"God gives all men all earth to love,
But, since our hearts are small
Ordained for each one spot should prove
Beloved over all;"
- Sussex, by Rudyard Kipling
Not unlike the upper room where Christ shared his last supper with his most beloved friends, or New York's Algonquin Hotel where the intellectual elite of the time "changed the nature of American comedy," or the bar in "St. Elmo's Fire," Paul's Basement was a unique nexus where diverse personalities would gather in fellowship to celebrate their victories and lament their defeats.
Only, of course, the upper room was, well, you know... upstairs. And we were, you know, in the basement. Although, to call it the 'downer' room would be both misleading and... depressing.
Furthermore, while the Algonquin was frequented by the wealthy intelligentsia of New York City, who skewered one another with their rapier wit while debating the art and politics of the day, Paul's Basement mainly played host to unemployed teenagers watching cheap slasher films and groping each other under tattered afghans.
Paul: C'mon guys, you're making my place sound like a crack house!
Eric: Hey, that's not a bad simile either...
Not unlike the crack house down the street -
Paul: NO NO NO, I'm going to stop this right here if you guys don't get serious! This is the introduction to the site, dammit!
Paul's Basement was positioned at the mystical intersection of two powerful ley lines, namely 33rd and 225th PL SW in Mountlake Terrace.
This was our refuge, our sanctuary, our Camelot, our Rivendell, our Xanadu, our Shangri-la, our Rubicon, our V'ger, our-
Paul: Whoa, whoa, whoa... time out. That didn't even make sense. You guys are completely out of control... where's that quote from Jenny?
"Mostly, I remember the basement as being a haven from the adults, where you could be as gross, silly, scary, romantic, depressed, elated or turmoil-sticken as you needed to be. When we would have cast parties there, the entire floor would be a sea of teenaged bodies, tangled in sleeping bags and blankets, cuddling, with our faces blue in the glow of the TV screen."
- Jenny, frequent visitor to Paul's Basement
Eric: Wow, that's good.
Matt: Yeah, that's pretty much it...
Jason: I have nothing to add.
OK, here's the deal. Basically, we watched a lot of movies, listened to music, reminisced about concerts, told stories, repaired guitars, constructed explosive devices, and some of us even made it to first base under that mildew-smelling quilt.
While we acknowledge that most of these stories mean nothing to anyone except ourselves, we maintain that there is a small chance they may entertain and enlighten others. Our goal is that this site will serve as a repository -
Paul: A WHAT-itory?
Matt: A REPOS-itory, Paul. Geez, calm down.
- a repository of these collective experiences and knowledge, not unlike the Great Library of Alexandria.
Except the Great Library of Alexandria didn't have stories about awesome concerts. Also, it burned to the ground. Not unlike that nightclub where Great White was playing, when -
Paul: Okay, that's it, you've all obviously run out of things to say so I'm ending this NOW.
Eric: V'ger.
EPILOGUE
The above collaborative effort was the first such attempt at coming up with a story that we could all agree to. As you can probably tell, it will also be our last attempt. That said, we were all quite happy that things turned out as well as they did, but yet still felt that each person should be given the opprotunity to tell things in their own words.
