Hash # 1,034, January 18^th, 2004

Hare:  Jesse

Start: As diametrically situated from my house as you can get without going above 76^th St.

On-In:  Same

Scribe: Angry Jean the Mean Mean Machine

 

The Curse of the Hash

I brought this on myself, I fear.

 

Legend tells of a pioneer NYC hasher called Kenaga who in his infinite wisdom and infinite intoxication (I think he ate the worm) saw the future of New York City hashing and saw that it was bad. Without him, the hash had deteriorated: hashers were being named (fer fuck’s sake), songs were being sung, nudity was a dirty word, and David Byron Brown was allowing all this. Kenaga decided something must be done and laid a curse upon this hash: those who don’t respect the hash past shall be condemned to re-hash it:

 

“And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my hash.  And you will know I am Kenaga when I lay my vengeance upon you.”

 

Fast forward about 20 years to the St. Patrick’s Day hash of 2003 when an innocent young (?) hasher, whilst reading a write up wherein the scribe imagines a conversation about the state of today’s hash among the hashanauts Hardy, Byron Brown, Burke, and Kenaga, and asks the fateful question: WHO THE HELL IS KENAGA? Time stopped, glasses fell to the floor, jaws agape, Byron Brown ran from the building certain an earthquake was imminent. Well, nothing happened that day but I’m here to tell you I have discovered the CURSE of the HASH. No, it wouldn’t be all at once. Just little insidious disruptions, enough to annoy the hash, not enough to make them suspicious. I can tell you this because, yes, I was that young (?) hasher. I didn’t know who Kenaga was. And I have seen His vengeance. I have lived it. Hear me out. Can you explain any of the following any other way?

 

·         Jesse joins the committee

·         Magoo and Cockstar begin hashing in New York City

·         Air-conditioning breaks down, then rains down upon the 1000^th R*n Weekend

·         Region-wide blackout hits GGFMH3

·         Cree in a long-term relationship

·         Head Up Ass forced to dress as a man at the Red Dress Run

·         Danny steps down as JM of GGFM

·         Mean Jean becomes JM of GGFM

·         Dave Long returns from England

·         Blizzards, sub-zero wind chills, freezing rain and snow plague hash-after-hash this winter

·         Timmy running and NOT drinking

·         Crazy Bob

 

Any of these events taken individually would be bad enough, but together they add up to only one thing. The Curse of Kenaga.

 

Let’s take last Sunday for example. For about the sixth hash in a row, bad weather rules the day. Omens abound. I have an hour-long commute to the other sideof hell, First Avenue and 75^th St.: one subway, one bus with TWO handicapped passenger stops. Freezing rain and snow, sidewalks covered in slushie ice mixture. Jesse haring. Forgot my baseball cap.

 

The Trail.

What trail? Well, to his credit, Jesse did manage to nestle a few marks in dry, covered spots. Enough to get us to York and 77^th. Things went a bit awry around then when marks disappeared but a diligent pack surged on eastward. Not convinced, Got Wood?, Joe the Body, and myself weren’t quite as industrious and hightailed it north on York checking east until we spied the pack heading into Carl Schurz Park. Parks look awfully pretty in the snow and I relaxed my angry posture long enough to enjoy the moment before we spied the pack heading around Gracie Mansion along the river. With rivulets of snots heading southward of my nose, wet feet, and a just-as over-this partner in Got Wood?, I took the path of least resistance, accepted the Curse of Kenaga, and headed on back to the On In, cleverly located just next door to the starting bar, Blue Moon, Citi Bar I think it was. On the way there, Heather and I felt justified by the number of wipe outs we saw from regular pedestrians, never mind a pack of idiots running around in the snow and sleet.

 

The On In.

Football fever is inescapable in a bar on any Sunday in January. We took over the front area of the bar where TV viewing ability was at its nadir. Wet t-shirts, socks and shoes were stripped, wringed of moisture and hung all over for a laughable attempt at drying before the end of the night. Ah, Kenaga, you are good.  My bad attitude aside, Jesse did deserve what was about to happen next. After refusing my entreaty for another pitcher of “good” beer until the pack was “more desperate”, I went all Kenaga on his ass, screaming a series of tirades against him and any progeny that might emit from any unholy union. Cockstar held me back and Jason put the kibosh on any further damage I might do myself, the bar stool I was about to pick up, and the only person the bartender was allowed to serve beer to.  

 

The tone was set. The curse was in force.

 

The Circle.

Down downs are like omens and curses. Hard to prove or disprove the underlying cause but none-the-less truths by their very being.

 

1. The Hare: An official ban was declared and esseJ is no longer allowed in the Circle. Stand-ins will instead be used. Tripod was called to duty due to similar build and height.

 

Aside: Representative from the other NYC hashes agreed to honor the ban, including Queens who said if they ever had enough hashers for a circle, they would indeed disavow esseJ.

 

2. Visitors:  Shampoo and Moist Leatherette were visiting from Toronto. They claimed no knowledge of our missing plunger which was spirited away by fellow-Toronto hashers. We all held tight to our bathroom appliances.

 

3. Lone virgin: Roy. Friend of Jon. Poor slob.

 

4. Sarah Downunder and Cockstar for arriving civilian-style, both feigning illness/injury. Sarah for pneumonia and Cockstar for pulled ass muscle. Further investigation revealed that Sarah’s pneumonia didn’t keep her from drinking her fair share of hash cash. And Alison had pulled her ass about month ago. Better get in some ass stretching, girl!

 

5. Vince, aka, Viagra Spice for constantly visiting. And why the hell you would come to NYC from Florida in this weather….

 

6. Devo: Upon Devo’s arrival at the on in, Cockstar commented to Mean Jean that she hoped Devo was a “growie” and not a “showie”.

 

Aside: Devo spent the rest of the on in explaining to this reporter about the concept of shrinkage, assuring me by 8PM that “everything was back to normal now.”

 

7. Magoo was called for going home to shower and change his panties, reapply hair gel. Didn’t bring back warm socks for any of his hash buddies.

 

Aside: Can you say “metrosexual”?

 

8. AOTW  runner-up was esseJ for, shock-of-all-shocks, forgetting the plunger. Tripod stood in.

 

9. Actual AOTW: Oh Roy-friend-of-Jon. First hash. Wears a Night at the Opera t-shirt from the 80s that proudly states, “QUEEN” on the front. Oh Roy! I mean, Oh QUEEN! (now officially named).

 

The denouement.

“The trail of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of JMs and the tyranny of evil packs.  Blessed is he who, in the name of beer and good trail, shepherds the weak through the valley of checks.  For he is truly his pack’s keeper and the finder of lost hashers.”

 

For my part, I plan to lay wreaths and gifts at the shrine I’ve built to Kenaga in my home. I suggest you do the same. Maybe the curse will lift. Probably in the spring. Meanwhile, remember my name.

 

WHO THE HELL IS MEAN JEAN?

 

On out.