(UN)HAPPY NEW YEAR! Is this holiday overrated or what? By Corey Levitan The swarthy gentleman on my right is coughing so hard, he's spitting out internal organs. But I can't move away. The street is jammed so tightly with people, I can count the change in his left pocket. The year is 1992. Actually, in 4 hours it will be 1992. This is the New Year's Eve I decided to watch Dick Clark's ball drop in Manhattan's Times Square without the aid of a TV. How could something half a million people decide to do each year NOT be fun? Happy New Year! I now know why we say that to each other. We're rooting for this one to be different. But always, it's the same... We pay $200 for the right to stand at a bar and pay $100 more for drinks. We lie to ourselves that this will be the year we're going on a diet FOR REAL. And, much as we strain to resist, we make that "See you next year" joke. (When was the last time that was funny? Fourth grade, that's when.) When midnight strikes, we shout "Happy New Year!" then kiss people we hardly know or hardly like. And somebody explain why we must pretend to have never seen a fireworks display? (I'm always rooting for it to go horribly wrong. At least then the "oohs" would be genuine.) In Times Square, I'm alone among 500,000. Even Mr. 53 Cents on my right brought a friend. But mine all refused. "Why would you want to stand in Times Square?" they asked the question I now ask myself. I can't even see the stinking ball. I'm too short. I jump up a couple of times, but this really seems to upset the normal-sized people whose feet I land on. A Spanish lady behind me exacts her vengeance with her noisemaker. She blows it in my ear, its paper snake repeatedly unfurling into the back of my head. Happy New Year! I understand the significance of most holidays. Christmas honors Christ. Thanksgiving honors how nice the Native Americans were to cook us dinner before we killed them. Veterans Day honors our war heroes (although Memorial Day does the same thing -- but shush about that or they might take it away). New Year's honors a calendar change, that's about it. Because of this amazing achievement, we must have more fun the night before than we've ever had. And we must force fun upon others as well. "What are your New Year's plans?" we ask everyone we know, ready to pounce if the answer dares to be "just staying home." If you're not out somewhere having fun on New Year's Eve, there's something medically wrong with you. Everyone you know will be out having it. Of course, this is never true. Everyone is out only PRETENDING to have fun -- donning foolish paper hats and holding those same aching smiles from mom's department-store portraits of us as children. Drinking so hard is the only way to endure the excruciation. Things in Times Square are not improving. It has started to rain and I have no umbrella. This wouldn't be half as bad if my head weren't situated in the runoff streams of two other umbrellas. (The Spanish lady is taking aim, I know it.) The falling water reminds me of something I need to do, very badly, but can't or I'll lose my place in the crowd. And there are still three hours until the ball drops. Happy New Year! Probably the worst part of my New Year's Eves is going home alone, which I always do -- ESPECIALLY if I begin the evening in the company of a girlfriend. New Year's Eve is a concrete barrier for my relationships, forcing a clear definition of exactly where they're headed. For Michelle in 1993, Kelly in 1999 and Jen last year, that destination was Breakup City. Happy New Year! There was no way 1997-98 was going to be a bad New Year's Eve, though. My buddy Roy and I drove from New York City up to Mt. Snow in Vermont on an irrefutable tip. "They're throwing this killer party down the street from us," said my ex- girlfriend, Robyn (who probably broke up with me on a New Year's Eve, I can't remember). What she neglected to mention was that she wouldn't be there; she would hole up in the bedroom of her ski house with her current boyfriend. When Roy and I arrived at the party alone, we received a distinctly unwelcome welcome. "Sorry guys," said a male stranger opening the front door, "private party." "But we know..." Slam! We could have paid Robyn $100 for another freezing night on her couch, but decided that a four-hour drive back to New York on ice-slicked highways beginning at 11 p.m. was a sane alternative. By 2:15 a.m., Roy and I were attempting to sleep in my parents' car in the parking lot of a hospital in Connecticut, where we would have ended up admitted if I continued trying to drive with half-closed eyes. Every 12 minutes, I had to wake up to start the engine for heat. Happy New Year! But the New Year's Eve future generations will ask all of us about is 1999-2000. For this one, I have a good story: I actually had fun for once, partying with a dozen friends in New Orleans. I didn't say my story was true. I had to split the Big Easy on the afternoon of Dec. 31 to review a Red Hot Chili Peppers concert for this paper. None of my friends were interested -- especially since all I could obtain were two tickets on opposite sides of the Inglewood Forum. So I spent our great millennial change sitting by myself, scribbling notes about the merits of Anthony Kiedis' performance of "Give It Away Now," before rushing home to write on deadline. On my right, two high school boys illegitimately shared a single seat, moshing across my sightlines and occasionally into my right leg. Happy New Year! (Actually, it could have sucked a lot worse. As was revealed later, a plot was foiled to bomb LAX almost exactly when I landed there.) Back in Times Square, the ball has fallen and I furiously try to flag down one of three cabs working the city that night. I don't arrive uptown at the Mad Hatter pub until 1:30 a.m., an hour past the time I was supposed to meet some buddies from the office. Since it's late, the bouncer at the door does me the incredible favor of charging only half-price admission ($100). My friends are not here. They decided to ditch for another bar. In the era before everyone had cell phones, they couldn't figure out how to let me know. Happy New Year! So, what are your New Year's plans?