On one of our annual family and friends vacations in the mountains of Colorado when the news broke, there were plenty of kids to sit around in the basement watching the MTV coverage and affecting appropriate reverence. As far as I can remember, no one fell into a deep enough depression to stop any regularly scheduled skiing or activities. Then again, this was a group composed mainly of catholics who regularly skipped the holy week to go to the mountains. Being away from home, I'm not sure if anyone even had a copy of Nevermind or In Utero. If so, the group mentality eventually grew tired of Nirvana retrospectives in favor of (mysteriously still) Steve Miller's Greatest Hits. On repeat, "the Joker" and it's pompetess of love, the loving of peaches, shaking of trees, in that basement with couches and a pool table.
Back at home, a girl from school wore black clothes always adorned with a paper heart marked with the word "Kurt" for so long that many classmates forgot that it referred to Cobain.
There was always something about those vacations. One year the Federal Building was bombed though our dedication to the coverage of this event was cut short when it was reported that fellow condo residents were performing lewd acts in the community hot tub outside the window. Almost every year one of the kids would get sun posioning or at least would go home with a nuclear sunburn to bring home to the prom.
Many years later, refusing to let the terrorists win, I'd stay in Aberdeen's Finest Motel at the gateway to the ocean and think a little bit about how the town seemed like a good enough place to start a trajectory to fame and self-destruction. But by then, I'd gotten over having my copy of Nevermind with the "secret track" stolen/switched at band camp. After all, I'm sure that the missing track is somewhere on the internet.
Still people kind of laugh when they see that I still have my Nirvana CDs. Grouped with Hole, of course.