It was hard to tell whether it was old-guard boys night or newcomer's
night at the hash, but one thing was for certain, the summer crowds had finally
arrived (finally!). Hash elders included (not that they are elderly, or that
they don't hash regularly, just that they've been around…hashing, that is…for
awhile, and that they are mostly British, which may or may not make them seem
more…mature.) The list included Ross Holden (I know, he's not a Brit), in tow
with his daughter (also not a Brit and definitely not old-guard); four out of
six British Daves, including DB2, Dave Long, David Croft, Dave Hardy, John Burke
(who is definitely not a Dave and would take offense to the term 'old') and
others, including an appearance by veteran hasher Julie during down-downs. Newbies,
being new, don't usually make much of a blip on the radar screen, but they were
there, and we eventually asked them who they were, and all in all, they were
a pretty hearty, better-than-average-looking and good-spirited bunch.
The run started with the usual dashing about, followed by a straight sprint
towards Central Park. Once in the park, we continued dashing about, and then
came to our first chicken and eagle split, the eagle leading us into an enormous
circle jerk around the Bethesda Fountain. Taken down a notch by this, and reluctant
to go on the chicken trail, we finally gave into chicken-dom and continued onwards.
There were said to be two more chicken/eagle splits, but I recall only one,
where Lesley, Heather and I opted for the longer route which we anticipated
would go along the river along the east side. There, we ran and chatted, passing
Lesley's apartment, a gorgeous moving guy lifting heavy furniture in a state
of nearly full undress and aglow in male, sweaty hormones -- and then it was
back behind Gracie Mansion, where we made snide comments about the male, sweaty
hormone-induced behavior of our Mayor.
It was a stone's throw there to the on-in at The Big Easy - where getting water
and beer was anything but -- and where I could have sworn we'd be forced to
wear arm bands, but somehow John and Aleks were able to get us out of that.
Eventually, the group was corralled for down-downs, with beers given to our
hares, Sarah "Down Under" for female FRB, and then our JMs requested that Crofty
drink out of his new sneaker. In addition, Ross's daughter Paige was given her
first legal down-down, and Virgins Melissa, Marie and Patricia were also called
up, then Melissa (?) had to drink again for wearing a hat. Asshole of the Week
went to yours truly, for screaming at a little girl while she rode her bike
on the sidewalk - but in my own defense, the little runt deserved it as she
was getting in the way of hashers who insisted on running three astride on the
sidewalk - and she wasn't wearing a helmet.
After pizza was served, karoke began and I belted out "Leaving on a Jet Plane,"
to what I thought was an acoustic version of the song over the jukebox, but
was actually a live performance. Quickly, Ewa and I bee-lined to the songbook
(as if I hadn't been obnoxious enough this evening) and picked out a tune "My
Way," but Ewa actually got her way when she worked out a deal with the karoke
guy (we can only imagine what was offered…) and had my microphone cut off so
that she could sing a solo. With beer, pretzels and other garbage tossed at
us, we muddled through, with later acts including Aleks, Alex, et. al. doing
Dancing Queen, an excellent rendition of Grease with a newbie hasher posing
as Travolta and Crazy Bob, Jesse, and others also getting into the entertainment
act.
Trying to call it an early night, I headed out the door with Crofty sometime
after midnight in search of throat lozenges and copious amounts of aspirin -
for prophylactic purposes only, of course. On-out.