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. 

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."

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.”

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.

Crashing on the couch

I wanted to title this post "Returning to Logan," but I feel like I should save that for my final blog entry at the end of August. Besides, I'm only in Cache Valley until this afternoon anyway.

A few thoughts:

My old roommate is getting married.

I could write a entire post on this alone, and a whole other blog about the adventures we had. He's got a good girl. It'll be cool for him to start a new part of his life, but at the same time I wonder how mine will turn when I go back to school this fall without Roy as my wingman.

Marriage is scary.

Who wants to grow up? Who wants bills, insurance, car payments, rent, graduation, a career workload, and all that grownup stuff? And kids?? Not me, or at least not yet. To me, getting married is the symbol of all of that. As long as I can put it off, I won't have to worry about all the other stuff. Right?

Logan reminds me of summer camp.

I walked into the house I crashed in last night and saw all signs of summer. Three huge TVs were hooked up to various video gaming systems, canoes and kayaking gear rented from the university were stashed off to the side of the living room, aloe vera and tanning lotion visible under the couch, a for rent sign displayed out the window, and the whole place had a summery feel to it.

Here comes the sun.

There's nothing better than munching on fresh fruit fro breakfast while watching a Cache Valley sunrise from the various hikes in Logan Canyon with a pretty girl. Okay, so I didn't do any of those this morning, but it's still true. At the very moment I wrote those words, the sun peaked up over the mountains through the window to me. Even though I'm sitting on Texas's couch and not in the wind caves, it's still nice.

The pool.

In my experience, college town pools are always full of the same people; sluttos and douchebags. The sluttos are all afraid to get wet and just lay out in the sun while the douchebags wear their white sunglasses and blast their awful music while horsing around in the water and being jerks to the sluttos. They spend all of their time here during the summer. It's a wonder why all the sluttos talk about how they can't get a good guy and the douchebags all talk about how their girl cheated on them.

Couches suck.

Okay, so I'm a Caucasian American male aged 18-34, but I've had some pretty crappy sleeping situations. As if two years of mission beds weren't enough, there was the port-o-pottie (again, don't ask), the unfinished bedroom, the spider-infested barn, and the gross Oakridge beds to name a few. Texas's couch wasn't all that uncomfortable, but for whatever reason it was probably the worst sleep I've ever had.

The Russians are coming!

In blogger, there is a feature you can use to see where your audience is from around the world. Obviously the vast majority of my readers are from America, and I have a few in the UK from the ol mission days. But wouldn't ya know it, there are a disproportionate amount of viewers in Russia.

Wait, what?

I don't even know anyone in Russia. I mean, a friend of mine served his mission there, I once failed to steal a girlfriend away from a different missionary serving in Russia, and I sometimes enjoy playing as the Soviets in Axis & Allies, but beyond that, I have absolutely NO connection to the former world superpower.

I guess there's a lot of people with the internet in Russia, so maybe they just happened upon my blog whilst surfing, but that doesn't make sense because there are a bazillion people in china and japan with the internet, and no one from those countries who've visited.

This can only mean one thing. Espionage.

I knew I was awesome, but I didn't know I was a person of interest to the Russian government until today.

Realization

Back? I'm moving back? I'm going back to my parent's house after four years? Are you sure?

I didn't think that would be me. I didn't think I would be sitting in my sister's old room with moving boxes half open and bulimic suitcases all around me like a frat house the morning after. The golf clubs, blankets, textbooks, towels, sunglasses, shaving cream, shoe boxes, winter boots, hair gel, and shower curtain all say "believe it" with a hungover scowl on their faces.

Wait, so now I'm talking to my things now too?

I've got to get out of here.

Where did my friends go? She a baby? He really joined a church? Where was that job I had after graduation? When did those houses get built? Wasn't there a bookstore here? When did that house burn down? What's this invitation? It's my five year reunion already?

I'm not interested. No thanks. Take me back home. My home. Back where the sagebrush grows. Back where summertime means volleyball, suntans, bikinis, golf, and hiking all day and campfires all night.

That's what last summer was.