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
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Remembering the Pink House, 15 Years Later
2009 marks fifteen years since I graduated from Carolina and moved out of the Pink House, the legendary off-campus crash pad located at 130 ...
Showing posts with label Kristen Schoonover. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kristen Schoonover. Show all posts
Saturday, December 31, 1994
Sunday, September 4, 1994
The house predictably sank into utter summer filth
Whassup! This is your former Pink Housemate Erik coming through loud and clear on the straight-up tip, doing deals and making crazy cash while chillin' in Chapel Hill, sending you out a positive shout up there in D.C., where the word on the street says you've finally made the big move into an apartment of your very own! Well, actually I guess it's a place you're sharing with someone else, namely, Jenny's very close friend and former roommate Alston Neal. What a coincidence. Hope everything's going smoothly, from what I've heard you're having a great time living closer to the heart of the city.
Shelly was in town this past weekend and tried unsuccessfully to get in touch with me regarding your mail. It was a very hectic weekend for us both I guess, for me because of my latest, on-going, money-making venture. More about that in a second. Anyway, I figured I should get off my ass and send you this mail and your farewell videotape before any more time elapsed. It's a two-hour tape, and your goodbye party takes the award for most interesting portion.
Yeah, so the Pink House vibe has definitely dissipated. You're gone, I'm gone, and for a while it looked as if Mel was planning to jet as well. The troubles all started when I left town shortly after you, leaving a check for both our phone bills with Chris Palmatier. He proceeded to lose this check, and instead just assumed that neither of us had paid our bills. Jay Murray, of course, at this point hadn't paid the phone bill either. So guess what happened? The phone got disconnected. It took those kids about six weeks to finally get their phone service reconnected. Mel was truly bugging out. The inconvenience of not having a phone was really getting to her, plus the utter summer filth that the house predictably sank into within days of our departures, plus everyone else's general slack attitudes. And since I took most of my stuff with me when I jetted, the house got left kind of bare anyway. So Mel started thinking about jumping ship herself.
Then Charlie came back from New Orleans, Trent moved in, and I finished moving out. Mel came back from Pennsylvania and realized how much bigger my room was than the one she'd been living in across the hall. Trent is an actor, and he can't live without a phone, so within a few days he arranged to have the service re-connected. Then Charlie, Jay and Scott went on a mad furniture buying spree, and bought all this new funky furniture to replace the stuff I'd jetted with. I think they even started picking up after themselves. Mel tried looking around for apartments, and realized there wasn't much out there close to campus where she could keep a pet. Laverne is getting so big, by the way - you wouldn't believe it. So all these factors converged to influence a change in her plans, and now Mel is again staying at Chez Pink. You have their new phone number, I assume, but in case you don't, it's (919) 967-8969.
O.k., I'm on the verge of wrapping this letter up, but I did want to tell you how I've been making crazy money these last few weeks. Basically, I've become a used furniture broker! Selling absurd used furniture to kids moving into dorms and apartments, all kinds of crazy shit, and I've netted about $2500 since mid-August. I feel like I've been stuck in an extended episode of Sanford and Son, driving around town in my Volvo, scanning the streets for wayward couches and easy chairs, searching apartment complex dumpsters for those "special items" just waiting to make some furniture customer a happy camper.
Essentially, I'm raising capital. Kristen Schoonover (who told me all about the great night out at Fifth Column she had with you and Jyoti a few weeks ago) and I are now exploring becoming co-investors in a nightclub in Raleigh, a space over on Hillsborough Street. It's got 1500 square feet, rent is $1000/month, and we're going to look at it on Tuesday of this week. It's owned by two brothers who are friends of hers, Leon and Louie, and who own half the real estate on Hillsborough Street. I'll keep you informed of developments.
Feel free to drop me a line with all the latest lowdown on your plans and activities, because both Jenny and I would love to know how things are going with you. And you know you're welcome to stay with us whenever you come down to visit next - we've got an extra futon and it's all you. O.k., kid, I gotta go sell some more used furniture. My inventory is almost depleted, but I've still got about $800 worth of deals to close. Jyoti, Ryan, Firas, and Derek Shadid all say hello.
- Letter to Steve
Shelly was in town this past weekend and tried unsuccessfully to get in touch with me regarding your mail. It was a very hectic weekend for us both I guess, for me because of my latest, on-going, money-making venture. More about that in a second. Anyway, I figured I should get off my ass and send you this mail and your farewell videotape before any more time elapsed. It's a two-hour tape, and your goodbye party takes the award for most interesting portion.
Yeah, so the Pink House vibe has definitely dissipated. You're gone, I'm gone, and for a while it looked as if Mel was planning to jet as well. The troubles all started when I left town shortly after you, leaving a check for both our phone bills with Chris Palmatier. He proceeded to lose this check, and instead just assumed that neither of us had paid our bills. Jay Murray, of course, at this point hadn't paid the phone bill either. So guess what happened? The phone got disconnected. It took those kids about six weeks to finally get their phone service reconnected. Mel was truly bugging out. The inconvenience of not having a phone was really getting to her, plus the utter summer filth that the house predictably sank into within days of our departures, plus everyone else's general slack attitudes. And since I took most of my stuff with me when I jetted, the house got left kind of bare anyway. So Mel started thinking about jumping ship herself.
Then Charlie came back from New Orleans, Trent moved in, and I finished moving out. Mel came back from Pennsylvania and realized how much bigger my room was than the one she'd been living in across the hall. Trent is an actor, and he can't live without a phone, so within a few days he arranged to have the service re-connected. Then Charlie, Jay and Scott went on a mad furniture buying spree, and bought all this new funky furniture to replace the stuff I'd jetted with. I think they even started picking up after themselves. Mel tried looking around for apartments, and realized there wasn't much out there close to campus where she could keep a pet. Laverne is getting so big, by the way - you wouldn't believe it. So all these factors converged to influence a change in her plans, and now Mel is again staying at Chez Pink. You have their new phone number, I assume, but in case you don't, it's (919) 967-8969.
O.k., I'm on the verge of wrapping this letter up, but I did want to tell you how I've been making crazy money these last few weeks. Basically, I've become a used furniture broker! Selling absurd used furniture to kids moving into dorms and apartments, all kinds of crazy shit, and I've netted about $2500 since mid-August. I feel like I've been stuck in an extended episode of Sanford and Son, driving around town in my Volvo, scanning the streets for wayward couches and easy chairs, searching apartment complex dumpsters for those "special items" just waiting to make some furniture customer a happy camper.
Essentially, I'm raising capital. Kristen Schoonover (who told me all about the great night out at Fifth Column she had with you and Jyoti a few weeks ago) and I are now exploring becoming co-investors in a nightclub in Raleigh, a space over on Hillsborough Street. It's got 1500 square feet, rent is $1000/month, and we're going to look at it on Tuesday of this week. It's owned by two brothers who are friends of hers, Leon and Louie, and who own half the real estate on Hillsborough Street. I'll keep you informed of developments.
Feel free to drop me a line with all the latest lowdown on your plans and activities, because both Jenny and I would love to know how things are going with you. And you know you're welcome to stay with us whenever you come down to visit next - we've got an extra futon and it's all you. O.k., kid, I gotta go sell some more used furniture. My inventory is almost depleted, but I've still got about $800 worth of deals to close. Jyoti, Ryan, Firas, and Derek Shadid all say hello.
- Letter to Steve
Thursday, September 1, 1994
The Plastic House and Noble Street
During 1993-94, my two favorite spots to chill away from the Pink House were Derek Shadid's house at 112 Noble Street, with its beautiful backyard full of boulders dating back to glacier days, and the Plastic House at 207 Pritchard, home to Jyoti and Swati Argade, Martha Pryor, Kristen Schoonover, and a rotating cast of other cool women. Who were all very real, not plastic - the name was derived from the five-bedroom place's yellow siding.
In the fall of '94, I had recently moved out of the Pink House, but wasn't quite ready to ease into post-collegiate life. During those few months, if I wasn't on the clock at FGI or at home enjoying my new existence with Jenny as a condo-dwelling couple in suburban Chapel Hill, I could probably be found at 207 Pritchard. The Plastic House kept the vibe alive, and was the scene of many a legendary party that season.
After Martha graduated in December, she lived in the front room for one more semester before getting her own place with Mel the following summer.
Mel on Plastic House back porch, Spring '94
In the fall of '94, I had recently moved out of the Pink House, but wasn't quite ready to ease into post-collegiate life. During those few months, if I wasn't on the clock at FGI or at home enjoying my new existence with Jenny as a condo-dwelling couple in suburban Chapel Hill, I could probably be found at 207 Pritchard. The Plastic House kept the vibe alive, and was the scene of many a legendary party that season.
After Martha graduated in December, she lived in the front room for one more semester before getting her own place with Mel the following summer.
Mel on Plastic House back porch, Spring '94
Wednesday, August 31, 1994
Everything Must Go!
Note from Kristen during back-to-school yard sale behind Pedigo's apartment, 408-A Pritchard Ave.
Sunday, July 10, 1994
Farewell to Steve William as he leaves for D.C.
Beth, Martha, Steve, Mel, Erik, Scott, Dave, Jyoti, Chris, Ryan, and Kristen. Photo courtesy of Mel Keister (Lanham).
Thursday, June 30, 1994
Sunday, June 19, 1994
Wednesday, March 30, 1994
Friday, February 18, 1994
Saturday, February 12, 1994
HeartBeat at the Depot - a Unity Event
We closed this rave down, dancing 'til five o’clock in the morning. It was a packed event, held at the historic former train depot in downtown Greensboro. 14 years later, Barack Obama and Joe Biden would appear at this same spot, speaking on its front steps in the closing weeks of the '08 elections to a crowd estimated at 25,000. But on this cold night in the winter of '94, underground rave culture in North Carolina was in full bloom.
Were there a thousand kids at this party? Whatever capacity the fire marshals would allow, that's how many bodies were packed into the Depot. We met kids there from as far away as Nashville and Birmingham, AL who had come to Feel the HeartBeat.
The night was put on by Ed LeBrun, the owner of Spins record store in Greensboro. In June he would begin promoting the legendary First Friday monthly parties at Babylon, a newly opened dance club on Elm Street. Until his tragic murder in August, 1999, Ed was one of the driving forces behind the rave scene in the Carolinas.
Ed LeBrun outside Spins, mid-90s
The dancefloor space was small, and the amount of lighting and effects that Ed packed in there was truly breathtaking. I remember amazing video and computerized projections washing over the crowd, and constantly flickering on the walls.
The night's theme was love, and the house music and visuals were in perfect harmony. Even the floor lit up!
I remember thinking that the spot where our group of Pink House ravers were grooving was a dancefloor heaven, the perfect place to be at that moment in time. It certainly seemed that way. I was surrounded by the love of my friends, the energy of the night, and the smiling crowd. Everyone was beautiful, and happiness was in the air. Then, at five o'clock on the dot, the lights came up. I looked around, and saw that our mystical rave paradise was actually a shabby little room in the back of the Depot that resembled a broken-down high school cafeteria. It was a bit of a come down. But I was still smiling, all the way home to Chapel Hill.
Were there a thousand kids at this party? Whatever capacity the fire marshals would allow, that's how many bodies were packed into the Depot. We met kids there from as far away as Nashville and Birmingham, AL who had come to Feel the HeartBeat.
The night was put on by Ed LeBrun, the owner of Spins record store in Greensboro. In June he would begin promoting the legendary First Friday monthly parties at Babylon, a newly opened dance club on Elm Street. Until his tragic murder in August, 1999, Ed was one of the driving forces behind the rave scene in the Carolinas.
Ed LeBrun outside Spins, mid-90s
The dancefloor space was small, and the amount of lighting and effects that Ed packed in there was truly breathtaking. I remember amazing video and computerized projections washing over the crowd, and constantly flickering on the walls.
The night's theme was love, and the house music and visuals were in perfect harmony. Even the floor lit up!
I remember thinking that the spot where our group of Pink House ravers were grooving was a dancefloor heaven, the perfect place to be at that moment in time. It certainly seemed that way. I was surrounded by the love of my friends, the energy of the night, and the smiling crowd. Everyone was beautiful, and happiness was in the air. Then, at five o'clock on the dot, the lights came up. I looked around, and saw that our mystical rave paradise was actually a shabby little room in the back of the Depot that resembled a broken-down high school cafeteria. It was a bit of a come down. But I was still smiling, all the way home to Chapel Hill.
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