New York City H3, Run #836.

Hares: Lesley Brough and Matt Fludgate

Start: 59th Street/Lexington Avenue

On-In: Back Page at 83rd Street and 3rd Avenue

Scribe: Danny Choriki

Nausea had been the operative word of the week. Work had intensified leading me to lie awake at night contemplating the absurdity of it all. I was reminded of Sartre's classic where he said, "I don't vomit when I'm drunk, but it would be better if I did." Only I wanted to change drunk to working. To top it off, lunch hadn't settled right and the train ride to midtown made me wonder just what was in the Seared Salmon Caesar Salad I had picked at or if it was the imported water in the Corona. Still, I managed to drag ass to the start.

As I stepped out of the subway and into the cool humid air of this bizarre spring in these the early days of the global warming era, I started picking up my pace. At the start was the usual suspects include Heather, Anne Marie, Idaho Sue and Elaine all off the Hash disabled list. Welcome back. And try not to run on hard surfaces! Soon Matt rallied us around and issued directions and mis-directions and we were sent off south into midtown.

Only a block in with the FRB's screaming down Lex, Crofty and I spot a flour mark obviously pointing west, so we veer right. Halfway to Park Av and no sign of trail, I look back and there's the pack, doing what the pack does, following. So I ask Crofty if he wants to tell them we are off trail? And Crofty says, "No, at the corner, let's shout out 'On Right!' and head left." Of course the pack kept following us and we found the FRB's at the next light. After dodging traffic for a few minutes we approached the Park which will undoubted be the site of a protest or two in the next few weeks (my money is on a take back the park march - make sure your NOW membership is paid). After a few comments at the first check about asking cops for help, trail was found heading into the park.

So back and forth we went on moist grass in fresh air. I was definitely feeling better. But the existential nausea was to return. By a check on a rock were gathered a gang of eastside princesses. Some yoots, in one vernacular. Once des yoots discovered the meaning of the flour marks, they moved their bags on top of the check and pack marks. Since I had been checking way off trail (Hash pack nausea), I was left with the unenviable task of negotiating a direction out of da yoots. After insisting repeatedly that I didn't have a cell phone on me, I headed in the opposite direction that da yoots insisted I should go in and soon found trail. Which left me to negotiate the obligatory check in the ramble by myself. Soon the trail left the park above the Met and found it's way to the basement of the Back Page on Third Ave.

In due course Roy and Peter gathered us in. Leslie and Matt were dutifully thanked for a pleasant run. Three virgins were introduced to the pack. Hey Scott, Ross and David! A transplant from Hong Kong, Cecile, was warmly welcomed in traditional fashion. Steve Kolman was welcomed back to the city Hash. Then a long list of honorees began. If it weren't for the singing, I would have thought it was Oscar night. John of Deb and John snagged the Rabbit Ears. Rebecca did a down-down for finding a job and getting permission from INS to stay in New York for three years. Wrong Way Crofty was honored for his attempt at mis-direction. Steve and Matt were called up for falling into the stream in the Ramble and Pierre for just falling. (Like they needed another beer!) All the guys got excited for a moment when Peter tried to give Idaho Sue a down-down for managing to remove her underwear without taking off her running gear, but it was only her jog bra and most of the guys calmed down. The football supporters of England gave us a rousing chorus of "Hail Britannia" in honor of England's loss to Portugal on Sunday. (Let's see, Portugal 3, England 2. What's that a safety and a field goal?) Then Deb of John and Deb, not to be confused with Deb and John, did a down-down for loudly proclaiming her virginity as the pack approached the Ramble. "Oh, I've never been here before!" Just watch out for the stream Deb! Finally, the moment we all were waiting for, Asshole of the Week, was briefly postponed for Sphincters of the week, Steve and Mark who didn't retrieve the plunger from Rick (which only goes to show that one must be careful picking roommates in the big city). Finally, the big moment and Roy announces the Asshole of the Week is... Peter! Oh my! Drinking in public? Fined for an open container violation? I guess the cops were busy on Sunday! Keeping NYC safe from Hashers! The official portion was almost over, except for a couple of announcements of upcoming Hash events, and the upcoming world premier recital by the world famous oboist, Dave Long. Dave, show us your embouchure!

Finally, we were allowed to return to the serious business of drinking and smoozing. [Ed: Hawaiians may be well advised to leave Yiddish to the pros. Smoozing: kissing while grabbing a quick nap?] Some wings, fries and nachos arrived and consumed in massive quantities. Alice was spotted smoking in a classic pose. As Dietrick said in "Shanghai Express", "It took more than one man to change my name to Shanghai Lily." Go Alice! Rack em up. And so it went, on into the Manhattan eve. I finally stepped out around midnight, leaving the usual suspects hanging by the bar. I was feeling much refreshed and no long in need of a clean well-lighted place. Just a cab. Preferably one that wouldn't take me to Fort Lee on my way uptown. But that's a different story. As for the nausea, well if life is absurd, at least we can Hash.