Returning to Logan

I bet you thought this post had finished already, didn't you? I mean, I haven't posted anything for almost two weeks and summer is over.

Well it's not.

I've moved back "home," but I won't end this project without a decent ending to tie everything together anyway, and yes, the project ends here.

It's a little harder than I thought it would be.

I left Logan thinking I was going to be miserable and complain all summer (was half right, but I almost always complained for fun.) I moved into Midvale and made goals-- some of which I kept and most of which I let myself get distracted from. I was stalked by foreign powers, learned my wallet has a personality, saw a couple movies, and read a couple books.

I made a couple bucks, made a couple friends, made some people laugh, and made out with a couple girls (I'm probably going to regret writing that.)

I bought some things I didn't anticipate buying and went places I didn't expect to go. I learned about myself, how to treat people, and new songs on my new guitar.

My definition of what a friend is and does changed, as did my perspectives on food and clothing. I realized again how some jobs cannot be done perfectly by the people tasked with completing them.

From those paragraphs alone, I can't say this summer has been a waste at all. And from that, I guess I relearned that my goals are constantly changing, or at least the short-term ones are. My overall goal was for this summer not to suck.

Mission accomplished.

I didn't hate Midvale as much as I thought I would, but I won't admit how much I enjoyed it. 

Now I'm all moved into my apartment and back to the writing table for another year of work. I'm not sure how much I'll like my roommates, my classes, or my ward.


Huh.


Those are almost the exact same reservations I had three months ago when I moved to Midvale in the first place. I guess it's just normal to wonder about the near future and how I'll react to different situations.

I learned from this summer blog is that I'll probably react just like I always have. I'll probably always try to make people smile through my childish ways to have fun and complain about it. I'll probably always make others a little upset when I insist on behaving that way. I'll probably always seek the attention of a girl, and I'll probably always find new ways to mess things up with her. I'll probably always enjoy what I've enjoyed for as long as I can remember, and I'll probably always dislike the things I've disliked for as long as I can remember.

Things will change, yes, but not as much as it looks like they will.

One thing is certain; I will always have roots where the sagebrush died, and I will always love the spot where the sagebrush grows. 

Park City

A short time ago, I had no interest in fashion (see Jorts entry, July 18). This is still mostly true, so don't get your hopes up too high as you read the rest of this post.

My uncle came to hang out in Salt Lake the past couple days. He needed to buy some new clothes at our classier city stores, so naturally I came along. 

On day one, we went to City Creek (it was my first time) and the Gateway. I didn't buy anything. Mostly I just followed my uncle around to see what he was looking at. 

Hey, I'm only a novice fashionista. 

On day two, we went to the Tanger Outlets in Park City. I bought two shirts from Aeropostale for 17 bucks. 

Yes grandma, I finally used the birthday money to expand my wardrobe with "not a Utah State or soccer shirt." 

I was *that* close to buying a hoodie for another 20, but I talked myself out of it. I wish I hadn't. Hopefully Park City girl will come through big and bring me a present in Logan next week. 

Day three. We hit up South Towne and Fashion Place malls. I bought a shirt from Hollister for 12 bucks. 

By this time, I was looking at buying entire stores. I mean, I don't need shoes, but those Pumas were looking nice. Those basketball shorts were good quality, and for only 15 bucks I almost bought three or four. I don't really need more non-jorts, but a nice brand for 30 bucks? Deal.

My head was a pretty constant battlefield. The usually overpowerfully-dominant cheapskate side was always "hey now, you don't even have money to pay for school, you can't buy trendy clothes" and fighting with the deals from the advertisement posters that screamed "wear these clothes and that sorority girl will want to get you out of them." 

Both sides had their victories.

Singles ward: the last

For my final post about the craziness I call the singles ward, I was about to (and planning on doing so for some time) talk bad about the ol YSA singles ward, but I think I've done that enough (see posts under "The Ol' YSA Singles Ward").

There are some pretty great people there.

So instead of being THAT douchebag who drives off with the one-finger salute high in the air through the driver's-side window, I'll give a little thank you shout out.

Hopefully this doesn't sound too much like a suicide note or high school yearbook signing session.

• As weird as he often is, Awkward Guy has a good heart. He's a loyal friend. Even though he forgets his wallet whenever we go hang out (he probably just realizes how cool Heather is), he knows all the girls and introduces me. It's hard to be a bad friend when a trade like goes down.

• Baseball Guy is the only one at church today who told me he didn't want me to go back to Logan. The best part was he meant it, which is really nice to know that I actually did make a couple new friends. Sorry bro, there's no way I'm transferring from where the sagebrush grows to stay in Midvale, unless I was offered my dream job with the Salt Lake Tribune. 

• While this list is in no particular order, Climbing Girl would be very near the top of people I'd miss if it were. Even though she didn't miss a chance early on to expose me as the fool I am, we became good friends and confidants to each other. And of course, climbing in Logan with people who aren't her will be a different experience. 

• Climbing Guy provided many good times, both on the rock walls and off. He was pretty much the only one in Midvale worthy of real bro talk. Drink runs won't be the same in Logan without your unfiltered thoughts about women and guns. I'll miss you man, no homo. 

• Ginger was one of the first friends I had in Midvale. Even though she kinda drifted away about a month after I got here, the first month would have sucked without us playing "make-fun-of-the-girl-who-raises-her-hand-all-the-time-in-sunday-school" with her cool basketball-playing ginger friend. 

• It's a bummer I didn't hang out with BYU Idaho Girl nearly as much as I would have liked, but she is still cool and definitely one of the people I'll call up when I periodically come back to Salt Lake. 

• Big Talker is flighty, she was a blast to climb with. Overall a chill woman, and definitely a 2 on a scale of 1 to 2 (a compliment, I assure you).

There are others I have undoubtedly left off of this list for one bonehead reason or another, and to those great people I apologize, so try not to be offended if you know how awesome you are.

Train hopping

Last weekend, I embarked on a journey that took me 500 miles and three states over five days. Normally this wouldn't be much of an accomplishment, but I did it all without my own car.

I am a successful hobo.

Friday: Since I lost Little Red in the early stages of my Norse Campaigns, I've been driving my mother's Protege, but it would have caused too many problems to take it to Logan in the middle of the week.

Not a big deal, right? Hopefully not. I sent out a Facebook request for a ride from Salt Lake to Logan on Friday night, and within a couple hours I had three generous friends willing to taxi me north.

I ended up driving with my Number Two at the newspaper, with his wife and newborn in the back seat (Now that's a good taxi service). It was a good time talking about the Olympics and other sports for a solid hour and a half.

He dumped me off at an AC-less friend's apartment for about an hour, and then I spent the night at another statesman friend's house.

Saturday: I woke up on the couch to the glorious fanfare coming from London, via the mah-HOO-sive flatscreen tv on the wall. It was beautiful. I nearly cried.

We watched volleyball and swimming until it was time for Aggie football practice, which the both of us went to watch. I'm looking forward to this season. The whole attitude of the team has changed, and the players look and feel like winners. It's amazing what a successful season will do.

After a while, I was hungry and ordered some Jimmy Johns to be delivered to the practice field, mostly just hoping the delivery driver was the cute girl I dated a couple times last year (It wasn't). Then I hung out with a mission friend and an English girl who is in Utah for the summer. This was also a good time, even though they dragged me to the mall for a game of "how does this outfit look?"

Back to TV girl's house for some gymnastics and more swimming, joined by another old statesman friend (the total is up to four statesman friends, by the way), before I was picked up by my Bacon roommate from last year, and taken to his house where I would fall asleep after several hours of xbox.

Sunday: Okay, for all those who haven't already seen my Twitter rampage from this morning, go look at it here and scroll down to August 5. It's the first 11 tweets of that day. Go now. Seriously. Like, now. I won't tell the story here because it's already been done, but just know I'm glad to have my own bedroom and bathroom this coming schoolyear.

Anyway, I went to church with Bacon and his cute girlfriend, where I learned that my favorite Scottish athlete, Andy Murray, won a gold medal in his home country (almost).

After more video games, and a severe beatdown on those guys in NCAA Football 10 (anyone who attends Utah State and still chooses to play as Boise State deserves a 63-point loss from a crappy Colorado Buffs team), I went to my former wingman's apartment and spent the rest of the day with he and his wife. They were nice and even made bacon cheeseburgers. Like, mixing the bacon and cheese into the hamburger meat. It was glorious.

Monday: Wake, shower, and up to campus. I signed a scholarship thankyou letter and waited for my river rafting trip to begin.

Wait, you mean I'm the only person from the Statesman who is going? Wait, you mean I'm only going to know four people on the trip? And of those four, I've had more than one conversation with only the guy I knew from highschool who was two years younger than I? Great...

Well, guess I better make friends quickly.

Actually, this year was much better than last in that respect. I mean, most of the female cheerleaders kept to themselves, but for the most part, everyone who went was much more social and branched out from their normal cliques. That was good for me, since I've been a social butterfly since junior high...

It was also good to meet a couple people in person who I only knew from the Twitter world (#geek).

Tuesday: Rafting. It was pretty awesome. I don't think I need to say any more.

I also managed to hitch a ride back to Salt Lake that night so I could show up on time (mostly) to work the next day, which is definitely not where I'm publishing this post from, because that's against the rules.

Again, 500 miles in five days. I could have a future in the hobo industry.

Logan

This is about the time during the summer that I am going back and forth between Logan and Salt Lake fairly often, between various retreats, media events and wedding receptions.

It feels like I'm living out of a suitcase, both on the Logan couches and at my parents house.

As I passed the houses south of Logan for the first time about a week ago, a family was putting up a sign to "Welcome home, Elder Anderson." When I went passed again a couple days later, they had added paint to show passersby that their missionary had eight days left. Yesterday, he only had six.

Like I'm sure Elder Anderson is getting antsy to go home to Cache Valley, I have been getting more and more excited for August 20th (which now that I just counted is only 16 days away.)

I'm excited for the schedule I've picked up, even it'll be the toughest workload I've signed up for at Utah State. Officially I'm taking 17 credits, but if I was getting academic credit for various other school-related activities, it would be about 27.

It'll be an adventure.

Vegas, baby

I went down to cover (what was left of) the WAC Football media day in Las Vegas, Nev.

It was a sorry sight.

The year before, it was an exciting time and everyone there was eager to get back to football season. Players and coaches were robust in the diplomatic smack talk, almost promising to knock off Hawaii, Nevada and Fresno State before they left the league.

Reporters were crawling over each other to ask questions, and I sat alongside those writers whose work I had amired for some time (yes, I had stars in my eyes).

This year, there were only a handful of reporters, and the overwhelming majority were there for Utah State.

Idaho and New Mexico State coaches depressingly answered questions about the future of their program with the inevitibility of at least a year playing football independent from a conference. Texas-San Antonio and Texas State coaches were a little more exuberant, but nobody in the room besides themselves expects either of those teams to win any conference games. Utah State and Louisiana Tech talked more about the non-conference schedule than anything else.

In a phrase, the WAC is dead. At least in football, maybe all sports. I mean, there are rumors out there, but it's extremely unlikely that six FCS teams all want to make the jump to the WAC by next season.

The conference ended fairly early, leaving Photogirl and I to eight hours in Vegas on the newspaper's bill.

To anyone else, this would be a heavensent, but what are two mormons going to do in the Devil's city?

Strip clubs? Gambling? Nope. No interest here in getting wasted, throwing my money away for booze, drugs, slots, cards, sex, or perving.

So we ate some overpriced food, bowled a couple games, killed three hours by watching Spiderman, and took the long way back to the airport.

Lame? Yes.

To quote the man in the airport, "The best thing they did in this city was build a freeway around it."

I wonder

I always expected to graduate at the end of the 2013-14 school year, but it turns out I won't even need to hurry to graduate this spring.

I mean, I still need to talk with advisors and make sure I don't see any knuckleballs, but I'm going to be a grownup with a fancy piece of paper a couple months after my next birthday.

I need a job.

It's a good thing I have all school year to apply for every major newspaper, university athletics office, and professional sports team in the country.

I wonder where I'll end up. I wonder what it will be like there. I wonder how the people are. I wonder if I'll meet a girl. I wonder if I'll enjoy the professional world as much as I've loved my time as sports editor for The Statesman.

I wonder if I'll even get a sportswriting job or if I'll have to sell out to get the bills paid.

I sure hope not.

Working hard

Working at Sorenson Caption Call to help the hard of hearing make phone calls has been a pretty good experience for me.

I mean, I hate it sometimes, but that's only because I'd rather be playing guitar or video games or rock climbing.

Or doing nothing.

But they pay me pretty well. Or at least, they pay a heck of a lot better than anything I could find if I had stayed in Logan, and especially for only 25 hours a week. Even more especially when they hired me knowing I'd only be there until through three weeks in August.

This week the Operations management announced that part time employees like me will be allowed to work up to 35 hours per week because of unusually high call volumes, but only through the 18th of August.

Coincidence that I'm moving back to Logan on the 18th? Probably not.

I think someone is watching out for me and knows exactly how much money I need to pay for rent and tuition this fall, how much I don't have, and how much I still need.

I'm really very lucky.

Playing hard

I'm a little sore. I know, embarrassing.

Day 1: Work. Up a 5 a.m.

Climbing. A pumpy 5.9, a 10A with a roof, what felt like a loooong 10-something, and finishing off with a 5.6 lead. Usually not a big deal, but I haven't climbed in about a month.

Softball. Wow I sucked. How do you walk a guy in slow pitch softball? How did I walk two? Anyway, I reached on an error, flied out twice, and allowed 5 unearned runs from the circle to almost singlehandedly lose the game.

Day 2: Work. Get up at 5, worked from 6 a.m. to 11 a.m.

Hike. Met up with my cousin and her cute friend and others to hike up the canyon to some lake. There's a lot less air up here than there was in the lower elevation of Minnesota.

Cliffdiving. In a word? Awesome. In another word? Cold.

Down. We ran down the mountain because some other people were a little bit more pressed for time than I was. It felt good. Really good. It took me back to my high school cross country days. Well, the good ones anyway. It was fun to run with girls too.

Back to my Cousin's house. Man I'm starving. I make a ham sandwich, change out of my still-not-dry gym shorts. Look at the clock, shout bye and run out to my dad's truck.

Volleyball. Okay, I've never played organized volleyball before. I've played around at track banquets and on the beach or whatever, but really the extent of my volleyball knowledge is bump, set, spike. The players there were a lot better than I. The volleyball girl I went with played in college, and her friend was good too.

I still don't know if they were just being nice, but they said I picked it up fast and was pretty talented. It was a ton of fun, and all for free! I'm definitely going again next week.

And this time there is no way I'm going to let the team with the one-armed guy beat me again...

#aurora

>>>>Author's note: Obviously I believe every word I am about to write, otherwise I wouldn't write it. However, to stay polite and allow for *civilized* debate (without sarcasm please) I will be writing this in a opinionated style.<<<<

>>>>Another note: As of the time you read this specific note, this is still a rough draft. This note will be removed when I'm finished editing.<<<<

Last night there was a terrible shooting in a movie theater in Colorado at the screening of the new batman movie. People died. People were hurt. People probably soiled their clothing from fright.

Real people. Not video games or movie actors. Someone's friends and family.

One woman, a young, aspiring sports journalist named Jessica Ghawi, and also known as Jessica Redfield, was shot and killed. I find her story is most identifiable because I too am a young, aspiring sports writer, and because her story has been most accessible.

You see, Jessica survived a similar shooting in Canada while visiting her boyfriend about a month ago. She wrote about it. She documented what she experienced and her story is out there for people to read.

The following is an excerpt from her post on the Easton Center shooting:

I can’t get this odd feeling out of my chest. This empty, almost sickening feeling won’t go away. I noticed this feeling when I was in the Eaton Center in Toronto just seconds before someone opened fire in the food court. An odd feeling which led me to go outside and unknowingly out of harm‘s way. It’s hard for me to wrap my mind around how a weird feeling saved me from being in the middle of a deadly shooting.

She concludes with this:

I feel like I am overreacting about what I experienced. But I can’t help but be thankful for whatever caused me to make the choices that I made that day. My mind keeps replaying what I saw over in my head. I hope the victim make a full recovery. I wish I could shake this odd feeling from my chest. The feeling that’s reminding me how blessed I am. The same feeling that made me leave the Eaton Center. The feeling that may have potentially saved my life.

I believe (see author's note) the feeling she mentioned was the light of Christ warning her of danger. While this was written a full two weeks before she was gunned down in Colorado, I also believe the repeated memories she mentions of the Easton Center shooting were also a warning of what she would face in Aurora.

To many, this may not make sense and is obviously arguable. "Anyone would remember something that terrible and think about it over and over again in the following days and weeks," people may say. Of course they would. I'm not disputing that at all, but I have learned when feelings repeat themselves in my life, it means something that is going to make me feel that way again is about to come.

My Facebook status:

This is so sad. This woman died in the theater in Colorado after surviving a Toronto shooting. She might have been saved if she'd recognized the spirit better.

If you thought by "this is so sad" I meant "she's a heathen who deserved to die" instead of "this is so sad that this woman died," c'mon guys...

The rebuttals for the comments which followed:

"Please tell me you're being sarcastic with this post." "And even if you were, way #toosoon"

Absolutely not. I don't like to #joke about serious stuff like this.

"I do think, Tavin, that your recognising the spirit suggestion may be worth editing, BTW." 

Perhaps so, but not for the same reasons that I'm guessing (assumption) the eight people who liked or wrote this comment have. Journalists need to stay aloof from having strong opinions on social matters. Even if I get a job paid for by my own church, it will still be very important to stay neutral.

"She died because somebody shot her, Tavin. Not because of a lack of faith." 

Obviously a bullet killed this woman. That's not a point I was trying to argue. If faith saved every person who ever had it from physical death, there would be a lot more prophets walking around today.

"Agreed (to the previous comment), however this is not an attack on religion. If anything, maybe if the shooter had "recognized the spirit" he would have felt some better purpose than murdering people..." 

I'm not 100% sure what the this commentator is trying to say here. The bullets killed people and God didn't stop the shooter. It has happened since the beginning of the human race.

"...But leave the victims be, people are senselessly killed regardless of their beliefs." 

Another point I wasn't arguing. Again, I was not denouncing Jessica's death as her own fault, or the fault of her faith or disbelief or whatever. I was and am happy she felt what I believe (again, read author's note) to be a communication from God. If we never talk about victims, we never think about and implement ways to prevent more victims.

"Tavin, as a US citizen, can you help me understand why your otherwise lovely country has this crazy obsession with lethal weapons?" "Crazy obession? It is the wacko that is crazy, not the gun. What a tragedy, but guns don't kill people, people kill people." "Tavin, Drew and I continued our robust debate privately, and with no unfriendliness between us, just very different views! Don't worry that you raised a debate, it's good to have people discussing it. It's an emotive issue, but I think those of us who've been involved in the discussion can still like each other." 

I'll give you my opinion on it then. Guns have recreational uses and are tools for creating food. They were also imagined, designed, and perfected for one thing: to kill people. While I do not own a gun or plan to ever carry a concealed weapon for home defense (although I do not argue the reasons others do), I enjoy shooting recreationally. People kill people, but guns kill people too. Is that diplomatic enough for everyone?

"I like you Tavin, I think you're cool and I'm glad we're friends. We need to get out and hike or play some Ultimate or something, before Summer sneaks away again."

No arguments here. Also, I'm shopping for a guitar. Any thoughts?

Okay, so even though we got a little distracted from the topic there at the end, I welcome comments here... in the comment section... obviously... Again, no sarcasm or joking. This is way too serious for that.

Breaking News

Tavin Stucki, sports editor at Utah State University's campus newspaper, The Utah Statesman, and creator of the blog Where the Sagebrush Died, has announce his blog post "Singles ward: one week later" hit the 100 pageviews mark earlier today.

"It's defitinetly one of my top three favortie posts I've written," Stucki said, adding it is the first of his blog posts to reach the centruy standard.

Stucki is expected to continue with the blog until moving back to Logan, Utah, about a week before classes start at USU. Stucki is spending the summer at his parents home in Midvale, Utah, until then.

"It's been a grind," Stucki said. "I'd like to thank the Academy, the Russian spies who are observing me, Heather, my trusty leather wallet, Facebook, Twitter, and all those who think I'm interesting enough to read about my summer away from Logan."

Jorts

I've never been one to spend money on things.

*cough* Cheapskate *cough*

Fortunately, I've lived my entire life with an uncle who was always willing to give me the clothes he'd grown out of (read: fell out of style) five years earlier.

This meant I was wearing Lucky Brand jeans and Abercrombie shirts when (I'm guessing) they weren't in style anymore. In elementary school, I wore old Little League baseball shirts from teams I'd never played on. I had drawers full of old socks, shirts, jeans, a few shoes, and baseball hats.

I never really paid attention to fashion trends in school. I mean, why spend time looking at what dudes wore when I can look at girls... um... clothes?

By the end of last semester, I was probably the only guy on campus to still wear denim shorts. I was out of the country when the whole "Tebow wears Jorts" event went down, okay?

The time has come. My collection of old (and *very* comfortable, might I add) jorts needed to be put to rest.

The same night I got back to Salt Lake after my conquest of the viking lands (read: the time when these blog posts sucked) I called up a friend more fashonable than I and went shopping.

The problem was, it was late enough that all the stores with stylish clothing were closed.

On to Mal*Wart, the source for cheap plastic crap! ...and apparently my new favorite clothing store. Or at least, the place where I purchased my two new pairs (and probably "only" for some time) of cargo shorts.

Goodbye, O ye old pairs of jorts. May you ever rest in peace at the bottom of the bottom drawer of my dresser in my parents' house. May you ever rest in pieces, as I hope one day you will find yourselves as part of a levi quilt; a form which I will undoubtedly enjoy your comfort again.

A form which will carry with it numberless "in your pants" and "that's what she said" jokes.

They always know

My mission president and wife spoke in church today, and I obviously went to hear them.

What power.

I'd almost forgotten how certain they are in their testimonies. It was good to hear that again. It was good to meet them like old friends and hear Sister President tell all her missionaries we looked well enough to make an "old mother" so happy.

It was good to see so many old faces, though I didn't recognize half of the former missionaries there. It was good to see the Cowboy from my last transfer, the Ginger from glasgow, the Athlete from Stirling, and not to mention Office Sister and her cute granddaughter. I may regret writing that because I don’t know how old or young Granddaughter is.

We all made our way over to the home where sandwiches and cake were served. President and Sister President greeted everyone in line.

I felt cool because President asked everyone before me in line about their lives, but razzed me about writing anti-BYU literature in easy-to-read places. I’m glad he already knew what I was up to in life.

I ate with all my Scottish Aggies and we made plans for another glorious curry night when school starts back up.

As I left, President just said, “Tavin, be good.”

“What are you trying to say, President?”

“Just be good.”

South Dakota

South Dakota is the weirdest state I've ever been to.

Wall Drug.

Mount Rushmore was pretty cool, or at least a lot cooler than the "take a picture and leave" level of coolness I was expecting.

Wall Drug.

After we got out of Rapid City and left the Black Hills though, there was nothing but flat.

Wall Drug.

Nothing but corn fields for miles to see.

Wall Drug.

And every 60 seconds for hundreds of miles there was a sign for...

Wall Drug.

Wyoming

I hate Wyoming.

I hate everything about Wyoming. Okay, okay, Yellowstone is pretty cool, but I don't believe the people ride deer, as this caution sign outside of Jackson Hole may lead one to believe.

Maybe I'm just bitter about driving the better part of a day up and down and up and down and up and down and up and down and up and down and up and down and sloooooooooooooooowly across the state on my way to invade the north country.

At least there were plenty of antelope to see as we crossed that wasteland.

No TV

It's really weird for me not to be glued to the television watching Olympic trials, the Euros, NBA draft, and baseball tonight every day.

I guess it's just another reason why my parents house isn't as cool as my apartment in Logan would have been.

I guess I'll have to make do with scouring the web for sports articles at work each morning between calls.

Thank you Deadspin for your hilarious opinion, Grantland for your high-quality writing, Aggieville for your constant USU updates, the Sagebrush Spot for your insight between sunburns, the Desnews (kinda) for indirectly talking about the Aggies whenever a certain byu quarterback is mentioned, ESPN for obvious reasons, and Twitter. God bless Twitter.

Honey badger don't give a...

We deal with a lot of different types of people at the ol TAVron.

There are lots of manual laborers who come in and buy a ton of gas, fill up their huge mugs from the fountain, and usually buy some sort of snack or lunch. There are the social workers from the care home down the street who come in and buy energy drinks and complain about how understaffed and outnumbered by the residents they are.

The group that most concerns me is the kids from the middle school across the street.

Most of them are great kids. A few of them are sneaky little bastards who will do anything to save their allowance and steal the candy bars they shove into their fat faces. I don't even let the thieves come into the store anymore.

Then Daddy came in the other night to scream at me.

Apparently I'm not being fair to his sons, because those angels would never do anything wrong, even if it meant embarrassing Daddy's status in the community.

Dude, I make 8 bucks an hour at a crappy job that has nothing to do with my field just so I can pay housing next semester. I promise I'm more Honey Badger than Princess Helpful.

Job updates: part 2

Some of you might be wondering where all the blog posts have been lately. I know, my bad.

Just before I moved from Logan a couple months ago, I was talking to the bigwigs of a weekly newspaper chain in the Salt Lake Valley. I was pretty stoked cuz they seemed excited to let me take on some stories, but then they didn't call me.

Until now.

On Tuesday, I got an inquiry of interest phone call. On Wednesday, I got an email asking me to write four stories of 4-500 words in the next seven days at a rate of 25 dollars per story. On Thursday, I interviewed ten sources for said stories. On Friday, I received photographs and finished up interviews. On Saturday, I wrote rough drafts of the stories. On Sunday, I finished up and submitted them.

Not bad to get two stories in a day before deadline and two more in three days before deadline, all while juggling two other jobs, softball games, and Da Ladies.

Or at least that's the plan right now. I mean, it's only Friday morning as I'm writing this, so who knows what will actually happen.

Job updates: part 1

(Photo courtesy of Rock Climber)

So I quit my job at Chevron.

Some of you may be asking, "but wait, didn't you just barely start?" Yes. Yes, I did.

You see, I told both the owner and manager who interviewed me that I will need a couple weeks off in July to go to a family reunion in Minnesota, aka the trip up North. Apparently there was some misunderstanding and I won't be receiving that time off.

Not with the title of "head gas station grunt" when I come back from my conquest of Canada Jr. anyway.

Was it a smart move to cut myself off from money? Probably not. Have I been to a game in a major league park? Nope. Do I have my whole life to work? Definitely.

But it's not all bad.

The management at my other job, the deaf call center, has been very understanding.

It looked like a similar thing to Chevron (aka TAVron) was happening when my time off requests were denied, so I told the manager I would have to quit so I could go.

He basically told me to try and get other people to cover it, but if it didn't happen and I was "sick" or whatever, it would be okay. He was like, "when you come back, we might sit you down for the formality of telling you how important attendance is, but then we'll just talk about how your invasion of the Lake Country went."

Okay so I added that last phrase, but he's still cool with me going.

Climbing all night

When 5$ climb night at the rock wall rolled around last Friday, I was pretty stoked.

Earlier that day, I worked up the courage to ask the cute girl at work to come with, and she was pretty excited too. This was probably going to turn out to be a double-win night.

The bad news: Work Girl bailed. The good news: I got a text from a friend who is in Salt Lake working for Usana, and she wanted to come with.

I don't know if it was because I was so excited to hang out with Usana or if I just haven't lived in Salt Lake for a good five years, but I definitely took 7th west instead of Monroe and got there about 15 minutes later than I should have.

Anyway, it was a good time. Usana, Rock Climber, Awkward, a girl whose sounds exactly like another old friend of mine, and a few others from the ol' YSA singles ward climbed the night away among the masses at Momentum.

It was good to practice a bunch of 5.10 climbs, but it's weird climbing indoors because there's no creativity in the routes you climb. There are set holds and one way to climb each wall, unlike outdoors where you can use anything you can get your hands on.

I tried a chimney, but didn't get very high. My right foot slipped when I was trying a knee jam, and my ankle slammed into the wall in front of me, causing a momentary silence after a huge bang echoed out from where I hit. Maybe it just seemed loud because I was inside the crack.

All in all, it was a good time. I couldn't pinch my fingers together without pain by the end, but I got to spend a good time with friends, hang out with a girl I haven't seen in yonks, and met a new climbing buddy for this fall in Logan.