Utahan Nesting Rituals

In Non-ukulele related news, (as if there is such a thing) I've packed almost all of my valued possessions into my car known affectionately as both "the Death Star" and "the Shitfire," and MOVED TO UTAH. So, if you've been looking for me in Michigan, that's why I'm not there.
I'm about to attend the Violin Making School of America, and I gotta tell you, I'm pretty psyched.
So, without further adieu, a new chapter...


UTAH
Friday, November 6, 2009 - Denny's
I left Detroit a week ago today, and after spending three great debauched and bittersweet days in Ohio, I set out for Salt Lake City. It only took three days of driving (I think it ended up being a 28 hour drive, almost entirely along I-80) to get here, and as I write this, I'm waiting to hear from two girls, potential roommates named Samantha (I think - she mumbles) and Valerie.
*Incoming text message*
"we are actually still looking because you were the first person we met with. we will let you know."
Shucks.
I've been staying in the Metropolitan Inn for the past two nights, a funky little motel with art deco furniture and creepy paintings of scenes from "the Wizard of Oz" on the walls. Last night was spent with the Inn's front desk clerk celebrating a successful day of apartment-hunting.

The first apartment I visited was depressingly small. The two gay guys who came along on the tour were heart-breakingly positive about it, even though I'm pretty sure if I touched one wall with my toes, I'd be able to smudge the wall opposite with my fingertips. The best way I have of describing the building is "lipstick on a pig." Apparently some developer got a grant from the city to turn an ugly decrepit old building into a freshly painted decrepit old building. I was initially intrigued by the building's exterior - it is a genuinely beautiful building, built in 1909 - and then started to have some doubts after googling the building to find out that it's been set aside for recovering addicts, recently homeless, and generally afflicted. Trying to keep an open mind, my smile faded further after seeing a notice on several of the doors about bed bug fumigation. Growing up, bed bugs were always mythical creatures; ones who posed no more realistic a threat than the Boogey Man or smallpox. Apparently the little buggers are alive and well among the ranks of those who really didn't need anything more to worry about. The straw that broke the (weak and dying) camel's back was seeing the kitchen/living room/bedroom. I would have laughed except that I knew people were actually paying $366 every month to call this place home.

The second set of rooms I visited had two big advantages over the first. Firstly, they seemed to be free of anything that needed to be fumigated. (I know, I know - the absence of evidence is not the evidence of absence. For all I know, the many-legged residents of the apartments were just more discreet.) And secondly, the girl living in the next unit was very beautiful. Other than those, though, the rooms were both similarly bizarre. Enormous closets, ancient refrigerators, marble floors, double hinged swinging bathroom doors - these places seemed to be the architectural equivalent of Frankenstein's monster. Nothing about them made any sense, and in a way, that was a plus.

The last tour of the day was to the already-occupied apartment of three twenty-something women. It was almost exactly one block away from where I'll be attending school in December, and it even smelled nice. Photos of non-threatening 20th century divas covered the walls, and it seemed that every aspect of the apartment was very much intentional. the colors of the kitchen matched the table in the dining room, (two rooms!) which contrasted playfully with the scented candles and throw pillows of the living room. (three!) The room I hope someday to occupy was bigger than the entirety of the first studio, and was about $20 per month cheaper.

So for the rest of that night, drinking with Antonio, I kept combing my memory for flaws. There had to be a catch, right? Maybe my new housemates would turn out to be fans of musical theater? Or maybe the place was haunted? In the end, though, I'd be willing to put up with any number of show tunes and specters if it meant I could live in that amazing place.