NYCH3 #1145

NYCH3 #1145
Date: 12th February 2006
Start: New York Public Library
Hares: Rubberhead & Snakebite
On-in: Stone Pub & "Restaurant" (47th & 8th Ave)
Scribe: Fire-In-The-Piehole

“Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.” Inscription on the New York General Post Office (8th Ave & 33rd)

“err…except the bit about the snow.”
    Rubberhead and Snakebite

One of the great things about the Hash is that, regardless of the weather, it’s always on. Rain, sunshine, hurricane, Act of God™, Prohibition or any combination of the above – it doesn’t matter: your friendly Hasher can trek to the start head held high (or perhaps slightly stooped in the case of a hurricane), confident that his or her immediate future plans will include both r*nning a trail and drinking beer.

So it was with such confidence that a reasonable number of hashers tromped through a blizzard, freezing temperatures and two feet of snow to reach the Public Library for the start of today’s hash. We were greeted by our two hares. I’m using “hares” here in the “we-couldn’t-be-arsed-setting-a-trail-so-why-don’t-you-just-entertain-yourselves-with-a-self-guided-tour-of-the-park” sense of the word “hares”. I realise that for most readers this lesser-known definition of the word may come as something of a surprise. Well, dear reader, you are not alone: we were similarly bemused at this turn of events. Suddenly there was a new world order. No longer could we depend upon the hash to deliver…err…a hash.

Setting aside for a moment this travesty, one of the obvious logistical problems that occurs when you don’t set a trail to the bar is that you have to tell your pack where the bar is before you start. That, however, wasn’t enough for our hares. No, the Pack was required to volunteer as bag hags and take their own gear to the finish before we started. Something about a lack of taxis or the hares being a pair of big girls’ blouses…I can’t remember: you be the judge.

Having trekked to the On-In (by which, of course, I mean the “On-Out”), we set out in a somewhat haphazard manner with the general intention of running up into the Park and back presumably making up our own trail along the way(?)

For obvious reasons, there is nothing to report about the trail but everyone made it up to the Park without falling on their arses (a considerable achievement for some). Again, I’m using “trail” in the “not a trail” sense of the word “trail”. I know it’s hard to take in and some struggled with this Orwellian concept more than others: Salt Lick, in particular, couldn’t prevent herself repeatedly shouting “Are you?”

We proceeded to do a loop around the lower end of the Park (Mary, being the exception to this as she elected, for some masochistic reason, to do a loop of the whole Park). The Park itself was busier than it is in the height of summer: apparently a large number of New Yorkers and tourists hadn’t seen snow before and thought they should go out and investigate what all the fuss was about.

Having seen snow before, however, the majority of us dodged the kids on their sleds (or, if you’re Mastercard, you steal the kid’s sled, use it, break it and then do a runner) and made a beeline back down Eighth Avenue, arriving back in one piece if somewhat chilly at the On-In (The Blarney Stone Pub & Restaurant on 47th & 8th Ave). I’m using the term “restaurant” here in the “some weird-ass diner-style open buffet in the middle of a pub” sense of the word “restaurant”.

So to the Down-downs. The “Hares” for their strong performance and the considerable effort they put in to the day’s event: I’m sure they’ll be invited back soon. Fire-In-The-Piehole was asked to drink for apparently not correctly translating Fahrenheit into Celsius and for not looking out the window before selecting his wardrobe for the run. Shorts and a t-shirt is apparently not “de rigeur” for blizzard conditions in New York. I have a note that Heather had to drink but it’s not clear to me why. The note reads: “Prep. H” “Backpack” “Condom”…you make your own story up.

MasterCard was given a down down for wearing an ugly tie (a non-committee-sanctioned “theme” that was roundly ignored by everyone except MasterCard and for which she was properly reprimanded by being made to drink beer). She was also drinking on account of having left some more 8-year old kid in tears after she the stole kid’s sled and promptly broke it.

Salt Lick was asked to drink for letting slip to the JM in casual conversation that she needed to stop by her office at some point “on trail” in order to rescue her résumé of which she had inadvertently printed several copies while applying for another job.

Finally, the notes mention Lunch who I don’t believe was made to drink but probably should have on account of owning a jacket with a vanity ski pass still attached to it. Somehow it doesn’t have the same impact to brag about your skiing trips when the pass is dated 2004. It also doesn’t say much about his dry-cleaning schedule.

With the down downs out of the way, we returned to our regularly scheduled programming, i.e. drinking beer. It seemed that order had once again been restored to the universe: even if the hasher couldn’t certain of a trail, at least there would always be beer. If you’re going to skip one of the key elements to a hash, it’s important to know which one and for that, at least, the hares had their priorities straight.