DC Wrap-Up: The Agony and the Ecstasy

DC turned in what might have been its most successful NCD yet, if not in triple-double achievement, at least in attendance and gluttony.

Hosts tracked more than 175 guests, with peak-attendance hours being between 3 p.m. and 10 p.m. The lack of blog updates yesterday can be attributed (however lamely) to the shoulder-to-shoulder crowd in the house and the wash of beer that was dumped on the blog-updating laptop. But, here is a blow-by-blow account of the festivities for all of our beloved brothers and sisters who weren't there to witness it in person.

The day began in agony, not ecstasy, with the positioning of the 150-lb ice luge. The ice-luge maker apparently had experienced some sort of ice-luge equipment-making glitch that limited the available luge choices to super-jumbo size. The hosts considered leaving the luge in the trunk of Alex's car and just pointing people to the blue Mercedes outside to do shots, but recalled from last year's dustup with DC metro police that excessive drinking in a front yard, back yard, or other public space is illegal and will draw a fine. Thus, the hosts carried the luge up three flights of stairs to the outdoor gazebo that provided the only space in the house that was: (1) Cold enough to prevent the five-square foot-block of ice from melting onto a floor or countertop; and (2) Private enough that neighbors would not call police. Horrible experience but good decision, as a day later, the luge is still in pretty darn good condition up in the gazebo.

Guests began arriving at 1 p.m. sharp and immediately began taking souvenir pictures of themselves and their friends in front of the massive wall of cordog boxes and bags of tots. Foster Farms gets major props for coming through in a BIG way with the 1008 dogs they sent our way. The visual presentation of the wall was stunning; several passers-by on the streets came in to view the wall, with one group staying for eight hours. One guest said of the wall: "I have been to the Western Wall in Jersualem and said my prayers there as part of a throng of devoted worshipers, but this wall of dogs -- on this particular day -- is somehow even holier. And I'm a Jew."

Reckless behavior beyond the simple gluttonous consumption of dogs, brews, and tots began nearly immediately at the party's outset. The first beer bong -- a stunningly full funnel of 48 oz. of beer -- was consumed at 1:49 p.m., with at least 30 funnels completed by 3 p.m. by various guests (many of whom turned in multiple performances.) The downside of this behavior is that it drained the kegs by 5:30 in the afternoon, creating the need for two separate, supsequent missions for more beer. By the end of the day, hosts had tallied more than 1200 beers consumed by party guests, with the vast majority of it being of the Natty Lite/Busch Lite/Strohs/Milwaukee's Best variety. At several points in the evening, guests took a break in the bonging to have shotgun races outside using tallboys, a phenomenon that caused a great deal of vomiting and thwarted the triple-double ambitions of at least some guests.

The ice luge also proved to be popular with guests. Luging began around 4 p.m. with a single bottle of Jaegermeister and continued through many more bottles of Jaeger, vodka, various flavored liquors, Rumplemints (aka, Devil's Mouthwash), Goldschlager, and tequilla brought in a gallon jug by one certain party guest. As per normal, the double-track luge provided for the well-loved phenomenan of side-by-side, cheek-to-cheek shots -- a practice that leads frequently to the two lugers making out while the different types of liquor dripping from their two faces (say, Rumplemints and Vanilla Stoli) create a new magical hybrid.

Speaking of making out, several love connections seem to have been made at NCD 2006 thanks to the effects of devastating intoxication. The most memorable occured around 7 p.m., when one party host was approached upstairs by a guest who inquired whether the host was aware that two people were dry humping in a prone position on the front stoop of the Narrow House while a huge crowd looked on. The host in question went to investigate and -- sure enough -- he had to step over the two prostrate bodies on the stoop to join the crowd of bystanders drinking, smoking watching the blissfully unaware (or uncocerned) love birds. Young love. It's many-splendored thing.

Through all of these various activities, the main mission of Corndog Day -- eating, drinking, and watching hoops -- continued to be the principle focus of the festivities. Tripe doubles (or people close to triple doubles) were scarce, however, with the one TD of the evening being turned in by Matty Vee precisely as the buzzer on the final game sounded. The jumbo size of this year's dogs (approximately 30% bigger than years past) complicated efforts, though a number of guests did eat 10 or more dogs and drink 10 or more beers. Alex, a veteran triple-doubler of three years running, chose not to compete this year, instead focusing on the consumption of beer (21 by the end of regulation) and shots (seven). His eight dogs and five units of tots were a pale shred of his past achievement, leading some perennial visitors to question whether he had contracted a tape worm on his recent trip to Africa.

One observation made by several of the hosts is that the size of the crowd made competitution for the triple double difficult. Though there were plenty of dogs, it was challenging to heat them in a way that kept a dog in the hand of everyone who wanted one. The left-over dogs at the end of the night were less a function of a lack of demand than of the simple fact that the oven can only heat so many trays of dogs in a 12-hour period.

The one triple double of the evening came in true drama worthy of March Madness. The final game of the night had just 18 second on the clock as Matty Vee began the consumption of his final dog. Kneeling before the television set -- like a focused Buddha with a glass of water and a dog -- Matt began slowly and deliberately eating the dog in way that suggested it would take him well more than the allowable 18 seconds to finish. In an almost prayerful way -- like a Rennaisance painting of a saint kneeling at his prie dieux -- Matt refused to even acknowledge or make eye contact with those yelling at him (mostly Alex and Scott) that he needed to speed it up or his efforts would be for naught. And then it happened, the final foul of the game that Matt seemed to instinctively know was coming. With 0.4 seconds on the clock and the shooter going to the line, Matt continued his slow procession to victory. As the taunts of "speed up" grew louder, he only got more deliberate, pausing for frequent water breaks. It quickly became apparent that if the shooter missed the second shot, the 0.4 seconds would evaporate immediately and Matt would not make the triple-double. But somehow, as if spoken to by an angel, Matt knew the shot would go down and he would have just a few seconds more. And the shot did go down, after which the final bite went into his mouth, time on the clock elapsed, and the agonizing drama ended in victory. DC would not be denied its one and only triple double.

As the night careened to an end, the Board of Directors convened to award the Miss Corndog Day Washington award to one of the many worthy ladies who had graced us with their presence. With Alex recusing himself due to his close relationship with the consensus choice, the judges voted to award the prize to Erin S. for her valliant efforts at hostessing the past four events, the painstaking hours spent at the oven making sure all dogs and tots were properly cooked, and her warm and cheery goodness to each and every guest. Erin was crowned with a corndog tiara and clothed in a Foster Farms sash while lifted to the shoulders of Alex and Bryan for her serenade by the team of singers who had prepared a new set of lyrics to the tune of "O Canada." Pictures will be posted shortly, along with the lyric sheet (as soon as it is located from the pile of rubble and ruin left in the wake of the party).

Following the conclusion of the games, the party continued to Stetsons -- the famed neighborhood bar of DC's Democrats -- whose proprieter had graced the NCD party earlier in the evening. From this point, the story of NCD 2006 can only be told by each of its various participants, each of whom carried forth in Agony or in Ecstasy in his or her own way.