Breckenridge

In order to sort of clear our minds before having to fill them up again in school with useless facts like "carbon dioxide is bad for you" and "there really was a holocaust," my family drove up to Breckenridge for part of the weekend. In spite of all the skiing we didn't do, it was actually pretty fun. I always have fun when I have to sit in a car with my siblings for two hours, listening to them argue about who is uglier than whom. Mostly, we just walked around downtown Breckenridge, taking shots of milk straight out of the carton and tripping fat people. You know, standard stuff. On our way back home, we drove through Georgetown.

Of all the crappy old cities I've been to, this one is the crappiest. Don't get me wrong, it was fascinating to be in the middle of a town with some buildings that have been around since the early 1870's. In fact, we actually walked into a grocery store that was, as far as the owner knew, the oldest continuously running store in the state of Colorado. Pretty cool. What depressed me, though, was the fact that people have to actually live in this town. We walked into a rare book store, which was filled with first editions of books like "Paradise Lost" and "Pilgrim's Progress." The store owner wasn't exactly what you'd call a "people person." He seemed like more of an "alien." He was perfectly silent as my family (we were the only people in the entire store) politely browsed through what appeared to be this guy's former personal book collection. You could tell we'd been the only people to set foot in his store since the late 70's. He didn't have any concept of "being a normal social being" or even of "not being a jerk." I was afraid of breathing too hard on the books, for fear of being on the receiving end of this guy's wrath. He looked like he swung a mean hockey stick.

Overall, I'd count it a good trip. No broken bones, no Indian witch doctors, no terrorist plots, and only one bout with a lesbian. Thumbs up.