COLUMN: Partying like you're doomed just can't be beat

From Siona Listokin's, "Think Different," Fall '99 From Siona Listokin's, "Think Different," Fall '991449 hours, 42 minutes, 35 seconds. My millennium countdown screen saver is screaming at me. I am no longer simply neglecting my history paper; now I am running out of time. My uncle reports that 1966 Dom Perignon is impossible to find in liquor stores on the Upper East Side and supplies of Taittinger are running low. Meanwhile, bidding wars on eBay have raised the price of a bottle of Vueve Clicquot to obscene levels. "A-ha!" cries Doom. The beginning of the end is always signaled by 300 percent inflation. Government working committees and disaster specialists warn us to stay inside to avoid violent riots and looting. A family friend who works in the banking industry suggested we take out what money we'll need before December 15 -- after that, ATMs with cash still inside are likely to be few and far between. Party thinks that the resulting mayhem sounds "freaking cool." What could be better than being trapped with dozens of your closest friends on New Year's Eve? That's the point in this marriage between Party and Doom. People get a real charge just thinking about the most exciting end of mankind in the history of the universe. Many seem almost disappointed that Y2K test runs have gone well. Confess, they insist, that it would be somewhat entertaining if the market crashed while the world was too doped up to notice. Highly intriguing, don't you think, if your computer developed a mind of its own at midnight and wooed you away from your date? Imagine a world where we the paranoids were actually omniscient. This is the real Y2K bug -- our strange fascination with chaos. We seem entirely unable to differentiate between hell and a hip happening. What will really happen at midnight? Inebriated crowds will breathlessly watch the ball drop us into a new millennium and then eagerly glance skyward to check for falling planes. Sirens might signal a New Year's bash or a Y2K bust; either way our generation will say we were there when it happened. The brave will go to New York and battle the cold crazies. Romantics will dress in formal evening attire and propose marriage. Some people will die and small businesses may crash. Party certainly seems to have the upper hand in this relationship. But it just wouldn't be the same without Doom. And no matter how hung-over we may be the day after, each of us will pay homage to the doom that might have been, and seek validation for our apocalyptic partying, by reading the newspaper the next morning. I must admit that I currently have no plans for December 31. I vaguely dream of throwing the biggest, baddest pajama jammy jam ever. But I am intimidated by unreasonable expectations. Are we partying because it is the end of the world? Or will the world end if we do not party? In the end, I suppose the distinction is unimportant. The enjoyment of celebrating with the universe and the excitement of pondering the end of the universe both exemplify our need to participate in communal experiences. Big communal experiences. So buy your bottles of Evian and Dom Perignon. You never know which one you will need more. But you had better prepare now. Time is running out.