Hare: Tiger’s Woody

Start: 14^th and 1^st

Date: August 18, 2000

On-In: The Village Idiot

Scribe: Elliot Sobel

Although I love the hash dearly, I have found that my place in hash history may be forever spotted. How is it, I wonder, that despite the best of intentions, trails I have set turn inexplicably confusing and complex? Simple 3-way checks become multidimensional excursions into time and space; trails of reasonable distance become multi-borough odysseys; the weather never fucking cooperates. When I greet fellow hashers at the on-in some are crying, many are angry, a few even haul sacks of feathers on commandeered asphalt trucks. Nobody smiles. Recriminations are muttered. Multiple down-downs are sworn. I sigh. So much for my innovative use of whole wheat flour, for choosing co-hares with the equivalent of an M.S. in trail setting, for picking Between the Bridges on a Friday night as an on-in (after an exceptionally long Friday night run featuring the Brooklyn Bridge as a denouement).

So, I try my hand at the art of the write-up. Am I in the same league as Dave Long, Heather Malloy and Christine Hinz? These guys write in fucking iambic pentameter!

A group of about 20 gathered at 14th and 1st at the appointed time. Rumors of 718 area codes circulated quietly, much to the chagrin of the assembled. (How could she? I thought to myself - Crazy Bob and I nearly got lynched for that last month). Good fake, Tiger’s Woody. We took off down-town-bound, meandering through the East Village to Houston Street, then west through the Village, West Village and West-West Village to Hudson Street. These kinds of trails I crave, since they, in my opinion articulate the spirit of the NYC hash and are great sightseeing,

to boot. I count sushi bars and note dives for future on-ins. I try not to twist my ankle on cobblestones and slip and fall on my ass on wet slate (unlike Doofus White Boy who so performed unceremoniously in front of a crowd).

The trail was well marked, and great nuance was found in the positioning of the flour. Pack communication was at an all time high. The Bridge was out of the question, although Crazy Bob and I shared worried looks. At Hudson St. we headed uptown and made our way to the Village Idiot for refreshments.

After the usual extended social period for the FMH, down-downs were given to visitors Doofus White Boy, Shit Eating Grin, and Party in His Mouth; civilians Simone, Ava, Milca and Aleks the pizza chick; and of course the hares Janet, Stacy and Jill. Ariane drank for leaving NYC and Eva and Ariane got one for various and sundry offenses. We socialized more with the locals, including a guy with a rear view mirror on his glasses and an aspiring pool shark with his sweatpants pulled up to his nipples. Hoffman noted mystically that this was the second time the Idiot was chosen as an on-in in one week, unbeknownst to the hares. I can't recall much past 10 PM, likely because I was on the subway at that point.

Until the next FMH, on-out.