If there is one place in New York City where I guarantee I will never be found as long as I am breathing, it is Times Square on New Year’s Eve. Being there at that time on that day has less appeal to me than playing slip and slide over hot coals while naked. There are certain situations that I feel so strongly negative about and this is one that scores sky high on my hole in the bucket list, right under how much I loathe clichés like bucket lists.
I am not a list-er and I prefer to blather about what I’ve done after I’ve done it. Whenever people are compelled to yammer at me about what they intend to do – take a class, write a novel, throw a party, shoot an arrow, whack a mole, whatever it is that is so important at that moment, my eyes glaze over. If you’re compelled to do something, I say:
Me: Great. Do it. Tell me about it when it’s an actual thing and not air-infused pontification that is about as likely to happen as world peace by next Tuesday.
Earlier this week I happened to be in Times Square with my bud and fellow blogger, Natasia, who writes Hot Femme in the City. Last month she had suffered a ferocious cold accompanied by one of those coughs that sounded similar to a phlegm-filled foghorn. She was very bummed that her illness prevented her from attending an outdoor screening of Raiders of the Lost Ark in Bryant Park with her colleagues. Factoid-on-feet-me told her that this film was going to open for a week in September in IMAX theaters in conjunction with its release on Blu-ray DVD.
When that week rolls around, Tas and I make a beeline for a screening after we left our respective grinds for the AMC 25, the IMAX theater in Times Square. We were joining the minor masses i.e., it was not a horde of rabid theatergoers, eager to catch this classic popcorn flick first released in 1981.
We arrived an hour early. We didn’t have enough time to head over to any of our preferred watering holes in the area. It was also premature to start stuffing ourselves with a trough of popcorn so heavily salted I am certain that I have fulfilled my sodium requirement for the remainder of the month or possibly the rest of my life since that infusion of salt could result in me succumbing to a massive stroke by the weekend. So, what to do with forty minutes to kill? We hightailed up to the roof.
This multiplex theater’s rooftop is not the most romantic in New York City so it is probably not a go-to place for a proposal unless the proposal is, “How long is the movie? Should we hit the bathroom before hand or what?”
Although this hidden rooftop oasis is essentially industrial strength viewing, it does offer a unique perspective on this world famous area that’s also tourist and crowd-free. Apparently it’s also a welcome place to eat sunflower seeds.
Check out the other sights.
The Thomson Reuters building is also known as 3 Times Square. As interesting as seeing Madame Tussaud’s well manicured hand, we were far more captivated seeing the Times Square Ball in the off-season.
We were hypnotized as we watched the Times Square Ball, but then I started to bark like a seal and we regained our senses.
The Paramount Building is also known as 1501 Broadway. At the time we were looking at it, Tas guessed that it was Big Ben.
The Hotel Carter, which opened in 1930, has a reputation for being ranked the dirtiest hotel in America for four years running.
For tourists that would like to avoid bedbugs, the Westin Times Square might be an infinitely more attractive alternative.
One Astor Plaza is home to Viacom’s headquarters and MTV’s New York studios.
As for the film, it holds up well — if you ignore the boulder-sized hole in the plot of the Nazis being completely oblivious to Indy’s archaeological dig taking place right in front of their faces.