I've been having this recurring dream lately. It's summertime and I'm hanging out on an expanse of lawn at some estate when something catches my eye. Upon closer inspection, it turns out the object of my attention is an above-ground pool. But instead of being filled with water, as would be expected in these traditional above-ground tanks of suburban enjoyment, the pool is filled with Heavenly Hash--that bizarre amalgamation of marshmallow topping, canned fruit, and Jell-O. I resist the underwhelming urge to dive in, but find myself grandly amused at the sudden appearance of Martha Stewart and Ann B. Davis ("Alice" from "The Brady Bunch") wrestling in the gloopy dessert. For some unidentifiable reason, this image flashed again to my conscious mind as I approached the start of the night's hash and spied Jerry in a long coat standing face-against a wall engaged in what appeared to be the act of public urination. I looked around quickly to make sure Alice was nowhere nearby wearing a matronly blue maid's outfit and apron. Did I take too much acid back in the hippie days?
I was somewhat surprised to see the recovering David Croft looking like he was actually going to run that night. His report of current muscle pain across the shoulders and the disappearance of a lung explained his ashen pallor--and prompted a discussion between Jerry, myself, and Crofty of the benefits and histories of various prescription painkillers (codeine, percodan, and percoset). I promised Croft that I would check him into Betty Ford should he go the route of Chevy Chase, Robert Downey, Jr., and --oh look, here's Geoff! "The Chicken trail will afford a warm nesting spot for the chickens; whereas the eagles will be stuck out in the cold for a while," Geoff proclaimed. "There are no false trails," he also advised. Of course, we learned later, that doesn't mean that all trail is true, either.
So the pack headed north on 2nd Ave to the Chicken-Eagle split a block away from the start. I watched the entire pack stick to the Eagle trail as I diverted off onto the Chicken trail. And it was only when I saw Alice head the way of the Eagle that I realized I was about to take on the Chicken trail solo. Fearing that I would meet my heavenly hash Maker while dimly trying to figure out the Chicken trail on my own, I reversed course and dared go where eagles fly.
The pack reconvened at a check off the entrance to the Queensboro
Bridge. from there, trail darted east to another check that
successfully stumped all until we resignedly headed west back to 2nd
Ave and 50th Street where the trail picked up again upon itself. I
learned later that this was where most of the pack grew
I've visited the Waldorf-Astoria for various events and to take
advantage of its well-appointed lobby restroom, replete with a
gentleman who turns on the sink faucet and hands you a crisp paper
towel after monitoring your human disposal process--but never have I
seen it take part in a hash. Sloney and I must have been quite a
sight exiting the hotel with the theatre crowd, sharing in their
excitement for yet another superlative "Cats" experience. From the
Waldorf, we found trail and Andy Raybauld, meandered around St.
Patrick's and then into the New York Palace Hotel. Once outside
again, we found trail wander once more indoors through Olympic Tower
to another baffling check. After much confusion, I joined Mike
Hoffman in a trot down to Radio City where we found trail again. A
light rain started as we looped around Radio City and headed back
east.
Trail wended its way to Grand Central and then to the last check
outside that bastion of the tobacco industry, Phillip Morris. "Ellen
O'Dee's" sprang to mind and so I headed east with Mike Slone whom I
had witnessed survive near-misses with a Chinese Bike Delivery Guy, a
taxicab, a Nissan, and an uptown bus--all in one night. Fortunately,
we were only a couple blocks away from the On-In at Donoghue's where
the final insult was dealt as "On-In" was scrawled outside a locked
door.
Down downs ensued with Geoff demonstrating the proper way for all
those to follow. "Addadicktome" registered his presence as a visitor
from the Ft. Eustis hash down Virginia way. There being no virgins
and no new shoes, Andy and I dispensed an arbitrary down down to Cal
for talking during the down downs. Unfortunately, he exacerbated his
situation by switching his already half-full beer for the full down
down dispensed. So we gave him another one--which he stupidly started
quaffing before prompted. So we gave him another one--which he ended
up pouring over his head. So we poured more beer over his head.
Wanker. Lesson: Don't fuck with the G2FMH3 officers when they're
dispensing the down downs. Civilians were out in full force with
Idaho Sue, Steve Brett, Songhee, Paul, Rachel, and Mary the Greek and
Rebecca who rolled in later after attending a party at the UK Embassy
where it was rumoured they paid 8 dollars (American) for free-flowing
food and drink. A true bargain over the precedent-setting 20 dollar
hash cash announced. Geoff needs to take some lessons from his fellow
countrymen in the realm of fiesta finance.
So what do you get at a Non-AGM 20 dollar hash? You get Coors and the
chance to order off the menu--as long as you order something under six
dollars. Pitchers of Sam Adams and Guinness later appeared in a 1:2
ratio with the Coors. Then the food came . . . and it kept on coming.
I believe we may very well have received more Cheddar Burgers than
pitchers. I've never filled up on more food than beer at a hash (at
last count, I had eaten an order of fish-and-chips, one-and-a-half
burgers, two sides of fries, and Battery Park City). That's not a
good thing (tell my lower gastro-intestinal system or talk to my
tapeworm). A saving grace was Peter's telling of the Las Vegas Taxi
joke. One of my favorites. if you haven't heard it, have him tell it
to you.
All told, it was a good hash at a premium price. Don't let it happen
again. On-Out. | Home - AOL | Home - Prodigy | What's New | E Mail | Last update 3/26/97