Pink House Forever

The Pink House was like an underground United Nations. Chapel Hill's aspiring artists, musicians, poets, DJ's, activists, actors, writers, nudists, flutists, knuckleheads, and couch-surfers, all living together in (relative) harmony, united by their common bohemianism. Life inside the Pink House often consisted of weird shit happening at all hours, every day, it rarely stopped. And there's something about that place that won't allow the vibe to ever fully dissipate. / PinkHouseForever.org

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 Ian Williams, Greg Humphreys, Allen Sellars (who, like Jay, lived at both the Pink House and 401 Pritchard), 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

Sunday, June 21, 1998

Jay gainfully employed at Besa Mi Burro

Last night I was out on the town with my friend Trish hand delivering invites to this party next weekend. And we went by the place where my friend (and former roommate - you met him in Boston that one time) Jay Murray works, this really cool Mexican restaurant called Besa Mi Burro. I hope it stays open. They had about four customers in there besides us and nine employees including Jay running around trying to act busy.

It's ultrafunky on the inside, you sit at the bar in these big creaky chairs, there's weird Mexican shit hanging everywhere, like right in your face, crazy dim colored lights everywhere, obscene hand-lettered Spanish signs, you drink the margaritas out of gigantic, heavy glass bottles, there's a guy dressed like a friar sweeping the floor, and everyone else in the place is wearing funny hats. We also know the bartender, and he's crazy.

- e-mail to Carolina