Whenever I tell someone I live in the Big City, they inevitably want to know two things:
1) Have I ever been mugged
2) Have I ever been to Times Square on New Year's
The answer is no and hell no.
The honest truth is that no New Yorker goes to Times Square on New Year's Eve. (Most don't go to Times Square if they can help it.) And those that have braved the crowds always say the same thing: NEVER AGAIN. Standing toe-to-toe with a cruise-ship's worth of strangers without access to food, bathrooms, or alcohol on one of the coldest nights of the year? Sign me up! (Did you know that you can't leave? Abandon your post and the coppers won't let you back. Need to urinate? Guess you shoulda thought about that.)
Good times. Good times.
New Year's Eve has always felt like such a high-maintenance holiday. I could never shake the feeling that if I didn't have triple exclamation point F-U-N, the upcoming year was shot. Somehow I always ended up soggy and miserable, wadded up on someone's futon, nursing the aftereffects of some ill-advised pharmaceutical adventure. Luckily I'm an old biddy now and can spend The Biggest Night of the Year curled up on the couch with pizza and champagne.
If my night was any indication, 2009 should be cozy and fattening.