This must be the job (oh, I mean other than Brooklyn Joint Master and occasional scribe). I've made it to work for over 3 months, now have a health plan that covers being examined by my pretty podiatrist [imagine having that job!], and I've yet to even talk of quitting. And, this is the second Hash writeup I have handed in to my On Sec since I started. (I've even promised her typewritten in the future! Maybe even on diskettes!!)

One thing about starting a run in Boro Park, you know it's not A to A, because THERE ARE NO BARS THERE. So Scott has the coldest night of the winter to send us out to figure out where's the beer. The group wasn't large, and was missing both my partner the Cardinal and my lovely On Sec Janet, but I was glad to see several survivors of my Brighton Beach Polar Bear Hash of the previous Saturday.

Scott seemed a bit skimpy with his flower [sic, but cute] at first, but we soon found our way around the graveyard and headed to Sunset Park. In fact, our small pack got a bit split up at a check in the park, which is my old stomping ground, but I never had to run through it in the dead of night in the middle of winter. It was eerie, but always an awesome view. (In my day [oh, no], in warm weather, it was usually filled with sleepy Central American refugees still clutching their AK47's-but why not?)

By that time we all knew we would eventually head to Napper Tandy's. Question was-when? But, of course, we had to do the obligatory under the BQE, down by the barrio, and run along the Owls Head Fart Factory (what else do you call methane gas reclamation and recycling?) I hate going down there-not because I fear being mugged, raped, or assaulted, but because I know it's a big crack area, and the MAC-10s those young entrepreneurs carry aren't guided missiles. Lockerman does not want to go down in a cross fire!

But we all made it to the on-in safely. Scott told me the bar gave us a great deal, but, of course, it wasn't good enough with Scott's arithmetic to have any hash cash left over. I led down-downs-probably somewhat uninspired without by back up of Hash Officers, and perhaps still hung over from Saturday. Later Steven arrived with Janet in tow, and our newest female hasher from Long Beach. We all munched down on some decent Mexican food (Scott: more rice and beans next time), and then the stories began. Pierre talked of a white butt contest held late Saturday night at Captain Walter's. (I don't mind that they did such a thing in my buddy's bar, but I am glad I wasn't there.) Jeff [role to be played by Geoff] then demonstrated his dangling arm exercises, which looked strangely enough like the situation that Keith described in the Valentine's Day NYCH3 writeup, where Alice allegedly broke Jeff's arm in the first place. I stayed clear of both just to be safe. Steven talked of various illnesses that have plagued him this fall and cheap Austrian beer halls, though not necessarily in that order.

I guess it was inevitable that on a cold night, just after the Polar Bear Hash, the subject of men jumping into water and shrinkage came up. Brent was particularly honest, speaking of possible inversions. This conversation has held by a small group of male hashers surrounding Janet. Someone asked Janet about what she thought about a hasher so endowed that he became a submarine rather than a shrinker in cold water. Her reply was, "If I could only find one . . ." Hopefully for her birthday she will get a pair of spectacles to correct her nearsightedness that she often speaks of.

On Out.

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