Right now we're looking at 'round about 2 am, chillin' with a new Bob Marley CD that arrived today courtesy of those ignorant imbeciles at Columbia House who seem to have no problems sending hundreds of dollars of free merchandise out to imaginary individuals. I'm procrastinating doing real work, like writing one of the ten papers I need to finish in the next month in order to graduate with two majors. I'm also putting off going to the copy store to work on a flyer for this benefit keg/rave we're throwing here at the Pink House next Saturday. Hundreds of drunk people destroying their brain cells in order to benefit a local literacy education project - makes sense! So it's a perfect time to write you a letter.
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Let's see, what's up down here on Tobacco Road. Are you a big basketball fan, Robb? I hate sports in a general, ideological sense, but b-ball is so ubiquitous here that it's hard not to caught up in this March Madness bullshit. So, I'll admit it, I have been known to actually watch short stretches of particularly decent games. On TV, of course. I've been to exactly one home game since I've been down here. It was my junior year. We were playing Florida A&M, and the game before the one I went to, a brawl had erupted on court. One of their players actually stepped on another player's head. So I was like, cool! Let's check this shit out. But nobody even got elbowed.
This year the Heels got eliminated from the tournament right away. People were walking around like somebody had stolen all their comic books or something. There were positive and negative sides to this development. On the positive side, people weren't out mobbing the streets every night a game was on, fucking with me whenever
I wanted to drive somewhere around town. On the negative tip, it meant that all these basketball yahoos who would normally have been holed up in bars drinking beer were clogging up the libraries, cafeterias, and other places on campus where there are already far too many motherfuckers to begin with. Oh well.
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I saw this cool play on campus recently called Life As Art: A Tribute to Paul Green. He was a Chapel Hill playwright who essentially set up my school's drama department. Have you heard of In Abraham's Bosom? This was the play he wrote about race relations that won a Pulitzer prize in 1927. Check out a copy of the script. It was incredibly hard-hitting for its time, especially for the South. Green also worked with Richard Wright to adapt Native Son for the stage in the 1940s.
Right before Easter, it was my birthday. I had a phat time, since my friends organized a little birthday get together for me at our house. Folks were stopping by all evening, bearing gifts.
My housemates baked me a cake, and one of my really good friends down here took me out to dinner. Her name is Jyoti (pronounced Jo-thee), she's a dancer, and a speech communications major. We're going to be working on business and activist projects together this summer. One of the profit-making ones will be a local ice cream delivery service. I'm also going to try and open up a Chapel Hill nightclub as a business partner with my housemate Steve, who's from the Bahamas.
On the non-profit end, I'm applying for grants to fund some grassroots democracy projects. I've enclosed a copy of one of my grant proposal project descriptions for you to check out.
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I heard from Tony on my birthday. He was trying to come down here for his spring break (his perpetual quest for the past three years), but things didn't pan out. So he claims he'll make it down for my graduation in mid-May. Well, I won't be moving into condo land until mid-July. Until then, the Pink House remains the spacious crash pad of choice for any friends seeking to escape Northern landscapes. Don't know if you planned to get out of New York for a road trip any time soon.
- Letter to Robb
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