SF Profile #8: Queen of the Ten Dollar Bill

So today, while waiting for a friend to come by and pick me and Steph up on our way to brunch, I was treated to quite the spectacle.

While standing on the corner of Jones and O'Farrell, I see two cops go into a little shop. Soon after they come out with a woman in tow. She's screaming to high heaven about getting justice and how she wants to see the cops computer to look up her ten dollar bill.

An older black gent comes out of the shop and begins to regale us with the story. Turns out, she was trying to spend a fake $10 bill. I caught a glimpse of it when the cop held it up and I have to say, I was fooled.

Apparently she was too. By reality. She insisted that the cops show her their computer where they could track the bill and see who had given it to her. She knows, without any doubt apparently, that they are tracking her and know where she got the bill from so she can go and get justice. After the cops asked her a few more questions, it turns out most likely she got the bill from the local Jack in the Box. Seriously.

The gent then proceeds to inform us of how some of his "friends" can make a damn fine fake bill. How you starch the paper, how you press the fake paper between starched bills and then iron them so they all look new. And on, and on, and on.

I was quite thankful that 1. the cops didn't overhear our conversation and that 2. our friend Jay pulled up shortly thereafter to whisk away to brunch. I had some very authentic corned beef hash.


Apparently, I am the church type.

Church has never been that comfortable for me. I like the idea of community. I like the idea God's love without condition. I like the idea of celebrating life and our ability to live it. To me, that's not church. So many churches seem to try and draw lines between people. We're right, they're sinners. Our word is the only word, God told me so.

As a result, I haven't done a lot of church.

That may be changing. I think I've found a place that I can feel good about. A place that reads the Bible but also reads the Hebrew Bible. A place that is open to all sacred texts and what they have to teach us. A place that puts love and acceptance ahead of divide and conquer.

It's a church called Glide and they definitely take a different approach. All are welcome regardless of belief, sexuality or situation. They have a 60 million dollar budget that almost all of goes to feeding those in need, providing shelter for those who have none and job help in times that certainly need it.

Oh and these folks know how to sing. Loud. Not to mention preach. With fire. And in ways that you know in your heart is right but ways that aren't always easy to hear.

Next time I might even need one of the tissues they hand out throughout the service.

1 out of 2 wrists agree, snowboarding not fun.

Spent the days after New Year's on the slopes trying to do something I should have done when I was young and still made out of rubber: learning to snowboard. Those who snowboard say that learning takes three days. On day one, you get comfortable standing on the board and falling on your head. On day two, your sort of figure out where your edges are and start to turn. Usually one side is easier than the other. On day three, you link a couple turns together and you begin to understand why skiers become snowboarders and snowboarders don't really become skiers. Basically, when you're not being whipped onto your face, it's awesome.

Things heard on day 1:

1. To me while we're sitting on the lift: "Sweetie, did you know your nose is bleeding?" No, no I didn't.

2. From high above on the lift: "Ooooooooohhhhhh." You know you've wrecked good when you're upside down, on your helmet and you hear that.

I also managed to invent new four letter words when I landed on my right wrist several times. My first purchase off the mountain that night was a set of wrist guards. These were the only reason I made it through day 2 and 3.

All those complaints aside, I do own my board and boots so I guess I'm stuck with the awesome.