GGFM #201

The Truth

Official Organ of the Greater Gotham Full Moon

Hash House Harriers

G2FMH3 Hash #201 – Friday, November 30, 2007

Hare:  Virgin Hare MattStart/On-In:  Tempest Bar (30th and 8th ave)Punk Ass Bitch (Scribe):  Sarah Down Under and Polish Manslave Alcohol & obfuscation.  Redundancy.…Or what happens when Man Slave (Big Sums in Finance guy) and Down Under (Dubious English Honours and Drinking) are approached to do the write-up.  Like a combination of sub-prime lending and Dubya’s grasp on the English lexicon, this is designed to end up in the crapper.  So… The Tempest was remarkably forgiving as a pre-lube.  The bathrooms were clean and the local crowd polite.  Scooter, Lunch and Lauren disrobed to legs, although Lauren had lycra under her r*nning shorts.  Smart girl.  It was f*cking cold. Empress Norma smacked us into order outside.  For a pocket hottie, she has the voice projection of an over-ample soprano.  We were handed chalk and I made sure mine matched my jacket and socks in a fit of fashion pique.  Virgin Matt, in case of Hare Chalk Talk Failure, doled out little slips of paper.  He was dealing “Hash Holiday Riddles”, but we were jonesing for something more – to be off and hashing.  Yes, it still was f*cking cold.  However, a quick glance at the stash he’d slipped us revealed the following: A garden’s not for planting feet.A boat’s not the sole place for drunken sailorsSlip and fall around winterYule be denied a loan of Norman Mailer Keep running on time to conduct yourselfGet a watery respiteMistletoe break a legMiss a fella’s lights The place of the great trialWas a place of sudden deathGet too close to SantaYule learn about regret Jokers joke and hashers hashBoth must face their kingsThe colour of Presley’s ChristmasHas room for the on-in Virgin hare?  Check.  Cryptic poetry that doesn’t maintain its opening iambic pentameter? Check.  Falses that may or may not be marked?  Check.  Pre-lubed, sufficiently addled brains to over-analyze and/or fail to make out words of the Holiday Riddle?  Check.  Real beer check?  CHECK.  Well, at least the last point sent the balance sheet into the black.  The first mark was to the north east and the trail and clue were easy enough that even hashers were able to follow/solve (except Lauren, who paused directly across the street from Madison Square Garden, turned to Jumpin’ Jack Gash and said, “Where’s the Garden?”)  A hapless ticket scalper was parading around outside desperately bleating, “Knicks tickets, Knicks tickets!”  Not bloody likely, matey – you’d have to pay ME.From there, we ran through a store, where the wafting heat was rather welcome.  If we’d been paying attention (wots that?), we’d have noticed it was Old Navy, the answer to the second line of the riddle.  The trail then meandered up to 42nd Street and through Bryant Park skating rink and past the NY Public Library – thus completing the first verse of the riddle.  Across from Grand Central we found an arrow (on a hash, no less!) with “Track 112” scrawled beside it, which, led, lo, to beer check at track 112 and some very public imbibing. Suitably re-lubed, it was up the stairs, back on to Lexington and back west to the Rockefeller Center to do battle with the tourons gasping at the tree lights (“The place of the great trial/was a place of sudden death” being a reference to the start of the 2008 men’s Olympic marathon trials in which Ryan Shay tragically collapsed)  The pack then broke up, uncertain of the next riddle.  Manslave and I very wisely decided that the Santa reference definitely pertained to FAO Schwartz.  With the logic and certainty of Dubya entering Iraq, off we trotted.   And promptly lost all sight of trail.  Wandering cluelessly, I decided it was time to employ the “cell phone maneuver” and call the hotline.  We did this twice, as the on-in was either at 60th and Second, or 60th and Seventh, depending on who listened.  Again, employing great judgment, we decided on the latter.   But wait…a mark…heading east.  Seventh Avenue was west.  Then another mark east.  We were on to something, or other pack members were deviously misleading us in the distance.  Near the Plaza on Fifth, marks lead into the park.  Here, Matt later explained, the lines, “Get too close to Santa/Yule learn about regret” came into play.  Apparently, if we headed too far north (“north pole” reference, get it?  No?  Neither did we) we’d be screwed, as the true trail went east.  This was far too complex for us, so we decided, sod it, the first version we heard of the hotline must be correct.  Katy or Ady (notes and memory somewhat befuddled at this late point) suddenly developed a magic recall, “Oh, that’s right, it’s the Blue Room bar on Second and 60th!  I was there a couple of days ago sorting out the on-in details with Matt.  I forgot!” Perhaps there is something to this theory of alcohol leading to short-term memory loss.  While the 2 blondes decided to follow trail, we “short-cutted” to the bar (read:  Arrived there when only ¾ of the pack were already on their second pints)  Here, Matt revealed that the line “both must face their kings” meant head east, facing Brooklyn, which was once known as “Kings”.  He’s an esoteric lad, that one.   The hares deserve kudos for their choice of on-in.  The bar was spacious, the food ample (although Lunch was somewhat perplexed by the waffle fries, asking, “Are those POTATOES?”), the juke box eclectic enough for all tastes, and the bartender/cook, Courtney, thoroughly enjoying our silliness. The silliness and drinking awards went so: 1.        The hares – Empress Norma and Matt.  Matt was told he needed to be better versed in the ways of chalk-marking, and consistent in his poetic meter.  Norma had some kick-ass boots.2.        Noahs Dinghy, Congenital Defect and Casanova – they were sequentially hit upon by a crack whore at the pre-lube, using the same, “don’t I know you from somewhere” line.3.        Congenital Defect, again – He reinforced his hash name by somehow thinking trail went south…all the way to 10th Street in the East Village.  Oops.  He was last heard remarking, “I can’t drink anymore!”  Probably the first time that phrase was ever uttered at a hash.4.        Katy/Ady – The BIMBO award for first delighting in the “discovery” of her ATM card in her wallet after “losing” it, and secondly for “remembering” where the on-in was.  She excused this by remarking, “I have a problem with my sense of direction”.  Good thing she’s a cute blonde.5.        Jumpin’ Jack Gash – apparently he committed the sin of using some sort of commemorative cup as a vehicle for his beer.6.        Dave the Beer Check Dude – for not knowing where we were supposed to go after the beer check.  He managed to find out by whipping out his Blackberry and typing in something magical.  (Forgive me, I know not of these gadgets)  However, because he was from NJ, he was excused a down-down and instead permitted to give a random abuse of power down-down to Red Headed Steve.7.        Doug – for wearing his NYC marathon shirt and attracting the attention of some marathon-geek chick on trail.  Chicks dig a 26.2.8.        Random Abuse of Power down-down.  This was awarded by Pussy Repellant to Virgin Hare Matt. So, this writing nonsense has gone on long enough.  I know we stayed 2 gin and tonics past hash cash expiration, and there was still a good crowd in attendance.  Definitely a Holiday G2FMH3 to remember.  Or not, if you stayed later.  On-out.


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