NYCH3 #1233
Date: Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Start: Hares: Bahamonde and Scooter
On-In: Peter Dillons (previously known as Ellen O’Dee’s) on 40th and Lex
Scribe: Steve (the red-headed one)
A midsized mob of middle-weight militant marauders milled about at the start. Alliteration aside, it was a good size pack for the last Wednesday Hash of 2007. The calendar said September but the weather felt more like August.
Trail started near the Roosevelt Island tram stop which brought up the specter of ending up in Queens again. After an extremely brief chalk talk, the pack was off promptly fifteen minutes after 7pm. The trail went from Roosevelt Island tram stop, all around the UES, eventually bringing us into central park. Where a Blair Witch Hunt-esque search for arrows on rocks and trees commenced. There was some unfortunate footing along parts of the trail, identifiable only by the screams of fellow hashers who had succumbed to the lunacy of clamoring over the jagged boulders. Speaking of lunacy, the moon was fantastic and a source of much needed light in the park.
We exited the park on Central Park South and traveled down 6th Ave. The hares then proceeded to take us through a series of buildings between 6th and Broadway. There was a bar, a hotel, a parking lot, a random passage that reeked of frantic rat colitis and a restaurant with angry grotesque Italian waiters that amazingly appeared to be sweatier than we were despite the A/C.
We then went by the Waldorf Astoria Hotel, knowing that the UN General Assembly was in session this week. A delegation of gnomish men in green dresses was entering the hotel as I passed, along with several drooping WASPy couples, who shook their jewel incrusted limbs at passing cabbies.
We got our last taste of civilization by going through the lobby of the Met-Life Building, followed by a straight shot through Grand Central terminal. The exit was cleverly marked with post-it notes. All in all we probably ran about ½ a mile inside. Aside from a few twisted ankles and Dr. Bruce’s bloody nipples everyone made it back to the On-In in good health and spirits.
The ON-IN was a fine old looking Irish bar complete with a pleasantly plump barmaid, who provided table service to several groups of hashers through out the evening. Everything was on the menu tonight, even the good beer. I was drinking Black and Tans, and Mean Jean the Down-Down Machine was spotted guzzling rum and diet cokes. Some people were still ordering swill like Yingling, proving that good people like good beer.
FMIG and Jumpin’ Jack Gash gave out the down-downs:
-The Hares – Bahamonde and Scooter
-Scooter got another one because this was his 10th anniversary of hashing. Cries of “get a life” were heard throughout his time in the circle. For many more examples of why Scooter needs a life advance directly to the last paragraph.
-Mean Jean – Something about Wet-naps, use your imagination
-Virgins – Mika (who looked really freaked out by the entire thing), Josh, Marianne, Christine, and Olympia.
-Visitors – some cute blonde from D.C. and Scot’s father-in-law Breast Stroke from the Summit Hash
-Side-Show Bob and Peter due to their lack of navigation abilities. They ended up 20 blocks away from the On-In and totally lost.
-Dr. Bruce was called up for taking out a non-combatant
-I was given one for almost doing the same while he was tying his shoe.
-Down-Down’s were also given to some newish hot chicks for wearing Camel-Backs, dubbed a “Camel Toe Offense”. The Camel Toe girls were joined by Wet Connection and others.
-Scooter was the AOTW. He was nominated by Dave Hardy because, “10 Years is not a B.F.D.”
FMIG refused to do a down-down for forgetting the plunger at last weeks hash, which reinforced the long standing rule that all hashers are equal, but some are more equal than others.
After the circle everyone self sorted into the normal groups with virgins and second timers clinging to each other for safety. Hash cash lasted for a sufficient amount of time to get folks drunk enough to start grabbing each other. I knew the night was going down hill when I started doing boiler makers made with cheap whiskey and cheaper beer with Fireman Tim. The bar staff was extremely generous by the end of the night and was giving us our drinks for almost nothing. Lexi’s Bitch, Blackout, Fireman Tim, FMIG, some girl who couldn’t make up her mind and myself were the last hashers standing. “The last train out of any station will not be full of nice guys.”[1] ON-OUT
Post Script: in fact checking for this write-up Scot let loose the following additional tidbits: “It was my 273rd hash as either a hare or r*nner. In my hashing days, I have logged over 1,100 miles (enough to go from here to Omaha). I have spent over $4,000 in hash cash. And, not counting pub crawls and hash parties, I have consumed over 130 gallons of beer at hashes. But who’s counting?”