Date: Sunday, April 16, 2006
Start: Columbus Circle
Hare: Wet Connection, a.k.a. the Easter Bunny
On-In: Circus, 9th & 43rd
Scribe: Noah’s Dinghy
This perhaps not randomly selected meeting place turned out to be well-chosen, as our hare, complete with bunny ears, arrived and pointed into the park. And so we were off, r*nning … well, into the park, as I just mentioned. At one point, we found ourselves at the Central Park Zoo, where a few hashers (let’s say it was Jumping Jack Gash and Dave Hardy; I know I saw them at one point) turned back. They had seen the notice of a $9 entrance fee and refused to pay. Understandable, but the trail only took us by the entrance; it was unnecessary to pay a cover. The large crowd that had gathered led more than a few hashers to comment that it was a zoo at the zoo. Though this line was endlessly hysterical when I said it, the humor dissipated after the fifth time.
We continued around the park for a spell, then emerged at 58th Street, down 5th Avenue a few blocks, and then over to Park, where Fast American Dave was nearly r*n over by a guy in a Bentley. Not needing to rename him Flat American Dave, we soldiered on, eventually going past Rockefeller Center and then Times Square, and finally to our on-in, Circus.
Now, some might suggest that after r*nning for a few miles, it’s not terribly relaxing to end up at a bar featuring several disturbing portraits of clowns. Of course, there’s no portrait of a clown anywhere on this planet that isn’t disturbing. But hashers are brave lot, and pitchers of beer will steel you against the most Stephen King-ish of imagery while you wait your turn to use the bathroom. And more importantly, we were sitting on the back porch, well away from the artwork, but next to the beer and large bowls of popcorn the on-in generously provided.
Anyway, the real purpose of our day at the ready, we all got down to the task of drinking. A lot. Down downs went as follows: the hare, who was still wearing her bunny ears.
Vince, for charging into the women’s bathroom to change shortly after arrival with a nary a care in the world; perhaps he was doing some early prep for the Red Dress R*n.
0 to 60, for attending what I think was her fifth “last” hash before moving to Chicago.
Peter, for setting the hotline regarding the start, and then promptly calling the hotline to find out where we were starting.
Dave Hardy, for bringing his progeny on trail.
Victoria, who for the second week in a row strutted about in a pair of leather boots, was named Kinky Boots.
Asshole of the week went to Oh Shit, a recent transplant from San Francisco. I’m not sure if he did anything to deserve this, or if the JMs simply decided he looked like an asshole. It was noted that he was an early contender for Asshole of the Year next year.
That bit of unpleasantness behind us, everyone got back to drinking. A lot. And at the end of the day, isn’t that what’s important?