December 9, 2007
Hares: Dr. Steve and Seth
Start: Bowery and Delancey
On In: East River Bar, Williamsburg
Jews—You can make fun of them if you’re one of them. But I’m not. So I won’t. This will be a Jew-joke-free write up. I do think that its interesting that that “jews” is just a small vowel change away from “jaws”. That’s interesting. In fact, “Jaws” was made by a Jew. The same Jew, in fact, that made Schindler’s list. Jaws was about a fish (or Goyem as we like to say) that came out of the Ocean and ate unsuspecting people as they meandered about the Ocean doing things that people do when they’re on the ocean. Like pee-ing in it. Or drinking. People do both of those things while they’re on the Ocean. I’ve seen them. It’s true. They do that. Goyem are just for practice. Jaws was this Producers’ first film. Go figure.
Nevertheless, Jaws was about about a bunch of people who were persecuted by a fish. Schindlers List was about a bunch of people who were persecuted by a guy who was Jewish but he didn’t know it. That makes Sunday’s hash kind of more like Schindler’s List. People were persecuted for being on trail. It was sad, it was tragic. Still—it wasn’t as scary as being eaten by a big fish out of nowhere. The difference is that the hares on Sunday’s trail knew that they were Jewish. In fact, they were ¼ Jewish. This means that someone in the hares 4 parents was of Jewish descent. Nevermind whether it was the mother or the father or any of that shit. The hares were ¼ Jewish. So it is written. And so it was. And they set a trail that persecuted both their own people and any innocent asshole who got in the way. Yes—it was indiscriminate like that. Downright unjust—it was a hash. And hashes are indiscriminate. So it is written. And so it is.
The hares began persecuting the runners some where in the vicinity of Delancey and Bowery. That’s the corner, coincidentally, where George Washington’s troops partied for, like, 8 days after they won the Revolutionary War. They even got their horses drunk. That’s what I heard. But that could be wrong. So anyway—that’s where we gathered for the Hannakuh hash. It was in the 6th day fo Hannukah so the hares decided to set a 6 mile trail of relentless persecution. Where did it go? I’d like to tell you that I don’t know. But I do. Such is the curse of memory. So it is written. And so it is.
The trail went East then South along the previous Wednesday’s trail. It went down a big street that had trees. I know. I saw them. It came to a check and went left down something like Grand or Broome then over to the deep, deep lower east side (so lower east side that even college students don’t know it’s there). Then it went to the entrance to the Williamsburgh Bridge. There were 3 falses around the entrance to the Williamsburgh bridge. I know. I found them all. So it is written. And so it was.
And so we went over the bridge, counting our Hannukah blessings the whole way. We ran into a woman who was raising her arms exceptionally high with each stride. What a weirdo. We got off the bridge and ran around Williiamburgh exploring the tedious tension between Hacids and Hipsters. That’s Williamsburgh. The tension is so thick you could cut a Hannukah cake with it. We went through the non-hipster part. We ran through people dressed all in black. These folks had shylocks so long that they shamed FMIG’s foolhardy attempts at sideburns. I mean it was impressive. I tripped over one of them. It hurt my foot. I mean it was impressive. He said I’m sorry and gave me gifts—8 of them in fact—one for every day of Hannukah. You may not believe this. But so it was written. And so it was.
We ran through the slums of the Brooklyn Navy Yards. This was thematic because this is where we made all the ships that killed all the people that were persecuting the Jews. So we followed the arrows. Followed the arrows. We obeyed. And we followed the arrows. They led to a bad area and then another area of badness and then, just as we were about to cross the bar we came to East River—a bar in Williamsburg. We all changed so that we wouldn’t have to be persecuted by each other’s smells. Cause that sucks. So it is written and so it is.
The FMIG came around and gave down downs to the hares, Steve & Seth and he gave drinks to the virgins who were tired about being persecuted but drank anyway (even the one who said she didn’t drink). Then we made Peter give a down-down for some reason and then we drank to excess (which is better than drinking to incest) and we were merry until the wee hours because we had transcended, we had overcome, we had overpowered, we had triumphed over cultural norms, we had crossed cultural divides, we had prevailed because, by God, we were drunk. And things were better. And peace was at hand. And the fish slept with the whale, and history never was, and things that had been no longer were and we were all just people, wild, untamed people, naked amongst our frailties, transcending our fickle thoughts, being one, feeling one. Drinking and drunk. And so it was written and so it was.