Small town doesn’t mean ghost town

A spring break bucket list for those plagued by hometown boredom.

Vanessa Ramstack

Spring break is supposed to be fun. Spring break is supposed to be tropical. It should be full of fantastical adventures, hopefully involving dolphins and other sea life. It is not supposed to be endless cornfields, towns with a population of 1,000 and the narrow-minded people of high school.

But many University of Minnesota students are, like me, going home to a hopelessly small town. It is a place that is all right in moderation, but does not scream “spring break destination” and definitely does not have any dolphins.

The dilemma becomes how to liven up spring break without spending too much money or engaging in Oedipus-like activities âÄî that being, gouging oneâÄôs eyes out.

Luckily, I have a custom list of spring break boredom busters for the small town inhabitant.

Sit outside Wal-Mart and count how many people are wearing flannel âÄî or camouflage.

Go through the McDonaldâÄôs drive-through repeatedly using a different accent for each order.

Visit your old high school dressed as a “Lord of the Rings” character. Bonus points if you speak Elvish.

Catch a squirrel and dress it up as a jolly celebrity. Ke$ha sounds like a nice option.

Build a castle out of rocks and paper. Proceed to sing a lament about the need for scissors.

Some may call these suggestions lame; I call it beautiful desperation marrying imagination.

I am almost sad that I missed out on the wild spring breaks of the âÄô90s. But then I remember the questionable fashion sense, most notably, the menâÄôs neon swim trunks and the infamous mom jeans. No thank you.

So maybe your spring break will not be something to rave about, but at least you can practice your improv story skills. And you can take comfort in the fact that Minneapolis will welcome you back soon enough with open âÄî but hopefully not snowy âÄî arms.