Who the hell wants to live in Utah?

Well according to recent studies, and personal anecdotes, a lot of people do. And these people are having hoards of babies. The Center for Disease Control and Prevention reported that Utah has the highest birth rate of any state in the country. Twenty one babies for every 1,000 inhabitants were born there in 2002; the state is infested with these little, wrinkly people who, consequently, might be ruining my life. My mother is a neonatal nurse practitioner (and a damn good one), so the skyrocketing friskiness in Utah is directly related to me. The state is crawling with babies, selfishly in need of care and my mother’s attention, which means a move to Utah, as she says, is “99%” definite.

I’ve mentioned many a time that I’m from New Jersey, but for the sake of the argument, here it is again: I’m an East Coast lovin’ suburbanite from the Garden State. The thought of the move from one end of the country to the other gives me whip lash. The move to Utah is hard to digest for two reasons: 1) my mother sprung it on me fairly suddenly last Thursday; 2) Its endpoint is Utah.

I can’t emphasize No. 2 enough. My parents will be living in Saint George. It’s a two hour drive from Las Vegas, which will be great to foster that crack habit I’ve been trying to start. An inside source says there’s a rather large Shakespeare festival nearby. I was just thinking the other day how I really don’t get enough Shakespeare shoved down my throat at NU.

But the main issue is that New York is not accessible to Saint George, and since it seems likely my path will end up in the Big Apple, I’m fairly upset by it. If my parents are in Utah, dropping in on them casually is not plausible. I enjoy living on my own, but the new life I’ve started can sometimes wear on me. Sometimes I want low-maintenance comfort in an environment that fits like a glove. Sometimes I just want to stay in and watch “Casablanca” with my mom instead of going out. Does Utah mean I have to watch it alone?

I suppose there are good things about Utah. There are pretty mountains there, and, let’s face it, the air is probably a lot cleaner than anything I’m used to. But, frankly I don’t care because it’s 2434.79 miles from where I’ll be. I feel childish wanting my parents to remain where they are, especially since I personally don’t have to move. But it’s like watching a scrapbook full of comforting memories being burned and there’s nothing you can do to put out the flame. I don’t like the idea of standing in front of my house and not being able to go in, or worse, knowing there’s no reason to.

It’s selfish for me to guilt my parents into staying when they clearly need the move for their sanity. I’ll just remind myself of how happy they’ll be. My misery is, after all, based in affection, so I can certainly muster happiness for their sake. Plus I hear Celine Dion’s show in Vegas is pretty rockin’ (kidding).

Communication junior Lindsay Sakraida is the PLAY editor. She can be reached at [email protected].