Shout Out
A big G2FMH3 Shout Out to our erstwhile hare-raiser. Those who are truly anal (we know there aren't any like that in the hash, right?) have already noticed the change in the masthead. That's right, Kerry McVeigh is now Kerry Murphy (ask Peter Trunfio how that happened). Our only complaint is the change from her formerly sonorous, mellifluous and darn near poetic name to the current construction. Is it okay if we refer to you as Kerry mur-FAY?
The Fooking Writeup!!!!
After I missed a Full Moon a few months ago, I was pleasantly surprised to see that the next one I went to started at the same place as the one I missed, and ended at the same bar as the one I missed. And, apparently the trail was pretty much the same. Ah, the benefits of power, I thought - they duplicated the entire run for me! Then I missed a run two months ago and was surprised to find the next one started in the same place - Union Square.
It was a nice trail from Union Square over and through Sty Town, then onto Tompkins Square Park but then we promptly lost it. [Ed. Note: The "we" here should be interpreted to mean a small band of hash neophytes, as the bulk of the pack seemed to have no problem with the trail] Was it a giant circle check going around the park? Was there a check inside the park somewhere? We couldn't tell. Best we could find was a few marks out on the sidewalk near the "Crocodile Dundee" bar (where he felt up the transvestite) but then nothing. Mike Hoffman went looking for trail and after finding it apparently didn't think it was worth coming back and mentioning to the rest of us. It seemed Rebecca knew where the On-In was, so we started following her and she took us on her own little trip through the city. She, being a marathoner and all, didn't want us to just run straight to the On-In, oh no, none of that! So we looped and looped around the Village for a few miles before she led us to … the same On-in as last time! The Idiot!
The Village Idiot, once a sleepy little dirty, smoky, smelly corner of the West Village where the hash could go in peace and listen to "The Devil Went Down to Georgia" ad nauseam while drinking until midnight for a few bucks is now a cool place to go to and is jam packed with cool people while still dirty smoky smelly. This definitely has its benefits as looking at hotties while having a few is always a favorite pastime, but for hashing this can be bad. You see, now the music there is turned up WAY TOO LOUD and YOU HAVE TO SHOUT to get yourself heard. Of course you can try asking the bartenders to turn it down a bit but being that it is a cool place, the bartenders are cocky be-yotches who act as if they invented hanging out in bars and who are we to make a request? It wasn't worth the effort to explain to them that we've been drinking there since they were in diapers, and we'll still be drinking there when we're in diapers again too!
[Ed. Note: Before proceeding further, we think it only fair to warn our readers that the scribe is the father of a newborn. The sleep and other things he's obviously been deprived of over the past few months may explain much of what follows. Proceed with caution!]
Even though the place was packed with hotties there were still the usual hopeless guys there with them. This was a mystery. Yes some of us hashers were a bunch of hopeless guys without hotties but still. There was one guy there on a first date who kept getting pitchers for his hot date and she kept drinking them while smiling sweetly and we kept wondering "WHEN IS HE GOING TO TAKE HER BACK TO HIS PAD AND BONE HER SHE'S OBVIOUSLY CHOKING FOR IT???" (yes, this is how guys think) [Well, one, at least.], but instead stayed for hours, buying more pitchers. One of the few times the big head had a bigger voice than the little head. Another guy was dancing by the pool table with two hotties who kept gyrating around him and making an Oreo Hottie sandwich with him as the cream. Did he just grab them and take them back to his place post haste? No, of course not. Let me just say there was a few of us there in our skimpy shorts getting pretty hot under the collar watching all this. [Well, one, at least.]
Besides the hotties there was also a few celebrity sightings that night: Jason Priestly, somebody else (sorry, I forget) and "Black Vince". Maybe you had to be there, but there was a black albino named Vince walking around.
A good amount of civilians (10?) came: Rick, Michele, Junior, John Burke (who was turned away at door for lack of ID by Black Vince), and Christine. Rick came home from work and found Junior sitting on the couch watching COPS or something and Rick tried to get him out of the house. Junior was lazy and would have none of it until Rick got him with logic: "C'mon!!! It's a Friday night, you're sitting on the couch doing nothing - there's hookers and whores out there!!!" (This, too, is how guys think) [No comment]. At the bar they played the dueling banjo song from Deliverance and Junior was a little confused as to what the song was and how come everybody knew it? "You see it's from 'Deliverance'". "Huh?" Being just a lad, Junior was too young to know about Deliverance. There followed a five-minute discussion of the movie and its plot and social importance ending with Junior's impassioned "You mean they were ASS FUCKING???"
Ed and Fireman Bob did good job with the pitchers of beer. You can tell it's an Ed Lynch hash when there are more pitchers of Guiness laying around than there are hashers. Typical Full Moon down-downs: waited forever before doing them and because of the music only did a few. I'm waiting for the time when we don't do down-downs at all from pure laziness.
In spite of the coolness quotient (or maybe because of it), a few people came over and asked us who were and what we are about. Let's see if they ever turn up again.