It’s New Year’s Eve, that night when all the amateurs come out of the woodwork to binge drink cheap California brut and puke in the new year. I was walking through Times Square last week which is something I try to avoid at all costs. That stretch of commercial desperation is more upsetting to me than a ten-top all wanting hot teas and separate checks. As I walked past the Times Square Olive Garden on my way to the lovey N/W train, a sign in their window caught my eye. It was advertising their own special New Year’s Eve celebration for a measly $400 per person. After I picked up my eyeballs off the sidewalk and crammed them back into my head I began to wonder: who the fuck celebrates New Year’s Eve at fucking Olive Garden in New York City? The whole idea of ringing in the new year in Times Square while being crammed into metal pens and being unable to pee for twelve hours straight is already baffling to me, but to take it one step further into hell by doing at Olive Garden makes my mind reel. And for $400? I do not get it.
For that insane amount of money you get a complimentary buffet and a complimentary champagne toast at midnight. First off, if it costs $400 to be there, nothing is complimentary. Also included in the price is an open bar which is barely worth it. Here in New York a decent cocktail costs $16, so to get your $400 worth, you’d need to smash back 25 drinks. You get a total of five hours there, so you’d have to get a new cocktail every twelve minutes. If you made it that far, you might be looking at a severe case of alcohol poisoning, but then again since this is Olive Garden, how strong do we think those drinks really are? Also included is a DJ and dancing and all I can picture is tourists from middle America doing the Dougie and the Running Man to Prince’s “1999.” It makes my skin crawl.
Upon further inspection, I see a disclaimer on the sign:
Seating and view of ball drop not guaranteed.
Wait, what? So some people are going to spend four hundred bucks to stand in an Olive Garden for five hours and watch on their iPhone as
Dick Clark Ryan Seacrest does the countdown? Why would anyone travel all the way to New York City to do something they could do at their local Olive Garden or in the privacy of their own home? (I can guaran-fucking-tee you that the only people in that Olive Garden tonight who live in New York City will be the ones who work there.) It just makes no sense to me.
But you know what? Go for it, tourists. If you want to eat some lukewarm lobster shrimp mac and cheese in a Times Square Olive Garden while listening to a DJ blast Carly Rae Jepson and Blake Shelton, do it. Personally, I like my plan for tonight much better. I’ll be bowling with ten friends at 6:00 and then having a potluck in Queens while guzzling Veuve Clicquot. To each his own, I suppose.
To everyone who spends some time on this blog or my Facebook page or one of the many other places I regurgitate tired ass serving memes and self-promotion, thank you. Happy new year to all of you. Be careful tonight and please know how much I appreciate you.
Happy new year, bitches.