Two days before Christmas, gaming regulators made history by green-lighting a Scores strip club inside the Trump Taj Mahal Casino in Atlantic City.

Approval was granted on the condition that dancers keep their thongs on and promise not to "fondle themselves or simulate sexual activity." Unstated was that New Jersey casinos are so hard up for cash that every dollar counts - even singles wedged by sweaty hands into a lace garter.

New Jersey has lost roughly $1.5 billion in revenue and thousands of jobs since Pennsylvania got into gaming in 2006. Gov. Christie sees Atlantic City rebounding as a family resort, but it's hard to say how hiring strippers, betting $261 million in tax breaks on the struggling Revel project, and firing all 144 casino inspectors make the town more kid- or business-friendly.

A.C.'s future is anyone's guess. And I mean anyone's. On Monday, the Casino Reinvestment Development Authority launched a weird website - www.revitalizeAC.com - asking for random suggestions on what to put in the master plan for America's rusty playground.

"There is a widely held perception that Atlantic City is distressed," read one survey question. "Do you agree?"

Selling sex, but stumbling

I've read almost everything written about the identity crisis but still have no clue what A.C. or its minders want the town to be. Selling sex - or stumbling while trying - is about the only thing that lands the resort headlines now that Pennsylvania is crawling with convenience casinos and the feds are warming to legalized Internet gambling.

The Borgata still draws pro athletes and Jersey Shore cast members, but it had to settle a lawsuit from "Babes" outraged by its on-the-job weigh-ins and obsession with skin.

Last summer, celebrity lawyer Gloria Allred flew into town to join a case representing veteran cocktail servers Resorts had fired for looking flabby in flapper dresses. Nothing says desperation quite like a business relaunching in the image of a TV show, as Resorts did with HBO's Boardwalk Empire.

So what to make of the arrival of Scores, home of Howard Stern's favorite eye candy?

The gentleman's club chain pledges a $3 million "richly furnished, first-class" facility, albeit one peddling less of a show, not more. Only Atlantic City could botch a formula as proven as stripping.

By law, these casino "entertainers" can't offer lucrative lap dances. "Performances" end not in full nudity, but with pasties. Customers may drink but not eat, gawk but not grope.

Regulators trusted to nix projects that "result in a public perception of tawdriness" or "denigrate" the industry image saw no reason to say no. So they didn't. Come summer, you can lose your shirt at the Taj or watch a dancer do the same.

New kid grows up

Meanwhile in Philadelphia, one of Atlantic City's archenemies has become such a cherished corporate citizen that it sponsored two of the most iconic events on the Philadelphia calendar. What, you didn't know that SugarHouse Casino paid for the New Year's Eve fireworks and the Mummers Parade?

A company still in its infancy now stands among the Pecos and Comcasts as a go-to source of civic pride and ready cash. Players' losses fund SugarHouse's gain, but there is poetic justice in keeping Philadelphians' money local - even if wagered rent becomes the long fuse for fabulous fireworks.

SugarHouse's general manager, Wendy Hamilton, described the underwriting as a way for the urban gaming parlor to "thank" Philadelphia for a profitable first year. She wouldn't elaborate, but I'm told SugarHouse spent at least $200,000 to light up the night, stage the parade, and burnish its image.

Give SugarHouse credit for creative philanthropy. And applaud whoever pushed to spend more to put on both an early and a late light show. New Year's Eve pyrotechnics at 6 p.m.? Now that's family-friendly. You listening, Atlantic City?