Wynning Isn't Everything, It's the Only Thing
The VT Review of Wynn Las Vegas : The Latest and Greatest Resort in Las Vegas
An advertisement appeared during the 2005 superbowl heralding the impending opening of the latest Las Vegas destination Wynn Las Vegas. After some breathtaking beauty shots of Wynn Las Vegas' sloping bronze tower, the helicopter trained in on a solitary man. His upscale casual black attire cutting a figure in the blue hue of the Las Vegas sky. He spoke few words, with an economy of gesture yet depth of meaning, delivered in a playful, yet serious tone.
"I'm Steve Wynn, and this is my new hotel... the only one i've ever signed my name to."
The camera pulls back and swoops downward, revealing that this man, bajillionaire casino magnate Steve Wynn was in fact perched at the apex of his 50 floor dream. He becomes instantly dwarfed by the edfice's signature logo and in time the monolitihic size and gleaming grandeur of Wynn Las Vegas. We are instructed that this new hotel will open April 28th, and if we call the phone number on the screen, we are virtually guaranteed - by proxy of Mr. Wynn's previous endeavors - to be pampered, primped and partied.
As quickly as these thoughts are subtly placed in our heads we return to a distant shot of the towering chocolate casino resort, and the speck that might, or might not be the billionaire. Yet still, he speaks to us a quick parting thought:
"Can I get down now?"
Yes, much has been said about the Wynn Las Vegas, and usually in tandem with Wynn's previous accomplishments - namely Mirage and Bellagio. Being an earthy kinda guy who likes to wear comfortable clothes, not shave or even shower when in the depths of a Vegas binge, I've never had the urge or interest to stay at Bellagio. I've visited the casino, wandered around the shops, ate some food and did a little gambling there. I just always felt out of place at Lake Como in the desert. Guys with long dreadlocks wearing Slayer t-shirts don't really mesh with the Bellagio vibe quite so well - despite my having a post-collegiate degree in Art and a full on knowledge and appreciation of the artists that inspire Mr. Wynn. Maybe that's a good thing, then again, maybe not. Add to the tally my general disinterest in plopping down five benjamins per weekend night for a room. Mirage, on the other hand, I've stayed at numerous times and enjoyed greatly. I even had the pleasure to shake the hand attached to the codpiece attached to the Roy of Siegfried & Roy at the end of one evening's performance. I've eaten there, gambled, partied and even got in the pool (a rarity!). So for better or worse, I have a somewhat enthusiastic opinion of the Wynn hotel experience, yet the concept and presentation of Bellagio turned me off. I'm a regular guy.
With all the hoopla and haranguing happening in the mediasphere at the expense and potential deposit of this new resort (the Strip's first this millenium) would it be possible for a true Vegas-lover to balk at the chance to enjoy that new casino smell and doze deeply in an ultra-plush bed that only hundreds of people - not hundreds of thousands - have fucked in?
Being the Vegas uberdorque that I am, I couldn't wait to try it on and wear it out, but first I had to gather up enough of the change that makes me a chump to reserve 640 square feet of living space for 45 hours - at a rate of $14.50 / hour if you do the math. Considering 1/3 of that time was spent in our 60th floor Panoramic View abode, our rental feel hovered around $45 / hour of 'actual use'.
The first 'actual usage' expense - a 40 minute hot bath ($30) - should've only been 30 minutes if I hadn't gotten sucked into watching the Wynn Poker Room table calls on the LCD TV mounted on the bathroom wall.
The second - a 2 hour respite ($90) from the dastardly Double Diamond slot machine that occupied my time and occupied my wallet (in the military sense) as others in our party took in Dragone's much malauded "Le Reve" (comped - face value: $240).
A third : I spent 20 minutes ($15) trying to figure out how to avoid the embarassment of phoning Housekeeping to alert them that the gourmet Turkey Burger from the Terrace Pointe Cafe has gone through me almost whole and had lodged itself into my personal porcelein panoramic throne, causing a potential mess to visitors on floors 59 and below. Should I disassemble the Wynn signature wooden hanger and use it as a poo-poking plunger? No, this is high-class yo! The housekeeping attendant graciously apologized for the inconvenience and promised to send someone up to disloge my lunch shortly. I do believe that she was holding back at least a few bars of Snickers at my Baby Ruth moment.