additionally, there’s a new symbol under your profile indicating that you’ve completed Book Two. Clicking it leads to a second recap page (link goes to the new public version) (Update:here’s the Archive.org backup version) which mentions your question but doesn’t answer it.
Unbeknownst to you there were several hidden cameras in the Alluvium Chamber’s sandbox snapping random photos along the way. These images appeared on your private Book 2 recap page, which is no longer online. If you hadn’t saved these photos you’re out of luck.
I accidentally blocked the view of most of the cameras, but it managed to pick up two images of me playing in the sand. Click for larger versions of the images:
Next time: some thoughts on The Latitude, Nonchalance, and some inevitable comparisons to The Jejune Institute. I’ll also detail the “society” aspect of The Latitude Society and various other trivia that didn’t fit into the first two posts.
