Dealing in Vegas

To casino owner Steve Wynn, Las Vegas is what God would build if he had money. To journalist Hunter S. Thompson, it's the meanest town on Earth for a loser.

Somewhere in between (more toward the God end, we think) is the frugal, winter-stuck Minnesotan, starved for twinkling marquees, leggy showgirls and desert heat, but cognizant that the economy right now is playing the penny slots.

Vegas was a toddler during the Great Depression, and was generally immune to its snake-eyes wrath. Not so the current financial crunch. Until now, Vegas had seen gambling revenues fall only once since 1970 -- after the Sept. 11 terror attacks. But in 2008, revenues and room rates were down almost 15 percent. Heck, even brothel business was down 45 percent this summer, according to Newsweek.

A decade or so ago, Vegas was known for the 99-cent shrimp cocktail and the $1.99 steak and eggs. But then in the roaring '90s it went upscale, with restaurants run by famous chefs and posh, pricey hotel rooms.

Today, the new realism is that you can have a nice long weekend, lolling at the pool in the desert at unemployment compensation rates.

Going small

See the midget pushing $2 hot dogs and $2 beers outside the casino.

"For all of you who love beer pong as much as we do. ... " the little guy said into his microphone. Can the world possibly get any better than this?

Short answer, yes.

A block away, someone is selling ice-cold beer for one dollar. I look inside the casino: penny slots. It's almost like they are paying me to be here. I don't gamble, unless you call putting $5 into a video poker machine and waiting until someone gives me a $6 drink gambling. So I come for the sideshow. Vegas, luckily, is about 90 percent sideshow.

For example, out in front of the Venetian, three abnormally handsome men stood by the fake canal as gondolas plied the water behind them. One was yelling in Italian into a cell phone, calling the real Italy. I think he said something like, "Mama Mia, you wouldn't believe how clean their canals are here."

And this scene, ladies and gentlemen, was totally free. I laughed my head off, and Carrot Top, the world's most annoying comedian, who headlines at the Luxor, didn't see a nickel. Note: There are many great deals in Vegas, but the worst deal has to be Carrot Top tickets at half-price, which is kind of like a punch in the nose for half-price.

Every week I'd been getting Vegas lures that seemed ever more improbable. Suites at the Venetian or Wynn for $139. Still a little rich? How about the new Trump for $99? Or, just try to pass up the Four Queens, off the strip on Fremont Street, for $15.

I chose the newly remodeled TI, or Treasure Island, where a hundred bucks got me a suite with a view, two bathrooms, a flat-screen TV and a hot tub. I knew things were bad in Vegas when I got a message on my phone saying I could get half-price tickets to Cirque du Soleil, the arty circus that only a few months ago used to sell out. By late February, they were offering a free room if you bought tickets to the show.

Free stuff

Before I left, I consulted with Casino Boy (Matt Weatherford) from Cheapovegas.com, a local whose cheeky website monitors the best weekly deals, and gives visitors tips for tasting Vegas life away from the Strip, as well.

I took his ideas seriously, including visiting Caesar's Palace Forum shops to "wander around and marvel at the sort of crap rich people buy." Mink boots? Seriously? Even cooler, though, is the 50,000-gallon fish tank at the north end of the forum. Here you can meet an entirely different kind of Vegas shark.

I took Casino Boy's advice and tried Circus Circus, which he assured had some good acts. He claims to once have seen a guy with a towel in his mouth swinging a dog on the other end, which would make anyone's trip. I was not so lucky; a guy on a tall unicycle kept falling down in front a teensie crowd. That made me a little sad.

Things picked up, however, when I saw the pirate wenches outside TI. The act, part Disney, part "Baywatch," revolves around female pirates in skimpy outfits who capture a man-pirate, tie him up and hold him hostage. It has excellent dialogue, such as:

Man Pirate: "Ahoy! Ladies."

Woman Pirate: "Don't call me a hoy!"

Hard to believe, but totally free.

"Das ist gut, huh?

"Ja."

Old school

Go downtown for the real bargains, everyone said, way down past the area of town that reminds you of the flip side of a gambling economy (check-cashing place, pawnshop, bail bondsman, wedding chapel). Before I became jaded, however, the Four Queens loomed with an offer that brightened the day: 10 oz. prime rib: $7.95. Then came more deals. Three-dollar blackjack at Fitzgeralds. Steak and eggs at Binion's, $3.99. Margaritas for 99 cents at the Fremont: OK, I'll bite.

The margarita was, indeed, 99 cents. It was very sweet and, like the $9 margarita on the strip, fairly uncomplicated by any taste of tequila.

I ended the day with a happy-hour stop at one of my favorite places, the Peppermill Lounge, halfway back to the strip. It hasn't changed since the Rat Pack drank around the sunken fire pit, watching themselves in the mirrored walls from the low, glittery banquettes.

If you are looking for a half-price rail drink and a half-full view of the economy's effect on Vegas, this is your place. Someone has bought up all the property around the Peppermill, and its end was imminent, according to the bartender. Then the economy soured. Demolition was put on hold.

So here it sits, a marvelous relic, held in time amid the stalled headlong rush of Vegas' gaudy progress.