Salt Lake City.


I live there now. In a place just off of 1700 South and Foothill Drive. I have my own room, which is nice, and a TV in said room, which is also nice (and a completely new experience).

I live in Salt Lake City now because I work in Salt Lake City now. I'm an intern for the Deseret News, working in the New Media section of the paper. Which basically means that, for the time being, I'm a glorified comment-moderation monkey. See, every story printed in the D-News is formatted for publishing online, complete with a comments section. And those comments get CRAZY. And someone has to sort out the madness, delete the profane or ridiculous comments, and approve the ones that are halfway coherent. (Very few are completely coherent.)

That someone is me.

Okay, so it's a bit of a dumb job at the moment. But I only started this week, and I'm learning to do a few other things as well. Besides, I have to admit -- wielding the Hammer of Comment Deletion +5 can be quite a rush.

Eventually, I'd like to help doing some other stuff -- podcasts, blogs, videos, and the like. One of my co-workers has already told me they need someone to review PS3 games for the D-News' pop culture blog. Alas that I do not have a PS3. But this might be my impetus to get one. I know it would make my brother happy -- he's been trying to get someone to play Call of Duty 4 with him for weeks, especially now that he's finished with his program at Purdue. Moving out and paying tuition (which I haven't done yet) is going to put a damper on things. We'll see.

The whole situation just makes me feel very... adult, somehow. I mean, I'm never going to take another class (barring a midlife crisis and a return for grad school or something). From here on out, it's find job, get paid, rinse, repeat. And call me lame or boring, but that sounds fantastic right now. I walk the streets of downtown SLC on my lunch breaks and find myself surrounded by other businesspeople, with fashionable ties and keycards on lanyards around their necks and busy looks on their faces. And I feel like I belong with them.

Not that it's been my lifelong dream to be a Utah yuppie, but, you know, it's better than being a Provo zoobie. I feel like I've been treading water for the last two years of college, and I'm definitely not feeling that now.

One minor hitch -- I still don't know a soul up here. I have two roommates in my duplex -- one is about to move out, his spot thus far unfilled. Another empty spot awaits. I do have one roommate who is sticking around, and I've gotten along with him fairly well so far. He often works nights, though, so we don't see each other much. Which has largely left me to my own devices from the hours of 6:30 p.m. to whenever I happen to get tired. I've been fine this week, gorging myself on NBA playoff basketball (ye gods, how I've missed you, ESPN!). But I anticipate a vasty nothingness in my life when the playoffs end (or at least, when they end for the Jazz), and that is a bit unsettling.

To illustrate my point: one thing I've been overjoyed about in moving to this area is that I'm five minutes away from Rice-Eccles Stadium, and as summer nears, that means one thing: Real Salt Lake. They may be terrible, but they're still live soccer, and I adore watching live soccer. In fact, I went to the game last night. By myself. And I stayed there. For the whole 90 minutes. IN A BLIZZARD. (I was glad I stayed till the end, too -- though the game was well in hand by that point, Andy Williams put away a brilliant goal just as the clock hit 90:00. It was some kind of reward for my blind, idiotic fortitude, I think.) And while I was there, I didn't notice my isolation at all, because I could focus on what was happening on the pitch. When the game ended, though, and I trudged back to my snow-covered car, trying to regain the feeling in my fingers, I realized that it was sort of a pathetic thing to do -- drop twenty bucks to see a terrible team, in a match that didn't matter, in the freezing cold, alone. I still wasn't sorry I had gone, but it did give me pause.

Then again, I've only been here for six days. I'm sure I will meet more people. And if not, well, I've got a pretty big place, with a big front deck and a beautiful view of the valley, and a hot tub out back and a big-screen TV in front of a leather sectional couch inside. Surely someone would at least be willing to take advantage of that. (Please?)