Ann Hampton Callaway's Christmas Standards; The Gangs of New York; Aim of Conrad Rocks the Punks; Ronnie Spector's Xmas Party; NY Decay; Spoofing Santa As a Perv; a Christmas Eve Skidoo

Hurry up and become a member of the American Museum of the Moving Image. On Weds., Dec. 18 at 7, they're screening a special members-only preview of Martin Scorsese's The Gangs of New York. Afterward, screenwriter Jay Cocks, who (rather loosely, we hear) adapted the film from Herbert Asbury's classic book?which every New Yorker should read, preferably before seeing the movie?will talk about it with the audience. How cool is that? 35th Ave. (36th St.), Astoria, 718-784-4520; $10.

John Cusack is a heartthrob for twentysomething women who grew up watching (and later reveled in revisiting) John Hughes films like the monumental Sixteen Candles, which also established Molly Ringwald's career. But now he's playing one of the oddest roles of his career?and maybe one of the hardest for fans to like. In the much-anticipated Max, he stars as a German Jewish art dealer who befriends a fellow artiste and veteran of World War I: Adolf Hitler. Already earning critical raves, it debuts in New York Thurs., Dec. 19, at the JCC. 334 Amsterdam Ave. (betw. 75th & 76th Sts.), 646-505-5708; 7:30, $12.

Last time we saw Aim of Conrad they had driven from Philadelphia to play a disastrously underpublicized show to an audience of the three opening bands. They weren't going to make gas money home, but rather than complain, they turned their huge amps up to 11 and rocked the pants off all eight of us. Ferocious post-punk guitars conjured up the glory days of Gravity Records, while the singer's spastic Elvis gestures were so weird-sexy that we didn't even mind when he broke our mic stand. Let them pin you to the back wall of the Knitting Factory Alterknit Theater this Fri., Dec. 20, followed by a stellar lineup of hardcore and post-punk distro-mates Helen of Troy, Books Lie, Hot Cross and City of Caterpillar. 74 Leonard St. (betw. Church St. & B'way) 219-3055, 8, $5.

Ronnie Spector's "Xmas Party" is as much a holiday tradition as eating yellow snow. Or maybe kissing under the mistletoe. The former lead singer of the Ronettes knows how to make the holidays extra-special. We caught her star-studded show a few years back, when she was decked out in a black negligee of sorts, black gloves, all dolled up, complete with Santa cap if we remember correctly. She performed a slew of Christmas numbers ("I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus," "Frosty the Snowman"), but the highlight was her duet of "Be My Baby" with Joey Ramone. This Sat., Dec. 21, for the ninth year in a row, at B.B. King Blues Club. 237 W. 42nd St. (betw. 7th & 8th Aves.), 997-4144; doors at 6.

Hey you. Yeah you with the black t-shirt and lipstick complaining about having nowhere to hang but Downtime. You with the spiky hair and pompadours and New York Dolls t-shirts grousing about the new-school rock scene and Williamsburg haircuts. Check out NY Decay, the new goth/punk/deathrock/glam/new wave/ rockabilly/trash party hosted by DJ Bad Luck. Previous nights have featured a mix of DJs a1nd live bands with a punk flavor; get your dance on or bang your head. At a surprise MDC set, we even caught a bizarre moment of frottage between Ari Up of the Slits and MDC singer Dave Dictor. The theme this Sat., Dec. 21 is "Evil Christmas," with Jersey punks Secret Cervix and horror rockers Dead Veronica. So quit your bitching and support alternative nightlife. Running weekly till Jan., then switching to a monthly schedule. At Pyramid. 101 Ave. A (betw. 6th & 7th Sts.); 462-9077; 10:30-4 a.m.

If you're totally sick of Christmas, Christmas, Christmas by Sun., Dec. 22, here's an antidote. At 2 p.m., as part of its "Film Slam," Two Boots Pioneer Theater screens the hilarious short "The Christmas That Almost Wasn't," by the writing/production team Liebography. Like Woody Allen did with What's Up, Tiger Lily?, they've taken one of those old claymation Christmas shorts for kids and derailed its feel-good holiday message with scandalous new voices and seamlessly inserted new footage. In this version, Santa's an old perv who makes a sex slave of Rudolph, who finally escapes the North Pole, only to meet up with... No, you just have to see it. A holiday spoof to warm the heart of every hipster Scrooge. 155 E. 3rd St. (Ave. A), 254-3300; $5.

Now here's a way to spend your Christmas Eve, especially all you nonbelievers and humbuggers: Go see one of the worst movies ever made! Otto Preminger's 1968 Skidoo is the weirdest, most embarrassing and possibly most telling stab Hollywood ever made at cashing in on the counterculture and the psychedelic era. It's got the amazing spectacle of Jackie Gleason pretending to trip out on LSD (which Preminger supposedly tried in real life, thanks to a friendship with Tim Leary), Groucho Marx sharing a blunt with John Phillip Law, an aging Carol Channing in her underwear, Mickey Rooney, Frankie Avalon, lousy Harry Nilsson music and some of the stoopitest "acid trip" footage ever staged (and we're including the freakout-in-the-graveyard scene in Easy Rider). Like all really bad drug movies it's pretty boring for long stretches, yet fascinating in a car-wreck way. At Cinema Classics, Tues., Dec. 24, at 8:15. 332 E. 11th St. (betw. 1st & 2nd Aves.), 677-5368, $6.