Letters From the Front: Hookah-ed.

Pennsic, in general, has many traditions…many social events…lots to do.

 

Blood Moon, in particular, has…well…two.

The first time I started this series, I wrote about Scotch Broth night.  That’s one.  And a lovely, family-friendly ritual it is.

 

The other one?

<sigh>

The other one is called Hookah.

And no, it has nothing to do with smoking.

Hookah is the one “party” Blood Moon throws.  But it’s more of a neighborhood block party than a ParTAAAAAAAAAY party.  The ground rules for Hookah are as follows:

1.  We cannot Hookah unless it has rained that day.  The first rain is generally a guaranteed Hookah occasion, but I usually miss that one since it always seems to happen in the first week.

2.  The Hookah is announced to neighboring camps via a few ringleaders that run around the fringe of our camp singing the Hookah Song.  It goes something like, “Hookah, dookah, dupity do!  I’ve got another Hookah for you…”

3.  The Hookah is filled with…<sigh>…Pat O’Brien’s Hurricane Mix.  It is syrupy sweet.  It is reasonably strong.  It is bright red.  It is the sort of thing that nightmarish frat parties are made of.

4.  The Hookah keeps getting refilled until we run out or everyone passes out.

Yeah, it’s that kind of party.

 

I’m not sure how far back Hookah goes as a tradition…all I know is that the Old Hookah was made by Brother, and my first Pennsic was the first year of the New Hookah.  The New Hookah looks like this:

That’s right.  It’s a giant jug with giant jugs.

There are two pieces of tubing coming out of the top of the Hookah – in the words of Brother, “So you can Hookah with the one you love.” (The previous incarnation only accommodated one user at a time.)

Operation of the Hookah proceeds as follows:

1.  Two willing victims are found.

2.  The Hookah is hoisted above a third party’s head. (Preferably by its giant jugs)

3.  Said willing victims drink, via the magic of siphoning action, from the tubes until they can’t take it anymore.

4.  Lather.  Rinse.  Repeat.

 

It’s basically a fruity, non-carbonated keg stand for two.  The new, double Hookah introduced another aspect to the ritual: that of competition.  Whoever has the least staying power is in charge of how long of a drink the other person gets.  If you crap out too quickly, your partner will be highly disappointed in you.

I never crap out too quickly.

The Hookah has claimed many victims over the years.  Those victims clearly have no grasp of hydrodynamics.  Either that, or they have no idea how to use their tongue.

Those who allow Gravity to determine the rate at which they drink are condemned to also become its bitch by the end of the night.

 

The stories of Hookah are legendary…I will spare you the gory details.  I have only experienced Hookah once, but have never been its victim; the vast majority of our camp cannot make the same claim.  I take the occasional hit, but keep my mug filled with something more palatable.  I, like my brother, appreciate the Hookah more for the social aspect than for the beverage itself.  The Hookah draws in our neighbors, and the occasional passerby.  And, in the case of the one year I was there for it, also led to a long, snaking backrub chain.

 

THIS IS, BY FAR, THE BEST PART OF HOOKAH.

 

I enjoy drinking. 

I enjoy socialization.

I freaking LOVE BACKRUBS.

By the end of my first Hookah, all I know is that I am running a decent buzz…and I am more relaxed than I have ever been IN MY LIFE.  The new girl in camp always seems to attract the most backrub attention, so I had a distinct advantage that year.  I swear I didn’t go 5 minutes without somebody rubbing my shoulders…and that person was always different.  I actually didn’t drink that much because I was TOO BUSY GETTING BACKRUBS.

 

This is the sort of thing that makes it hard for people who haven’t been to understand what an incredibly relaxing vacation Pennsic can be.  You never have to be anywhere.  You can drink whenever you want.  AND SOMEONE IS ALWAYS WILLING TO GIVE YOU A BACKRUB.

 

People pay hundreds, or even thousands, of dollars for spa vacations that do the same things.  But I’d be willing to bet that those spa employees don’t make you laugh half as much in the process as my Clanmates will. 

Hookah, dookah, dupity do…