Pink House. 130 North Street. Back In The Day.

Fellow residents from the 1991-94 years were Clint Curtis, Shyam Patel, Raj Krishnasami, Lydia Craft, Jess Deltac, Kyle York Spencer, Caroline Rivers Hall, Mel Lanham, Michelle Sinnott, Jay Murray, N'Gai Wright, Scott Bullock (who crashed on the couch for a year before finally moving in), Bryan Ellerson, Karen Hurka, Sally Stryker, Ryan Mathias, Charlie Speight, Chris Palmatier, Trent McDevitt, and Steve William.



Besides holdovers and returnees Jay, Scott, Mel (& Laverne!), Chris, and N'Gai, residents during 1995-97 included Allen Sellars (who, like Jay, lived at both the Pink House and 401 Pritchard), Ian Williams, Zak Bisacky, James Dasher, Linden Elstran, Jiffer Bourguignon, Grant Tennille (who first made the scene as a fixture in N'Gai's room circa summer '93), Zia Zareem, Ben Folds, Tom Holden, and Chris "Chip" Chapman.

- Erik Ose

Tuesday, December 21, 1993

The New England Tour '93

It was late December, right before Christmas, and we all needed to get north. Our friend Mel Benner was headed home to Philadelphia. I was going up to Rhode Island. For whatever reason, Derek Elliott was bypassing his parents' place in New Jersey on the drive up, instead heading for Boston to hang with Lem who was visiting his aunt in Jamaica Plain.

Lem's cousin, Derek, Lem & his aunt at her house in Boston

Mel's mom very graciously greeted us with open arms when we showed up around 8 am in the morning. Then she cooked us breakfast, I think it was pancakes. Clearly, we had gotten a late start, and drove through the night from Chapel Hill.

This was actually the second time in a space of a few months that Derek and I had breakfast at someone named Mel's house in Pennsylvania – the first being our Fall Break '93 trip to NYC when we crashed at Pink Housemate Mel Lanham's place (just south of Valley Forge) along the way. But dropping Mel Benner off meant a trip to the heart of downtown Philadelphia. Before we got back on the road, Derek, Lem and I made some new friends on the mean streets and with our tour guides along for the ride, took a driving tour of South Philly that shocked all of us. The blocks we drove through looked like war zones. It was the most rundown urban landscape in America I've seen before or since.

After Xmas, in the aftermath of a blizzard-strength Northeast snowstorm, all of us (minus Mel) would connect in Boston with Tony Fishel, who was at that point living in an apartment on Mass Ave.


It was right before Tony moved to a huge three-story house in Jamaica Plain with my brother Jared and several other roommates, including his then-girlfriend Shelly and possibly Pete Moss, who would later relocate to Baltimore and become a fairly well-known DJ on the rave circuit. Jared and Tony lived in two attic rooms on opposite ends of the third floor, and it was a swank pad. Their house was within blocks of Lem's aunt's place.

Then the three of us drove down to NYC to spend New Year's Eve with Dana in the city. To be exact, we were crashing at his place, although on our own for entertainment, because he was probably spending the night with Erika. I think that's how everything went down.


Details are hazy, but among other places we stopped by a party at Rashmi's apartment in midtown Manhattan after running for like, twenty blocks through the cold streets to try and make it there by the time the ball dropped. We could hear the Times Square crowd in the distance.


And then likely ended up over at Sapphire, our favorite little out-of-the-way NYC club, which was around the corner from a spot where my RI buddy Robb Teer was working as a bouncer for a hot minute.

Altogether, we hit three major cities, which was about par for the course on a Pink House road trip.


"This is dedicated to all those who will contribute to the New England Tour '93, whether in the city or on the road..." – Lem, 12/21/93, 2:32 am

Friday, December 3, 1993

Fat cocktail mixtape on call

Erik: Fat tape on call – tonight I'm making the second mix for our cocktail. 5 CD's – new Tribe, new De La, Digable, Pharcyde and this release by Justin Warfield. Plus one or two essential Hendrix cuts. Do you (or Hasan) have any studio Hendrix on disc?

Chris: My ex-roommate from last year has a lot of Hendrix discs and I can ask him for them. It wouldn't be any problem! Is the Justin Warfield disc good?

Erik: I only need Axis: Bold As Love and Electric Ladyland. I'll stop by your crib early tonight like 7 or 8 pm if you'll be around. If you can find either CD by then, cool!

- (handwritten back-and-forth notes to Chris Lyn in class)

Wednesday, December 1, 1993

Local Restroom Reviews

Stay Free! #5, December 1993

Hers

Review by the Clampettes

Some bathroom reviews may focus on cleanliness, some on decor, but we at Superclamp are primarily concerned with one issue and one issue only - privacy. No matter how much we try to present ourselves as pro-fecal-matter trailblazers, there's just no getting around the fact that I (Trixie) not only dislike pooping in the presence of others, but, frankly, would never be able to. I don't know what percentage of people are like me on this, or what it means about my potty training or personality, but I have noticed that some people shit freely in the bathroom at work. When I'm sitting in the stall beside one of these (to my mind) exceptional people, I tense up like a deer caught in the headlights of a vehicle. My urethra closes. I look at her feet with fear, wondering, "Isn't she embarrassed?" I wonder if she recognizes my shoes. I wonder if she's noticed my urine flow has stopped abruptly. I wonder if she's one of my bosses. After this revelation, you may understand why, when I think of positive bathroom experiences, I think, "Eddie's Cheese Steaks in University Mall."

I, Gerta, had never visited the restroom in Eddie's Cheese Steaks (although I have driven Trixie there to purchase food), but Trixie obviously, until tonight at least, considered this mall bathroom a must visit. Giggling, we entered the bathroom together, hoping the mean woman at the counter would think the worst. You see, this bathroom offers the utmost in privacy - a single room, replete with odor leeching/noise masking fan, to be used by one (or two, if you're like us) patron at a time. The door locked securely and had no cracks or holes, sheltering us from the kind of people who like to see Clampettes engage in business. Although the bathroom was not very clean, we could hardly enter due to the cornucopia of cleaning supplies blocking the doorway. The decor? Minimalist and young London - in other words, stark white. On the luxury scale, Trixie gives it a 10, availability of toilet paper and mirror being the main factors here. A final test, and some might say unconventional, was whether or not we felt comfortable eating in the bathroom. Since one must be a paying customer to use the facilities at Eddie's, this issue is indeed pertinent. Our answer? A resounding yes. The bathroom exudes an atmosphere conducive to fine dining. Upon exiting this pleasuredome, we found the number of cleaning supplies had increased, as had their effectiveness in blocking the doorway. We barely made it out alive!

The official open-to-the-public mall bathroom was next on our list. What a change of pace! Both seedy and decadent, this restroom is a painful assault on the senses, bombarding us with buttloads of fragrance and walls painted in egregious pink. This in no way compensated for the filth, three different kinds of tile, or the fact that only two out of three stall doors locked! Last but not least, this bathroom is located next to mall security, a plus or minus, depending on your world view.

Across the mall lies the bathrooms of Chic-Fil-A. Color and odor fused to create one overriding impression - chicken! More specifically, the color was chicken, the smell was chicken basted in Comet. We didn't buy a thing at Chic-Fil-A yet we walked by the kitchen staff without so much as a peep! Privacy was perfect, though not enough for Gerta's anal father, Jim Stern, who finds no public bathroom is ever private enough. Onward!

Tony's Pizza was our last restaurant stop. This restroom excelled in that sickly sweet smell public facility users know so well. Tony's confirmed what previous research led us to believe: level of smell is positively related to level of filth. This fact was underlined by the disgusting roll of cloth towels (environmentalists, start pouting) and greasy door knob. Even worse, a piece of green yarn underneath the sink could easily be mistaken by the psychotic for a garden snake! Trixie was excited to hear Canned Heat's "On the Road Again" playing as we exited the bathroom. How appropriate!

On the recommendation of a mall employee, we ventured next to Dillard's where we were pleasantly surprised. Indeed, though this restroom was not private, it was the only mall bathroom with both potted plant and feminine protection dispenser. Trixie fell in love with the shelf over the toilet, convenient for purses and packages. At the same time, she realized this must surely be a capitalist ploy. The paper towels, abundant and brown, also get a thumbs up.

We Clampettes had to hustle to our final stop (at the opposite end of the mall no less!), Belk's. Shockingly, the bathroom here was located not next to the customer service desk, but adjacent to the salon. The decor was quite hideous, consisting of outdated harvest tones. The fragrance here was distinctly different and downright awful. In fact, the source of the scent was on full display - how shameless! The breakdown? Three out of four stalls had functioning locks and three of four stalls had holes in the doors, exposing you to the thundering herd. Our task complete, we bid Belk's goodbye and good riddance.

Finished with our reviews, we next sought the input of mall employees - specifically those who work in the booths placed along the walkways. The first interviewee, a young woman who seemed pleased by the idea of a bathroom review, confessed that she is not able to use the restroom unless her mother guards the booth for her.

Demir, interviewee #2, has a much more cushy, yet reasonable, set- up. The employees at Eddie's Cheese Steaks watch his booth. Surprisingly, the charming Demir does not like the bathroom at Eddie's, nor does he like the bathroom at Chic-Fil-A, both of which are very close. In Demir's hierarchy of needs, the presence of a mirror (lacking in Eddie's) supersedes the opportunity for privacy and the smell of chicken (in abundance at Chic-Fil-A) is a definite turn off. Demir's bathroom of choice is the official mall bathroom, forcing us to wonder if the decor in any way reflects his seasonal palette.

"Why University Mall?" the faithful reader might ask. The guys reviewed club bathrooms, a topic much closer to my music-lovin' heart. Never fear, we present one last subject for review - the bathroom in Zen Frisbee's house. Privacy is lacking: their door hangs off its hinges, and you've really got to manhandle it to lock it at all. Even when securely locked, there's a crack at the top of the door that may provoke phantasmagoric visions of prying King of Fragrance eyes ‡ la Salvador Dali's portion of Spellbound. Filth was surprisingly low, as was the level of fragrance, in keeping with the correlation established by public facilities. In fact, since their door is often open, their house may be considered a public facility. The only tell-tale sign of low personal hygiene in evidence was the fact that they kept their toothpaste on the floor of the tub, suggesting that neither toothpaste nor tub see much action.

His

by Pat Anders

If there's any truth left to the old saw about a man's home being his castle, who can deny that the real seat of power in our fortresses is to be found in the throne room - the hole, the whizzatorium, the crapper - the bathroom? The same holds true in the office, on the road, in restaurants and bars, even in rock 'n' roll. Though it's only the bravest or least commercial of bands that will tackle this most private of subjects, no visit to a rock show of any consequence is complete without at least one visit to the facilities.

Duke Coffeehouse - The only Triangle rock club with a first- rate men's room. Layout and graffiti are nothing to shout about. One toilet (with decent protective walls and a door that really locks), one sink, no soap. Graffiti is appallingly unimaginative, the usual "stop the madness" anti/pro-violence/gay bashing jargon, along with some abstruse jive about cheese. What makes the Coffeehouse stand out is its acoustic perfection - bands actually sound better in the john than on the floor. Trust me.

Hardback Cafe - Not a favorite. They've only got one toilet, which means you have to lock off the whole room while using it. On the rare nights Hardback is packed, they have the added "mystery factor." The lines for the women's room get so long that you never know whether the guy taking so long in there is in fact a gal who couldn't take the wait. Second bonus: it's usually clean and has soap.

Local 506 - Chapel Hill's premiere club has a ways to go in the plumbing department. One toilet (with good walls), one urinal, sink and soap. It's very clean, with that white-washed look for extra sparkle. What disturbs me most is that a club that books s o many shows has such a paucity of graffiti. It should be covered by now, guys. What writing there is is dominated by a huge gold ink scrawl in the stall saying "Chet Atkins (or maybe Barry Goldwater) was here." I was really drunk the night I checked.

Smokin Joe's - Where to start? This joint is laid out in early Gulag style, with one toilet and three sink-like piss troughs in close proximity. There are no walls, and the toilet is very close to the door, which the staff like to keep open, so any passin g cutie can see your legs while you do your business (if you can). Dim lighting's the only plus. The graffiti betrays Smokin' Joe's origins as an undergraduate frat bar (formerly Fred's, formerly Troll's). If you're a private bathroom guy, you may feel more comfortable in one of the many nearby bars or in the bushes behind the parking lot. (Ed. note: it is a misdemeanor to urinate or defecate publicly in Chapel Hill).

The Brewery - The Triangle's oldest surviving rock club show its age in its men's room. Peeling paint brick walls, black trim, walled toilet (no urinal), sink and soap. No different from a thousand gas station men's rooms, except that you don't have to as k for a key. Middle of the road.

Third Floor, UNC Student Union Annex - This is offered solely as an example of entertaining graffiti. Around the left-most stall, a battle has been raging for at least two months between some racist pinhead (he started it off with, "Why do we need a black cultural center? We've already got one - it's called prison.") and about 20 people who have counterattacked. Some of the rejoinders to Mr. Goebbels are quite funny, and he stops in to reply to all of them on at least a weekly basis. Next time you're on UNC's campus, stop by and add your 2¢ to this stimulating debate. Clean, three walled-off toilets, three urinals, sinks, soap and a condom dispenser.

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