Also, they may want to make an appointment to see a psychologist on Tuesday, because I think they're nuts.
|crazy people in large numbers|
I've lived my whole life in and around New York City, and I've never been tempted to spend New Year's at Times Square. That includes before terrorist douchebags made such events even more ridiculously miserable.
Right off the bat you have to deal with the weather. It's never balmy in Manhattan on December 31. It sometimes rains. It may even snow. Tonight the low is supposed to be 10 degrees Fahrenheit. Maybe with wind, which will drop it considerably lower. It will be either the second- or third-coldest New Year's in Times Square since they started dropping the ball in 1907. Accuweather says, "Wind chills are expected to fall as low as 5 to 10 degrees below zero tonight into New Years morning," and few Tristate Area denizens have Antarctic explorer gear.
And you have to be in this weather for hours. If you wished to go to Times Square tonight, here's what you would have to do, according to the official Times Square Web site:
"to get the best view, arrive early in the afternoon."
"Knapsacks, large bags and umbrellas are not permitted."
"There are no portable restrooms in Times Square during the celebration."
"Public drinking is illegal in New York City. Police will confiscate alcohol."
"There will be no licensed food and beverage vendors in Times Square."
"if you leave your viewing area to dine in a restaurant, you will not be able to return to your spot in a viewing area."
So you can freeze, stand in place for ten hours, not be able to eat, drink, or pee, and for what? To see the Tongliang Athletics Dragon Dance? The Kinjaz doing storytelling through dance? Or worse, Neil Diamond?
Think of it: Forced to stand in the frigid cold for ten hours without food, water, or bathroom use, to get blasted at the end by Antonique Smithh and Mariah Carey, and endure Andy Grammer playing the worst song ever written -- "Imagine." Under any other circumstances it would be a freaking war crime. The organizers would be hanged.
One New York Post reporter wrote that it "sounds like a urine-soaked hell," and as you can guess I am inclined to agree.
No, frankly, I think I will pass on joining 999,999 to 1,999,999 other humancicles milling about with bad music playing and crowds of grumpy people who can't pee.
We'll probably stay home and avoid Alcoholic Amateur Night entirely, perhaps watch TCM's annual run of all six "Thin Man" movies. Last year we forgot to switch the TV to Ryan Seacrest at midnight, and I hope to make it two in a row this year.