NYCH3 #1284
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Hares: Just Hilary and Mark
Start: 86th and Park
On-In: Bar East at 90th and 1st Ave.
What is there to say about a trail set by Just Hilary and assisted by her boyfriend/r*nning mate Mark? Plenty, and none of it good when you lay a pretty sh*tty trail, which is exactly what happened on what should have been a pleasant late summer evening. Admittedly, I was already a bit cranky since a) we were on the Upper East Side (seriously, like Staten Island, it could secede from NYC and I wouldn’t care one bit); b) it was getting dark way too early for my taste (whatever happened to hot, sticky, sweaty nights?); and c) I’m always cranky (well, duhh). So there you have it. A true recipe for disaster – just add bad trail marks and mix.
Granted, Just Hilary didn’t really want it to be a bad trail. Some of her arrows were actually quite visible. They even thought about using flour when having us r*n through some shiggy in Central Park, or at least as shiggy as one can get when r*nning through a borough of over 2 million residents. And mindful of the rule that checks can actually bring a pack together, the two of them decided that since hashing is really a social event and not a r*nning event, what could be better then laying multiple checks to maximize socialization? Hmmmm. What indeed. POKING ONE’S EYES OUT WITH A RUSTY KNIFE MIGHT BE BETTER. POKING ANOTHER PERSON’S EYES OUT WITH A RUSTY KNIFE MIGHT ALSO BE BETTER. You see, they got so carried away about the pack’s bonding opportunity so that we could all attend one another’s weddings and funerals and cry on each other’s shoulders while attending future children’s baptisms and brises and all that other horrible stuff that are the themes of way too many chick flicks starring really awful TV actresses (Debra Messing, Katherine Heigl, et al.) that the appearance of a check two blocks after the last check for the entire trail created the surliest and snarlingest pack yet. I say pack in the loosest sense of the word, because at every check more and more of us just disappeared. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that although they remembered the stuff about the flour and the checks, they forgot about the Golden Rule of hashing, you know, the one where you can never, never, ever lay too many marks. In case you missed that, let me repeat. The Golden Rule of hashing is that you can Never. Never. Ever. Lay too many marks. Especially after a check. And while I’m at it, if you ever lay trail and buy the tub of multi-colored chalk, as soon as you rip that plastic off the lid, reach in, grab the blue chalk AND THROW IT AWAY. Yes, I understand, you’re worried about it laying around in some landfill because you’re a born again environmentalist so if this is too heavy a burden to bear, find some poor little snot-filled child and do a good deed – donate that chalk to them and give yourself a tax write-off.
But I digress and this write-up will become as long as we were out stumbling in the night. Approximately 100 minutes after we started and after going in and out and around and around in the park before re-emerging into the Upper East Side, about two-thirds of the pack (including yours truly) had made it to the on-in, Bar East. The trail was probably only 4 miles long, but with all that checking I think it came out to be close to 6 miles so for all you racists out there, that means I was averaging over 16 minutes a mile. Wow. Put me behind a walker now and slap some grey crepe shoes on my feet, and while you’re at it, pile about five mismatched sweaters on me, make sure plenty of cats are running around my feet, and don’t forget to throw on my blue suede wig because with that kind of pace, I’m sure I’ll be the fastest amongst the Silver Sneaker set.
As the rest of the stragglers, umm, straggled in, the only thing we could console ourselves with was the fact that Bar East was quite empty so we were able to spread out in comfort while quenching our thirst with pitcher upon pitcher of beer. Which means Just Helen and Mark were able to remember another important rule of the hash which is you can always forget a truly awful trail with a really good on-in. And although we’ve been to Bar East many a time before, somehow this time around the on-in worked even better than usual.
With Eager 4 Beaver missing, FMIG stepped up to run the circle with Just Lauren (aka – We Keep Our Pants On – for crying out loud, somebody name her already!), which was mercifully short with down-downs given to:
• The Hares
• The Visitors (whoever gave me their notes, who WERE the visitors? I have no names)
• Fire In The Piehole for tripping over a 12-year old seeing eye dog. I have no idea how it was known the poor thing was 12-years old but it sounds like FITP needs his own damn seeing eye pet, maybe a rhinoceros or a giraffe so he will have greater difficulty tripping over that.
• Me for a) networking while b) waiting in line for the bathroom while on trail and c) landing a modeling job. Or maybe it was for d) the two Chihuahuas that brutally attacked me while on trail. Take your pick.
• Stewa who heroically brandished a flashlight in a particularly dark corner of the park while desperately seeking trail, only to discover the batteries, like women’s shoulder pads, died sometime in the 1980’s.
• Rebecca because when asked for her hash cash, dramatically bent over, reached into the netherworld of her sweaty sock and triumphantly pulled out the smelliest, limpest $20 bill ever.
• Joe Pennsylvania, Splat and Mastercard were awarded Assholes of the Week due to the civilian theme FMIG latched upon as a reason to give this award. Joe yelled “on left” to a bunch of pedestrians; Splat admired some civilian’s bent-over ass; and Mastercard wore civilian clothing. Yeah, I know, but whatever.
Circle over, announcements made, the pack then proceeded to eat lots and lots of pizza, drink lots and lots of beer, and I stumbled into a cab with FMIG around 11p, cursing the on-in’s location yet again (did I mention the whole Upper East Side prejudice thing yet?) as another unmentionable hash made mentionable history. On-out.