reflections on the summer
Yesterday I arrived safe and sound at the San Francisco International Airport. It's good to be back home.
The day after Senior Graduation, I flew to Florida, where I would spend the majority of my summer with extended family. The second and third weeks were our beach weeks, where we spent time at our usual spot in New Smyrna Beach, near Daytona Beach (where they have the race track and more importantly, the Krispy Kreme). After those two weeks, I went directly to a camp called "Elevate", held by Southland, a youth conference organization in Florida. The actual camp was held in Lookout Mountain, Georgia at Covenant College. It was fun, but I hardly knew anyone that I went wiht (except for a few, of course), but didn't find it to be a life-changing experience. Wayne Kerr's worship jams were getting pretty old.
After three weeks of nonstop activity, I was pooped, but preparing for yet another youth conference the following week at RYM (Reformed Youth Movement). Though the camp itself is supposedly wonderful, I was too exhausted and unmotivated (due to the fact that I wouldn't know anyone when I got there), and dreaded yet another week of camp. Luckily, that week was cancelled because of transportation complications. That week (the fifth week) and the four weeks that followed were spent with my cousin, Jeremy, hangin' out and just being guys. We must have driven in his truck to get slurpees from 7-11 at least a thousand times. We had a good time together.
There were a few notable activities in those last four weeks. The 21st-23rd of July were spent in Fort Myers (the most abysmal city on the face of this earth) for my cousin's wedding. Fort Meyers is absolutely the last place I would want to live. There's one main road, and it leads to everything, but it takes forever to get anywhere because of constant heavy traffic and ridiculously long stoplights. The wedding was fine, a bit cheesy/awkward at times, but enjoyable and memorable indeed.
My sister, my friend Jessica Thompson, and I spent a few days in Universal studios the week before the wedding, and we had a great time together, though Universal Studios was generally a disappointment. Most of the rides were pretty stupid. We had some great Lebanese food, though, which I have constantly craved since that day. If you ever get the chance to try that stuff, don't miss the opportunity, it's pretty amazing. Just thinking about it makes my mouth water.
Nothing else really happened. Jeremy and I hung out, got a lot of slurpees, watched a lot of TV. That's a good snapshot of what I do every summer. This one has been the longest.
What is Lakeland like, some of you might ask? It's not a podunk little town, though it is small. Because of various franchises (ownership of Publix, which is like our Safeway), Lakeland is a wealthy city. It's a nice place to live, and it's clean. The city council has some strange obsession with abstract art, randomly placing gigantic steel somethings in random places. One in particular is in front of a lake, and looks like a bucket of confetti is being dumped into it.
Lakeland doesn't have much of a restaurant selection. They have some decent places, like Chili's and some other chains, along with Palace Pizza, which is one of the most exciting places to eat pizza because it's NOT a Pizza Hut, or a Dominoe's, or a Papa John's, or a Hungry Howie's, all of which have horrible pizza. Palace is decent, but you would think it's the best thing in the word by the way people talk about it and the frequency of their visits. I ate at Palace Pizza at least twice a week, often three times. Generally, though, there isn't much variety, and that's a bit disappointing. People who live there, generally speaking, don't like to try different foods. American food, Italian food, crappy Chinese food, and Mexican food are plentiful, but not much of anything else. My grandmother orders a plain salad with ranch dressing almost everywhere she goes, and she eats out every night. I had two home-cooked meals; the first was tacos, the second was taco salad (which is tacos without tortillas). One girl said she would give me five dollars if I ate a slice of vegetable pizza, as if it were some kind of huge feat or dare. I looked at her, stunned, disbelieving, but she was completely serious, and cringed when I said that I had already been considering a slice. Not everyone is that extreme in their pickiness, but most are very reluctant when it comes to trying new things. It's frustrating to have people constantly gag and moan at the mention of some of my favorite foods, especially when they haven't even tried it (which is almost always the case). San Francisco has made me appreciate a variety of foods, from a variety of cultures. My Aunt, who will remain nameless, was ordering Cuban food from a menu with my Mom's help, and refused to order an impanada, which is a delicious, crispy pastry (about the size of a taco, but not a corn tortilla) with seasoned ground beef inside, sprinkled with sugar. It's one of the most divine dishes in the world, and I could probably eat twenty of them without thinking twice. Without even thinking, she scrunched up her nose and insisted that she didn't like it. "Have you tried it?" my mother asked. "No." The point is, God didn't make all kinds of different foods for us to never enjoy it. He meant for us to have countless possiblities in our diets, and I know that because he gave us taste buds. If He wanted us to eat the same, we'd eat gray hash every day.
Gay jokes get old. Whenever I meet new people, they seem friendly enough, but usually they act differently upon discovering that I live in "Satan's Vacation Home", otherwise known as San Francisco. "Wow, so you must know some gays." That's usually the response I get. That type of thinking among Christians is so twisted and anti-gospel, I can hardly contain my frustration. All the time, pastors from our previous denomination (the PCA) would ask my Dad, "So, what are you doing about all those gays?", and in response, my Dad would ask, "Well, what are you doing about adultery?" Homosexuality, for some reason, is held on some high pedestal of grand importance above all other sexual sins. San Francisco is the political seat of the gay population, but certainly not the most populated. There are more gays in Atlanta, Georgia than in San Francisco, California. And that's a city in the south, where you would think there are no gays at all, by the way people talk about them. Not that the amount of gays even matters. I'm tired of my city being regarded as a more sinful place than anywhere else. It's un-Christian and anti-gospel to think otherwise.
I love living here, but I hate it when people are out of touch with reality, particularly Christians, who should know better.
The day after Senior Graduation, I flew to Florida, where I would spend the majority of my summer with extended family. The second and third weeks were our beach weeks, where we spent time at our usual spot in New Smyrna Beach, near Daytona Beach (where they have the race track and more importantly, the Krispy Kreme). After those two weeks, I went directly to a camp called "Elevate", held by Southland, a youth conference organization in Florida. The actual camp was held in Lookout Mountain, Georgia at Covenant College. It was fun, but I hardly knew anyone that I went wiht (except for a few, of course), but didn't find it to be a life-changing experience. Wayne Kerr's worship jams were getting pretty old.
After three weeks of nonstop activity, I was pooped, but preparing for yet another youth conference the following week at RYM (Reformed Youth Movement). Though the camp itself is supposedly wonderful, I was too exhausted and unmotivated (due to the fact that I wouldn't know anyone when I got there), and dreaded yet another week of camp. Luckily, that week was cancelled because of transportation complications. That week (the fifth week) and the four weeks that followed were spent with my cousin, Jeremy, hangin' out and just being guys. We must have driven in his truck to get slurpees from 7-11 at least a thousand times. We had a good time together.
There were a few notable activities in those last four weeks. The 21st-23rd of July were spent in Fort Myers (the most abysmal city on the face of this earth) for my cousin's wedding. Fort Meyers is absolutely the last place I would want to live. There's one main road, and it leads to everything, but it takes forever to get anywhere because of constant heavy traffic and ridiculously long stoplights. The wedding was fine, a bit cheesy/awkward at times, but enjoyable and memorable indeed.
My sister, my friend Jessica Thompson, and I spent a few days in Universal studios the week before the wedding, and we had a great time together, though Universal Studios was generally a disappointment. Most of the rides were pretty stupid. We had some great Lebanese food, though, which I have constantly craved since that day. If you ever get the chance to try that stuff, don't miss the opportunity, it's pretty amazing. Just thinking about it makes my mouth water.
Nothing else really happened. Jeremy and I hung out, got a lot of slurpees, watched a lot of TV. That's a good snapshot of what I do every summer. This one has been the longest.
What is Lakeland like, some of you might ask? It's not a podunk little town, though it is small. Because of various franchises (ownership of Publix, which is like our Safeway), Lakeland is a wealthy city. It's a nice place to live, and it's clean. The city council has some strange obsession with abstract art, randomly placing gigantic steel somethings in random places. One in particular is in front of a lake, and looks like a bucket of confetti is being dumped into it.
Lakeland doesn't have much of a restaurant selection. They have some decent places, like Chili's and some other chains, along with Palace Pizza, which is one of the most exciting places to eat pizza because it's NOT a Pizza Hut, or a Dominoe's, or a Papa John's, or a Hungry Howie's, all of which have horrible pizza. Palace is decent, but you would think it's the best thing in the word by the way people talk about it and the frequency of their visits. I ate at Palace Pizza at least twice a week, often three times. Generally, though, there isn't much variety, and that's a bit disappointing. People who live there, generally speaking, don't like to try different foods. American food, Italian food, crappy Chinese food, and Mexican food are plentiful, but not much of anything else. My grandmother orders a plain salad with ranch dressing almost everywhere she goes, and she eats out every night. I had two home-cooked meals; the first was tacos, the second was taco salad (which is tacos without tortillas). One girl said she would give me five dollars if I ate a slice of vegetable pizza, as if it were some kind of huge feat or dare. I looked at her, stunned, disbelieving, but she was completely serious, and cringed when I said that I had already been considering a slice. Not everyone is that extreme in their pickiness, but most are very reluctant when it comes to trying new things. It's frustrating to have people constantly gag and moan at the mention of some of my favorite foods, especially when they haven't even tried it (which is almost always the case). San Francisco has made me appreciate a variety of foods, from a variety of cultures. My Aunt, who will remain nameless, was ordering Cuban food from a menu with my Mom's help, and refused to order an impanada, which is a delicious, crispy pastry (about the size of a taco, but not a corn tortilla) with seasoned ground beef inside, sprinkled with sugar. It's one of the most divine dishes in the world, and I could probably eat twenty of them without thinking twice. Without even thinking, she scrunched up her nose and insisted that she didn't like it. "Have you tried it?" my mother asked. "No." The point is, God didn't make all kinds of different foods for us to never enjoy it. He meant for us to have countless possiblities in our diets, and I know that because he gave us taste buds. If He wanted us to eat the same, we'd eat gray hash every day.
Gay jokes get old. Whenever I meet new people, they seem friendly enough, but usually they act differently upon discovering that I live in "Satan's Vacation Home", otherwise known as San Francisco. "Wow, so you must know some gays." That's usually the response I get. That type of thinking among Christians is so twisted and anti-gospel, I can hardly contain my frustration. All the time, pastors from our previous denomination (the PCA) would ask my Dad, "So, what are you doing about all those gays?", and in response, my Dad would ask, "Well, what are you doing about adultery?" Homosexuality, for some reason, is held on some high pedestal of grand importance above all other sexual sins. San Francisco is the political seat of the gay population, but certainly not the most populated. There are more gays in Atlanta, Georgia than in San Francisco, California. And that's a city in the south, where you would think there are no gays at all, by the way people talk about them. Not that the amount of gays even matters. I'm tired of my city being regarded as a more sinful place than anywhere else. It's un-Christian and anti-gospel to think otherwise.
I love living here, but I hate it when people are out of touch with reality, particularly Christians, who should know better.
posted by John Mark at 9:38 PM
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