O.k. it seems as though the vast majority of runners had emotionally recovered from the shock of Wednesday night's (6/2/99) NYCH3 trail except for Elaine and Pat who are still haunted by the memory of angry hashing mobs screaming for justice and more down-down's. The cry, "Burn the hares!" still resonates throughout New York’s Upper Westside from 102nd St. straight through to Cannon’s. Did Dave mention we did four down-down's? In any case, the full-moon hash began at 23rd and 9th Avenue approximately 2 inches east of the on-in.

Twice the usual suspects were rounded up by the still sort of new starting time. Jerry was heard to ponder if this was the reason why more women had not shown up for the run while Mike went on about some guy who hadn't figured out how to change his clothes at the office and Geoff muttered something about a Full Moon Run actually being held on a full moon. The mis-management responded with some lame excuse about long weekends and no one being in town. Fortunately, that was where the conversation ended as the stragglers finally finished straggling in and the Hares called for order.

Matt decided to invent his own rules for this not so full moon hash so the trail was a bit confusing at first for those who showed-up late or simply chose not listen to the directions. As usual John took off like a bat-out-of-hell honking his way through Chelsea. I managed to follow his auditory markings until we actually found the trail somewhere around 6th Avenue and he decided to go into turbo mode. Luckily I teamed-up with the new-comer Alex. He carried me through to the meat-packing district which is where he left me high and dry to follow Charles The Bostonian who preferred to close his eyes and use the force to lead him to the on-in. Trish used a completely different strategy of standing on the corner of 23rd and 10th waiting for the on-in to come to her. After a bit of wandering and running right past the 420 awning, we found our destination. The 2 foot by 2 foot sauna which doubles as an elevator during regular business hours eked its way up to the 6th floor and led us right into the sexy (or was it 6c?) bachelor pad complete with cowhide walls, Zebra bedding and a holly pillowcase which is rumored to have been there since Christmas. The dust tigers probably were, but since this was a guy hosting an on-in at his apartment, the gender clause of the clean apartment rule was invoked. Ask Trish's mom for more details and be sure to ask her if picture frames should be dusted before a Superbowl party.

The apartment was well-ventilated compared to the elevator and the beer was colder than . . . ok, the beer wasn't cold but it was beer and if you were lucky enough to get some you didn't complain. One hardy band of hashers was sent out into the wilds of Chelsea on a greatly needed beer run under strict instructions from the hare to only get 1 beer per hasher because he didn’t want the tepid bathtub water to get too chilly with all those frosty bottles in it. About then, a lone pizza delivery person arrived at the door with a SINGLE PIE AND TWO PIECES OF LETTUCE. Fortunately for him, he was at the wrong door and was allowed to leave unmolested.

Fluffy did his usual fine job of gathering the troops to sing some show tunes from Oliver and hum "Here's to Brother Hasher" sung to the tune of "My Left Testicle is Killing Me." Matt did a mere one down-down after which the new-comers, civilians, and pretty-much anyone who looked funny were asked to come forward and confess who they are and what brought them to this swingin' New York City hash. Matt's roommate Stephanie and her "escort" were awarded a down-down for being good sports and no mention was made of the "Do Not Disturb" sign on her bedroom door - the roommate clause of the clean apartment rule. If you managed to get a calorie-conscious beer before Elaine and Michelle locked themselves in the bathroom then you didn't mind waiting two hours for the scrumptious victuals which showed-up after the first beer run but before Michael sauntered in carrying his brief case on his hip - must be a California thing. Unfortunately he along with most of the group missed the "smegma" lecture taught by Dave, Chris and Brent which occurred some time after the second pizza delivery. All I can say is Ladies, if you don't know what smegma is don't ask. But if curiosity gets the best of you and you must know make sure whatever you do, you do before you do the do or even start to coo with a boy who has goo where no woman can view while he sprinkles the dew in the loo. Any questions? Jean would be happy to answer them for you. Oh ya also, I wouldn't bother asking any man who wears a "say no to marriage" t-shirt that has "I love my wife" printed on the inside. You never know what his true motives are. Right Crofty? Speaking of marriage, Arianne learned yet another American term in addition to "skinny-dipping," she now knows what a bridal shower is. (This was when the second beer run arrived with 1 Coors Light for every hasher.) When Annmarie was questioned for Ariane's benefit about the best part of attending a bridal shower, she appropriately responded, "leaving." Leaving is exactly what we did right after we were kicked-out and said our good-byes to the three remaining ice cubes and the one lonely case of Coors Light that still remained in the porcelain champagne bucket.

As we departed from the mini-vator/sauna and hit 23rd Street, the intrepid hashers began looking for the on-on-in. Such helpful directions from the hare, "It's over that way," assisted us in locating the after-hash at the Westside Tavern just one block east of the on-in. Once there, a circle of hashers were found by a crowded bar surrounding a pile of bags (funny how the odor changed with your proximity to the circle of bags) trying to converse over the din of a Friday night in a Chelsea neighborhood hangout. The party roared on until the wee hours of the morning when even the truly intrepid hashers had to say "on-out."