I received a letter in the mail today from a dear friend who I haven't seen in . . . . I don't know how long. It pretty much made my day, so I've reprinted it below:
Dear friends,
This spring break is special.
It is the last such break for many of us. (Someday, you younger folk
too will experience this change, which is like puberty, but less
awkward, and more horrifying.)
We, the gentlemen of N34, want this break to be different from the
last, and the one before—that is to say, we don't want to spend it
watching Star Wars and Lord of the Rings consecutively in our
zippered, one-piece pajamas (with feet).
So, we're planning to make a bold move.
We're leaving the country. We're going to a place where the sun is
not merely semi-present, but instead: wholly relevant. We're going to
a place where there is sand—not on the roads, but on the beaches.
(And probably also on the roads. Sand! Gets everywhere.) We're going
to a place where there is water—not frozen to your face, but lapping
gently against an azure shore. (The water is also not potable.)
We're going where none of us have gone before (except Nic): THE
DOMINICAN REPUBLIC, or, for those of you who speak Spanish, EL
DOMINICAN REPUBLIC.
Here is the hotel:
The cost is approximately $1.88 (or 2.3 million pesos) per person for seven days, including
airfare, hotel, all meals, snacks, and adult beverages. ("All-
inclusive.")
Let us know by Friday whether you wish to be a part of this amazing
experience, which may in fact be better than watching Star Wars in
your pajamas-with-feet.
(Though I find that hard to believe.)
PCDM
You can see how I would be moved by this poetic and intensely personal letter. I feel as though my connection to my dear friend PCDM is even stronger and more passionate than ever. But there is one thing that I have neglected to mention in this post and I will say it now: my two illiterate roommates (the little dumb one and the big dumb one) are flaming homosexuals.
NCA
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