I swear I heard a shutter snap right in front of my face.

Like a lazy house cat in platforms, I had curled up on a bench in the sun in the World Trade Center plaza and fallen asleep with my backpack for a pillow.

If only the photographer had known why I was so tired.

I was conquering New York, which can be exhausting. But even more physically demanding, I was conquering New York on a budget, determined to do all your standard Big Apple activities at little apple prices. Sightseeing, culture, hotels, food ' the whole shebang for a limited buck.

It takes planning and, above all, endurance, which is why I am going to tell you all the other public places where I slept or merely "rested": Bryant Park in Midtown (a garden oasis before the neon hysteria of Times Square); Washington Square Park in Greenwich Village (would-be Bobby Fischers engage in heated chess tournaments and Chris Rock-esque street-comic-stuntmen perform); Tompkins Square Park in the East Village (if you're not put off by transients cleaning themselves in the drinking fountains).

OK, now that you know where you can doze sans dollars and chill for cheap, let's see the city.

We'll have to get around on the subway, to save money, of course. Granted, this makes it a little harder to see the city than jaunting about in a cab as rich people do. And you may be involuntarily treated to a busker's electronic keyboard rendition of "Strangers in the Night."

But as we explore the Big Apple on a budget, we won't let that spoil our fun.

New faux riche

You know you're worthless when the perfume lady doesn't spray you.

Everyone's entitled to a spray. Or so I thought.

I had chosen to browse among the moneyed masses of Fifth Avenue; past Bruno Magli, Ferragamo, Gucci and many more stratospherically expensive outlets.

My mission: Spend a few deliciously delusional hours among the glitziest shops on the planet, without spending any money.

The truth is, salespeople at high-end stores aren't mean to you. They just don't pay any attention to you.

Just try to provoke them. Nothing works.

Unless you're writing things down. This really miffs the stiffs at Versace.

Here I discovered a haughty couture world where $300,000 rings are encased in frosted glass, mannequin torsos are impaled on neon beams and the late designer's dresses are mounted on pedestals like diaphanous, sequin-splashed works of art.

The salespeople stand silently in the corners, arms crossed in front of them, like museum attendants.

In Saks, I flung my backpack on a chair and draped myself in a $3,000 Donna Karan coat. But the salesgirl didn't even look at me. I tried on a $4,000 gray Isaac Mizrahi suit and still no attention.

I walked out of the dressing room, and there was no one there but a stock-boy.

Foiled again.

If anyone's going to take me seriously, I'm going to have to buy something.

So I went to Tiffany's to do just that. My sister had recently gotten a small, exquisite necklace with a little silver bean on it. I figured anything my sister could afford, I was entitled to as well.

I waited at a counter for a saleswoman to help me. But the heavily made-up bottle blonde in question was busy chatting up a skinny, bejeweled woman in a lime-green T-shirt and black capris, who was deciding if she should buy a glimmering necklace worth multiple honeymoons in Europe.

I waited. I waited some more.

I'm not Audrey Hepburn. But I'm here, and I have 12 credit cards!

Where was the gracious salesman from "Breakfast at Tiffany's," who was kind enough to engrave a ring from a Cracker Jack box for a whimsical yet broke George Peppard?

Defeated, I strolled past the bathtub-sized vases of brilliant flowers, sparkling yellow-sapphire pineapple pins and suited security guards with earpieces and other Bond-esque accouterments and spotted the bean. Then I spotted the price tag: $600.

I stood openmouthed above it. Maybe the saleswoman was afraid I'd drool on the display, because she actually spoke to me.

"That's platinum," she said flatly. Then she pointed me to the lesser bean. The bean my sister had. The sterling bean.

The lesser bean counter was presided over by a short, arrogant-looking man. But as he was helping me, I realized he wasn't rude. He was just French.

He said the bean looked beautiful on me and was a good luck charm. A symbol of growth.

"Well, then maybe I'll be able to buy the platinum one soon."

"No. You should buy diamonds," he suggested with a smile.

TIPS:

A couple of eclectic and/or cheap shopping districts:

* Chelsea: Sixth and Seventh avenues below 23rd Street.

* East Village: St. Mark's Place - 24-hour, high-energy street market with everything from used CDs to retro jewelry. Just beware of the dirty alternateens lurking about.

* Sample sales: Upscale designers get a few extra bucks by selling samples designed for retailers. To get at these bargains, visit http://www.samplesales.com.

* Other discount sources:

"Sales and Bargains" in New York magazine

"Shoptalk" in Time Out New York

The S&B; Report, a newsletter listing names, addresses and descriptions of sales: 212-982-9300

* Best discount store: Century 21 in the Garment District

Performance anxiety

Andrew Lloyd Webber, eat your pasty, derivative heart out.

Hedwig is here, and she/he can out-show Evita, the Phantom and those weird roller-skating singers from the future.

Off-Broadway rules both for off-beat theater and pleasing prices.

"Hedwig and the Angry Inch" is proof of that. My friend and I got tickets for the musical/narrative/cabaret/one-man and a band show in Greenwich Village's Jane Street Theatre for $17.50 each. How did we do it? We got "rush" tickets. If a show isn't sold out, and you arrive an hour before curtain, you can get tickets at drastically reduced prices. They were originally $50.

I cursed the fact that I'd once paid $80 for a ticket to "Rent," one of the most overrated, boring pieces I'd ever seen.

Granted, we didn't have the best seats for "Hedwig." I was right next to the guy operating the lights. But once the lights went down, and Hedwig, in all his/her Farrah Fawcett-wigged, fishnet-wearing, Marlene-Dietrich-on-steroids glory, took the stage, all worries disappeared.

The audience was transfixed by the tragic, electric character who would take us through her sweetly warped world using Bowie-esque songs, hip burlesque and a sense of humanity and universality. It was a gender-bending revelation of wit, color and feeling that restored one's faith in the power of theater.

I laughed; I cried; it was better than "Cats."

Not that that's much of an accomplishment.

TIPS:

* TKTS: A service that offers reduced prices for a same-day selection of Broadway shows. You have to line up hours before the booth opens to have any chance. Booths are located in Times Square and the World Trade Center (this one is far more pleasant, but selection is inferior). Unfortunately, there are rarely tickets available for the hottest shows, and, even with a discount, you'll find yourself shelling out something around $50 a ticket.

* Rush tickets: Check for availability first at the particular theater.

* http://www.summerstage.org: online listing of free summertime events in Central Park

* Shakespeare in the Park: 212-861-7277

* Music: Attend rehearsals of Juilliard music-school students for a cheap fix.

Coupon cabana

Yeah! Coupons!

Clubs in New York are expensive - $20 covers, $10 drinks.

But my traveling companion and I had found a coupon in H/X magazine, which is available free at cafes and storefronts throughout the city, for half-off entree into Tunnel.

We went to the massive club on the iffy outskirts of Chelsea, between 11th and 12th in the late 20s. If not for the glittering, nubile lines of decked-out scenesters snaking out from warehouse fronts, one would never guess that clubs like Tunnel and its neighbors, Twilo and Roxy, existed.

To reach our dance-till-you-drop destination, we had to brave streets of deserted warehouses floating with garbage of both the inanimate and breathing variety. We were aggressively solicited by street-drug vendors.

As we got up to the front of the line for Tunnel, a boy sporting Army fatigues and pupils as big as saucers was turned away. He had already been thrown off-line, and the sassy female bouncer was determined to keep him out. If you're that obvious about being high, you can't get in.

When my friend and I got to the front, sassy girl didn't even ask for our IDs, which was good, because I'd forgotten mine, and bad, because I felt old.

And older as the night went on. I didn't drink, because I was too tired. Drenched in sweat so crippling that I could no longer see, I collapsed onto the green vinyl sofa until my friend dragged me off to boogie to "AHA," "Soft Cel" and the like.

In the club, we saw 8-foot drag queens in ostrich-feather platforms and mammoth wigs. We saw overdressed slatterns in black evening gowns with slits up the side and see-through black-lace numbers revealing underwear. We saw tennis shoes, pacifiers and pigtails - all manner of NY trendiness.

Silent clusters of TV screens featured "South Park," and Madonna's "Ray of Light" played. Paradise.

It was only about 1 a.m., but people are known to get to these places at 3 a.m. and dance for days. Weird.

When we left Tunnel around 2 a.m., because we're old, the line for Twilo was still a few hundred deep.

Strange, yes.

Regardless, that's certainly a way to save money. Just pay the cover, and don't leave until you die.

TIPS:

* Sources for coupons, listings of happy hours and special events: H/X, Time Out New York (http://www.timeoutny.com), Next, the Village Voice (http://www.villagevoice.com)

* Best place for cheap bars: the East Village - no covers, unpretentious environment, but thick cigarette smoke. Don't worry, the multi-pierced East Village punkster kids tend to stay outside.

* Recommendations: Von (3 Bleecker St.), St. Mark's Bar (132 First Ave.), Chelsea Commons (313 W. 22 St.).

* Posh, tragically hip lounges: SoHo's the place, and the Merc Bar (151 Mercer St.) and Spy (101 Greene St.) don't have covers. But be warned; the drink prices are astronomical, as are the egos.

Roach motel

The Chelsea Hotel: Sid Vicious killed Nancy Spungen there. It was the drug den/think tank home to Dylan Thomas, William Burroughs, Eugene O'Neill and a variety of other recluses and arty legends.

These days, it's more of a tourist attraction, but it's still cool.

It's located in Chelsea, as you may have gathered by now. Chelsea is a brown-gray former industrial district transformed into New York's new gay epicenter and hip neighborhood.

It's home to the "Chelsea Boy": an extremely attractive, immaculately kept man with close-cropped hair and wearing a tight T and tight jeans.

Anyway, back to the Chelsea Hotel, residential art gallery. Looking at the motley front-desk crew, you'd think the cast of the Rocky Horror Picture Show simultaneously decided to get into hotel management.

The place is filled with crazy sculptures, murals and paintings. They fill the lobby and line the walls above the ornate, deteriorating banisters.

They add a certain je ne sais quoi to the hotel, where, one of the front-desk workers informed me, a member of the Ramones was staying while I was there. But he couldn't remember which Ramone.

However, the Chelsea also houses its share of residents who think they're celebrities and feel the need to share their importance with you.

One of them is Hiroya. Yes, that's his whole name. Like Cher, but without the laughable singing career.

Hiroya, a crazy-haired, paint-splattered, mutant bohemian who wears thick socks with flip-flops, is a fab artist, don't get me wrong. But he's a little out there.

He has a permanent room in the Chelsea with white sheets hanging from the windows, where he paints. There is no metaphor to describe the complete and total disaster of paint, canvas, ashes, loose change, dirty water, lint and who-knows-what that is Hiroya's room.

He invites me into his room.

Don't worry, he has a girlfriend. He has a picture of her on his collage of a door. She is gaunt in that fashionable way and looks like a heroin addict.

On a nearby table lie more pictures of said girlfriend. They are black-and-white photo-booth strips featuring her and Mick Jagger, ya know, just hanging out.

Mick Jagger?

I pick up photos and shove them in Hiroya's face and droolingly ask for the story.

He casually and somewhat unintelligibly replies that Mick and his chick are friends. He doesn't want to talk about his girlfriend right now, though she is a very famous photographer herself.

He wants to show me his paintings. And he wants to show me articles about himself so as not to leave any doubt in my mind that he is indeed an important celebrity.

After shuffling through the dank mess, he finds some articles about himself from in-vogue European magazines. I can't read them because they are not in English. But there are actual pictures of him, so I am convinced he is famous.

Then he drags out some of his canvasses, which are piled haphazardly in the corner of his nouveau pigsty and treats me to a personal art exhibition in the hallway. His neatest paintings have a textured white background with that thick, manic "Van-Gogh right before he cut his ear off" quality. Over the white are delicate red lines suggesting various animals.

Very nice. Very subtle.

Then he grabs my hand, leads me downstairs and outside to show me that local vendors also agree that he is indeed a very important celebrity, or else why would they feature his "Chelsea Rabbit" so prominently in their windows?

Aside from the Guam-sized palmetto bug that visited my hotel room the next evening, Hiroya was the strangest creature I encountered at the Chelsea.

TIPS:

For a guide to inexpensive, hygienic lodging in New York City, visit http://www.fodors.com, where you can choose what price range to look under, what area, etc., and Fodors does the rest.

* Books: "Frommer's New York From $75 A Day" ($14.95), "New York Hot & Hip" ($9.95) by David Andrusia

* Students: Hostelling International-American Youth Hostels, 202-783-6161

Discounts on transportation and admissions available through Council on International Educational Exchange, 212-661-1450.

* Other affordable hotel alternatives: For short-term apartment rentals, write Abode at P.O. Box 20022, New York, N.Y. 10021, or phone 212-472-2000 or 800-835-8880.

Urban Ventures offers 400 bed-and-breakfast accommodations as well as 500 short-term apartment rentals; write Urban Ventures at 306 W. 38th St., 6th Floor, New York, N.Y. 10018, or call 212-594-5650.

Culture vulture

Sure, cheap can be colorful and provocative. But is it art?

More important, how fast can you see it?

Sure, the museums all have their free time, but it's the same time for most of them. To see more than one, you have to be crafty - or crazy - and fast.

The Guggenheim and Museum of Modern Art were both free this Friday. And I wanted to hit the Guggenheim by 6 p.m., and then the MOMA, and absorb as much art as possible on the way.

First stop: Lincoln Center, to spend some quality time with my buddy Marc Chagall. I'm talking about the immense Chagall murals in the Metropolitan Opera House in Lincoln Center, where you can sit outside and take in the spectacle free of cost.

2 p.m: I arrived at Lincoln Center and raised my weary head, ready to drink from the keg of culture. I saw two long, thick screens draped over the anticipated artwork.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH! I'd walked all the way here for this?

I asked a security guard. He said they covered the murals until 2:30 to protect them from the midday sun.

2:27: The shades lifted, slowly and tantalizingly revealing the hot, mythical orgy of nature, humans and culture in burning Chagallian chaos.

2:30: I appreciated it.

2:32: I left.

I had to go through Central Park to reach the Frick and knew I would get lost. No street signs in Central Park.

3 p.m.: Get to Central Park

3:07: Ask first random person where I am going

3:20: Ask second random person. Person tells me Frick is on opposite side of park.

3:40: The Frick Museum

Objective: leave by 4:30

Pause in gorgeous foyer with huge fountain and spitting frog and indoor foliage. Would like to sit. But no art here. Must move on.

Why is everyone using cell phones? Realize apparent cell phones are electronic tour guides.

3:50: Get own cell phone

4 p.m.: Learn how to turn on cell phone

Wander around. Goya portrait looks like Prince. See some Rembrandts. Too much dark Dutch stuff. Spot a Renoir and head for it. Ten minutes left. People in Boucher paintings look like Precious Moments dolls. Pretty furniture.

4:30: Time to go.

Trudge to Met. Tired. Can't go on. See old jogger man. Decide if he can do it, I can, too. Eat Dove Bar.

4:45: Metropolitan Museum of Art

Objective: Leave by 5:45

Place is enormous. Before appreciating the most impressive collection of art on the planet, must wipe Dove Bar remnants from face. Look for bathroom.

Get lost. Feel like in Central Park again, but with art.

Still looking for bathroom. Pass French and Italian sculpture. Pass American Indian Art.

5:15: Find bathroom

Must see modern art. Look at map. Modern art occupies two floors. Have 20 minutes.

Matisse dancers - check. Hopper-esque urban alienation - check. O'Keeffe genitalia flowers - check. Nolde sunflowers. Love Nolde. Satisfied.

5:30: Have 15 more minutes, but figure will take at least that long to find way out of museum.

6 p.m.: Guggenheim Museum

Have achieved goal, even if feet are about to fall off. Note to myself: Do not traverse New York in 4-inch platform sandals.

Damn, a line! Is it possible that others are just as cheap as I am? Rule out Museum of Modern Art. Falling asleep in line.

"Man, it's longer than the line at Twilo!" one girl comments.

Once inside, the complaining girl seemed prescient.

The whole thing was like a club. Balconies had been draped in aluminum, there was an accidental free jazz concert that flooded the museum with music, there was a sweaty, hip crowd. And, of course, motorcycles.

Motorcycles?

I had come to see more art, not a lemon-yellow Vespa!

That was the exhibit! A chronological display of motorcycles lined the ascending Frank Lloyd Wright spiral walkway.

Well, at least it was "pay as you wish" night, and I wished to pay nothing. Actually, I wasn't quite sure what "pay as you wish" meant, so I asked the woman next to me.

She was arrogant, as if she sensed my desire to give nothing. "Well, you have to pay something."

As we moved up in the line, I noticed everyone was dropping quarters for admission.

We got to the front.

She dropped a quarter. I dropped a dollar.

I'm a patron of the arts.

And I wanted her to feel dumb.

The exhibit wasn't bad. They had the original "Captain America" bike that Peter Fonda rode in "Easy Rider."

It was actually kind of cool.

But was it art?

More important, will anyone care if I collapse right here?

TIPS:

* Free places for art: Lincoln Center, Chagall murals at Metropolitan Opera House.

Grand Central Station - a sparkling teal and gold galaxy mural covers the ceiling of the massive train station.

Museum of Modern Art: Thursday and Friday, 5:30 p.m. to 8:30 p.m., pay what you wish. During the summer, Summergarden Concert Series, free concerts in the sculpture garden; 212-708-9480.

Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum: Friday from 6 p.m., pay what you wish, 212-423-3500.

Whitney Museum of American Art: Thursday 6 p.m.-8 p.m. free, 212-570-3600.

* Suggestions for free (and often pretentious) gallery browsing:

Chelsea: 20th-26th streets between 10th and 11th avenues.

SoHo: West Broadway, Mercer, Greene and Wooster streets, between Houston and Canal.

AN IDEAL DAY

10 a.m.: Wake up at the Chelsea Hotel (get a wake-up call). No need to get up at the crack of dawn. New York isn't going anywhere.

10:30 a.m.: Get out of bed.

11 a.m.: Go to the Garden of Eden (162 W. 23rd St. between Sixth and Seventh avenues). The Garden is a massive gourmet deli/grocery store steps from the Chelsea Hotel with a water fountain, fruit, desserts, pate ... everything. It's a food museum. Cram a few nonperishables into your backpack to last until dinner.

11:30 a.m.: Walk south to Greenwich Village. On your way, pop into a few Chelsea galleries. (But don't eat your food inside. Actually, they're going to treat you as though you're invisible anyway, so maybe you should.) Also, get a true taste of native Chelsea culture and a cup of coffee at Big Cup (228 Eighth Ave.). An hour or so at this colorful, mismatched, furniture-filled Chelsea institution will teach men a thing or two about the art of "cruising," and women a thing or two about the art of patience.

12:30 p.m.: Get to Greenwich Village and enjoy your treats in Washington Square Park. Stay awhile and watch the skate punks and street performers try any number of tactics to get you to reach into your wallet. Feel free to fall asleep, but do so in such a way that will prevent said street punks from reaching into your wallet themselves.

2 p.m.: Browse through Greenwich Village. Sigh in envy at those fortunate enough to live in this gentrified bohemian paradise. Lurk through used-bookstores, Paris-perfect hidden corners like Minetta Lane and the crazy shops on Christopher Street. Make sure to stop in Pets Kitchen on Christopher and give cats-in-residence Juliet and Macbeth a stroke or two. Don't miss Don't Panic, a specialty T-shirt store that is sure to fulfill all your tasteless garment needs at low prices.

4 p.m.: Walk east to SoHo. Sigh in envy at those fortunate enough to live in this gentrified post-bohemian paradise. Walk into a few galleries and gorgeous designer stores. Pause to watch a bohemian wannabe get henna-tattooed on the sidewalk. Go up to every pretty boy and girl you see and ask them if they're Leonardo DiCaprio. If they say no, ask them if they're at least in his entourage.

6 p.m.: Take the subway back to your hotel so you can drop off that horrid backpack and get yourself all hip and ready for the nightlife, baby.

7:30 p.m.: Warm up with a quick drink at the neighborhood-style Chelsea Commons (24th Street and 10th Avenue). There are very few pretentious people here, and you can unwind free of extraneous conversations about Sartre.

8:30 p.m.: Have dinner at James(10th Avenue between 22nd and 23d streets), a new, lovely French/Thai Chelsea restaurant. You can sit outside and be seen, unless you're female.

10 p.m.: Take the subway to the East Village. Sigh in envy at those fortunate enough to live in this gentrified punky paradise. Scoff at the rooster-haired young hooligans who hang out as if they live here, but who could never afford the astronomical rents. Stroll through St. Mark's place. It's the most bizarre outdoor bazaar you're likely to encounter. The crowd is much younger and wilder than other areas, and the sounds of conversation and music blaring from storefronts and outdoor cafes is deliriously deafening.

11:30 p.m.: Conquer the no-cover bars of the East Village for the remainder of the night. Just don't forget which subway line to take back home.

WHEN YOU GO ...

Getting there: Peter Pan Bus Lines, round-trip ticket from Baltimore Travel Plaza to Port Authority bus terminal in Manhattan for $46; call 800-343-9999.

Eating: New York has a vast array of street vendors and casual delis where you needn't tip or wait and can still get a satisfying nosh. Try taking two of your meals there, or at a less pricey ethnic restaurant, and limit yourself to one sit-down culinary experience a day.

* Here's how I survived dinner at Monzu (142 Mercer St.), a swank restaurant in SoHo. This place was so chichi that one employee's sole job was presiding over the beautiful cheese display, recommending selections and arranging the cheese plates.

Half a cheese plate: $6

Bread Salad (an appetizer, but I pretended it was an entree): $10

Half bottle of wine: $9

My portion of tip: $5

Total: $30

Not exactly cheap, but ambience has its price.

* At http://www.fodors.com, you can also find extensive listings of restaurants by every category, including price.

Best free and ironic tourist attractions:

* New York Stock Exchange (20 Broad St. at Wall Street): Get in line by 9 a.m. for your free ticket to hear the opening bell. While you watch millions of dollars change hands in a matter of minutes, try to figure out how you're going to pay for that dinner you charged last night.

* Plaza Hotel (Fifth Avenue at 59th Street): You can wander through the gilded lobby for free and stare in impoverished awe as the privileged few down $15 shrimp cocktails.

To make things easier:

* City Pass: Card offers reduced rates at a variety of New York tourist attractions; call 707-256-0940.

* Metro Card: Pay a fixed amount such as $10 or $20 at any subway station to get this card. Instead of digging in your pockets for tokens, just slide it through. You also get a bonus ride; call 800-METROCARD.

* Best public bathrooms where you don't have to buy anything: Virgin Mega Store (midtown) and hotel lobbies (in general), especially the Millennium in Midtown.

Pub Date: 11/22/98