Okay. It's been a long time since I've been able to get to the hash and I realize that most of the new blood comes from a brisk summer of recruiting, but who the hell were the 30 strangers standing around at the start on this balmy Halloween night? Granted just about everyone was in costume, but I only recognized Jenny, Roy, and Dave Croft. Then it hit me--these were all out-of-town hashers visiting for Marathon Weekend. Hashers of metropolitan New York were about to get a taste of what the world of hashing is like once you get beyond our five boroughs. As most NYC hashers don't know, in the greater world of hashing we are what would be called a "tame" hash. I've heard outside hashers call us another word that rhymes with "tame," and am growing quite tired of it. In our defense, all I have to say is, "Okay. So we don't sing all the hash songs, engage in public nudity, nor commit brazen puerile acts some of which border on actionable sexual harassment. But dammit I'd rather hash with the NYC hashers than hash with some of the finest people in the world."
It all started out innocently enough. Poor Idaho Sue had to explain how we hash in New York City to everybody and answer unfamiliar questions like, "So it's a dead hare trail?" "How many beer checks?" "You want me to actually leave my bag here on the street corner with you?" Then everyone stood around waiting for someone to start singing "Father Abraham" before sending us off (If you're not familiar with "Father Abraham" and why it's sung at most other hashes before hitting trail, ask me). It being Halloween and everyone decked out in splendid costumes, I grabbed my camera and called for a photo opportunity, but half the pack had already darted off in apparent pursuit of Crofty. I can only assume he said something like, "C'mon you wussy out-of-towners. Let me show you how we hash in the Big City . . . if you can keep up." Fortunately, the visitors were still within earshot by the time Crofty hit the Connecticut border, so they returned, I shot a couple frames, and we were off.
Now another thing I totally forgot about from my days of hashing before coming here was that the pack mostly stays together. I stayed back of the pack and marveled at the sight of about 20 people in costume all trotting along in, for lack of a better term, a glob. And everybody shouting "On On!" It had me all choked up. Hold on, I think I need a moment here . . . Thanks. Anyway, what can I say about Sue's trail? I only saw about 4 marks. I didn't see any of the alleged Pumpkin Checks. And according to Sue it noodled around the Upper East Side a lot. Fortunately, knowing the On-In location at the start is always such a bonus, so I darted off to Beacon Hill when I got tired of noodling. Great trail Idaho!
The pack came in as I was finishing my second beer and numerous NYC civilians rolled in as well. In fact, the upstairs became thick with people so I enlisted Crofty to help me with the down-downs. Here's the extent of his assistance: "Oggy Oggy Oggy! I've been asked to call your attention here and now that I have it, Curtis is going to take over!" Rat bastard. First of all, hare Idaho Sue demonstrated the proper way to do a down-down. We had one virgin. I think his name was Paul. Then it was on to the visitors. But since I didn't get a chance to meet all the 20+ visitors and we could barely move in there, I made the outnumbered NYC hashers do a down-down instead. Another down down went out to, I think his name is Paul, for having run some ridiculous number of marathons in the last week. Then all people present who were running in the marathon, including anyone named Paul, were given water down-downs because, after all, proper hydration is just as important as carbo-loading. And finally, directions to Sunday's beer check and a final good luck wish was extended by me on behalf of the NYC hashes, and some fellow named Paul, to all those running in the 26.2 mile trail on Sunday. A call for hash cash went out and I left all the visitors, including some dumbass named Paul, standing around dumbfounded waiting for me to start singing "Swing Low Sweet Chariot" (If you are not familiar with "Swing Low Sweet Chariot" and why it is sung at the end of the "Circle," ask me and I'll gladly refer you to Dave Hardy--or some chanteuse named Paul).
Now there's another practice engaged in by most hashes around the world and that is bestowing hash names on people. They're really a gift reflecting some aspect or quality of the person or to commemorate something stupid that the person did. Hash names are usually not for the weak at heart because they are, for the most part, sexual, disgusting, or sexually disgusting. It's always hard to introduce yourself to visiting hashers here because they never quite know how to respond when you say, "Hi, my name's Paul." More often than not, the visitor will stumble, then sputter out his/her real name, "Hi, I'm, er, that's funny, my name's Paul, too." I try to alleviate this problem by then asking for their hashname and then giving them mine which seems to quickly put them at ease (no, my hashname is not "Paul").
So there I was introducing myself around to the visitors and picking up all sorts of long foul names. At one point I asked Steve Kurtzer for a pen figuring a fellow On-Sec and scribe would carry one. No luck. So I tried to commit people's hashnames to memory--and then I finished my first "memory-loss" beer. So here are the names of people I can remember offhand: Lost Patrol, Cum-and-Eat-Me. Two fer twenty plus. Not bad. I do know that we had a large contingency of visitors from Edinburgh, a couple from Tokyo, one from Argentina, and a handful from the Long Beach (California) Hash. In fact, the Californians seemed to be the most colorful of all our visitors. Did anyone else think that guy looked like Dana Carvey? And the two women from Long Beach. Did anyone else get Keith's forwarded e-mail message from them looking for crash space over the weekend? Woe upon any single male hasher who deletes such requests again. These women were, in my native Californian vernacular, totally hot, dude. When they introduced themselves to me and I connected them to their request, I immediately pictured Ciderman hitting his head against a wall.
The evening continued with few mishaps. Pizza showed up in a timely fashion and Beacon Hill set up a nice little miniature bar set-up next to the pool table which they wisely covered with plastic. Unfortunately, most of us figured that the keg upstairs was meant for us and so many partook without offering the required remuneration. Oh well. The costumes were all great and I seem to remember more costumes than hashnames, so here's a short list. Idaho showed up as Alfalfa from Our Gang; Pam was not JonBenet Ramsey, but rather the 2nd place winner in the Little Miss Colorado pageant--complete with double-bladed ax and bloodstained gloves; newbie Chris showed up in a Clinton mask with McDonald's french fries jerry-rigged to dangle before him; Jenny was a witch (evil variety); the Long Beach women were bikini cavewomen (did I say they were totally hot, dude?); one Long Beach fellow was a flasher in trenchcoat and rubber phallus shaped like a hand; Rick showed up in combat fatigues so he was either a militia member or Army Guy from the Village People; Yoshi came in wearing a necktie, lab coat, and optometrist's visor, so I can only guess that he was a proctologist; a friend of mine visiting from Denver showed up as a hospital patient in standard-issue backless gown with a plastic butt exposed; and there were a bunch of people dressed as runners. Crofty fixed a bowtie to his whiplash collar (which is looking pretty skanky these days--time to put it in the dust bin David) and I came as the Unabomber (police sketch version).
A good time was had by all--judging by the low turnout at Mike Hoffman's hash the next day--and the Greater Gotham Full Moon Hash celebrated another excellent Halloween and kicked off a Marathon Weekend of Hashing. Please see Steve Kurtzer's writeups of the rest of the weekend on the NYCH3's homepage at www.hashhouseharriers.com (promotional consideration given in exchange for beer).
The following announcement has nothing to do with the writeup and only takes up whitespace:
OCTOBER 31ST is (if not the day of, then pretty darn close to) DAVE BYRON-BROWN'S BIRTHDAY Commit this to memory. There will be a quiz on it next year.
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