Future scribes--Beware. When you are asked to do a write-up, and you won't be able to do it immediately, try to weasel out of it. Don't think that you can sit down to write it weeks later and have even the faintest recollection of where the run went, who was there, or whether anything memorable occurred at all. The problem is even worse when your brain has lost too many vital memory cells due to too many pitchers, pints, and down-downs. Sound familiar?
Asking other hashers who were there what they remember is likely to be futile. Sample responses: "Was there a run that night?" "Didn't it start in Brooklyn?" "I think I came late."
Some things do stand out. The hares proved conclusively that if you want to ensure a small pack, start the run in Brooklyn at a disreputable subway stop accessible only from trains at the lower end of the alphabet. The Marcy Ave. stop is ideal for this. Those brave enough to venture there for the run were noticeably nervous as the trains rumbled overhead and the shopkeepers slammed down the metal gates in the dark. Even hare Jerry, who was covered in so much flour that we thought he was the trail himself, dropped his usual mean streets bravado for a moment and advised us that we might want to stick together for the first part of the run. Presumably the locals might have second thoughts about slaying a group of dweebs in running clothes as opposed to individuals. Vince provided another memorable moment as he proceeded to change from his business clothes to his running gear amidst the Friday night street life of Marcy Avenue, thereby not standing out one bit. As he stripped down he explained that he had intended to change in the subway (presumably for the privacy one usually finds there). Even though he did his best to entertain us, he could not match the Jerr-backwards-tank-top-exposed-nipples show of the previous NASSH3.
What about the run itself? As expected, it took us through a variety of city streets both crowded and desolate. We provided the younger natives with some source of merriment, as they proceeded to accompany us on skateboards, roller blades and bikes. One thing is true, when you're being followed by a crowd of shouting, jeering pre-teens, it does make you want to pick up your pace and not linger to enjoy the scenery, such as it was. There was a certain amount of confusion during the run since the pack kept encountering a series of chalk arrows pointing us in the opposite direction from the chalk arrows we were following. Was this a renegade hash encroaching upon our territory? Was it just someone who enjoys drawing arrows? The mystery was never solved.
The hares sent us through quite a number of deserted warehouse areas. Geoff remarked that the pack seemed to be huddling around the checks instead bravely venturing out into the darkness to find trail. We agreed that he was correct and continued to check stand (since the hares had kindly placed the checks under streetlights). We were eventually coaxed away from the relative safety of the checks by the rumor that beer was really near. Which it was.
On-In #1 was at the Brooklyn Brewery's regular Friday night open house, which offered two pints for $5. Hashers quickly decided that it was most economical to buy all the pints at once, so there were many two-fisted drinkers among the group. Latecomers Peter, Alice, Ewa, and a couple of visitor/virgins caught up with us at the brewery, which was sponsoring a limerick contest. As the pints were consumed, the hasher written limericks became more inventive, the winner being "There was a young hasher named Jerry, whose nipples were hairy and scary." On-In #2 continued at a local bar (ask John for the name), where Paul conducted the down-downs, in the absence of any GGFMH3 officers. Hares John and Jerry were suitably abused for the trail, other down-downs were given (here things are starting to fade fast) and a waitress/server dropped a whole tray of full pints, causing several hashers to cut their tongues on broken glass as they attempted to lap up the beer. All in all, a good evening.
On-Sec's note:
Future scribes should also beware that if you leave me with too much room at the end of a writeup, it will cause me to comment. On the same note, future scribes should also beware that if you give me a writeup that is shockingly too short, it will cause me to comment--and provide me more space within which to do so since size of the writeup really doesn't matter to me. But scribes should also beware that if you give me a writeup that is exceedingly long, it will cause me to edit. This has only been a problem with one scribe (Mike), however, who seems to take great liberties (Mike) with the writeups (Mike). But that's okay. I'm an editor by trade. An abundance of red ink is one of the great perks I have at work.
What does this all mean if you are assigned the ignominious honour of doing the writeup? While I will be exorbitantly grateful to you for doing the writeup, no matter what you write, I'm going to add my own two cents.
As an addendum to Joyce's writeup, I must add that I approached Jerry for clues as to what he was going to do on his trail. I did this because I figured I was going to have to do the writeup, but since I wasn't going to be able to run it, I'd have to just make stuff up. Unfortunately, Jerry's only clues were: "John and I just kept asking ourselves, `Why didn't we think of this before?'" and "The trail will be in Williamsburg--not the colonial one." I've received more descriptive help from the blind. Thanks, Jerry.
| Home - www.hashhouseharriers.com | Home - AOL | Send an E Mail |
|---|