Mashantucket — Grand is the new Grand.

... And several other superlative adjectives such as elegant, streamlined and utterly modern. At least as observed Saturday evening at the opening gala of the new MGM Grand at Foxwoods, which was teeming with high-rollers, exalted guests and, yes, plenty of celebs.

 The revelry starts early. Guests begin roaming the property in black-tie finery around 5 p.m. as the gaming floor opens for action. On-site restaurants Craftsteak, Shrine, Junior’s of Brooklyn and Alstrada serve cocktails and food samples in a free-range graze that has tantalizing culinary scents wafting through the premises in friendly competition with tobacco smoke and not-cheap cologne and perfume. Funny how many of these people have that authoritative look that screams, “I’m a shipping magnate!”

 The tension and excitement grow as time for the Red Carpet Walk of Famous People draws nigh. For those of us who haven’t covered the red carpet in awhile, a few forgotten facts of old-time fun spring directly to the prefrontal lobe.

 1. They never start on time.

2. The PR folks calculate the number of journalists and camera personnel that can comfortably fit in the red carpet area — and then invite eight times that many.

 Still, eventually, here come The Famous. From the reporter’s notebook:

 n Michael Douglas and Catherine Zeta-Jones are first up. They look far better than humans should. Michael does most of the chatting and is utterly genial. Being from the underdog Day newspaper, competing with national media, I have brought a bag of trick-or-treat style, quality mini-candy bars like Butterfinger and Snickers. “Michael!” I cry, holding out the bag. “I’m from a small paper! Want some candy?” He laughs but politely declines. Good. More for me. Besides, a security person doesn’t trust my candy and gives me the stink eye.

 n  Wes Welker, receiver for the New England Patriots, has that sort of Navy SEAL sorta look we associate with the Highly Disciplined. Nonetheless, he cooperates when I ask him to take a photo of me and Day videographer Peter Huoppi. Which is cool. You can see it right here in the paper. Note the excellent photo credit: Photo by Wes Welker. Not many of our competitors can say THAT.

 n  I guarantee you I ask guitarist and Connecticut native John Mayer his favorite question of the night: “John: Sonny Landreth or Rory Gallagher?” That’s guitar-dude minutiae about great players, and John is happy with this question. He hems and haws but sides with Sonny. Tough question. Mayer says we’ll have to go bowling and discuss guitarists.

 n  Jenny McCarthy is wearing the sort of gown you’d expect, and, even as pretty as she is, the Professional Journalists have a hard time keeping their eyes above her chin level. I ask her if she did the “hoo-hoo” line on a recent “Two and a Half Men” episode in one take. “Did I have a hoo-hoo line?” she asks. “I believe so,” I say. SOMEONE had a hoo-hoo line on that show, and you’d like to think it’s her.

 There are other celebrities, of course, but one is reminded of how limited Andy Warhol’s vision was when he promised everyone 15 minutes of fame. These days, a lot of celebrities are famous for about 15 seconds — and then they wisp into the Land of the Forgotten. Which is another way of saying that many of us on Reporter Row have no idea who some of these people are. Eventually, the line just ... peters out. A reporter grumbles that some woman named Kardashian never showed up.

 The next item on the agenda is a multi-artist concert in the state-of-the-future MGM Grand Theatre. Inasmuch as most of the guests file into the hall to hear John Mayer, Alicia Keys and Josh Groban, that means activity on the gaming floor and  in the restaurants has entered a lull zone that won’t pick up until after the music, when the private VIP party, hosted by Sean “P. Diddy” Combs, kick off. Action in the Theatre is pretty cool, though. Mayer is onstage, backed by a full orchestra and house band. He sings the R&B-style ballad, “Waiting For the World to Change,” and then a straight blues tune. It’s an interesting sociological experiment on his part inasmuch as most of the guests for this soiree have never experienced “blues” beyond a pesky tourist season on Martha’s Vineyard.

 The sight line and sound quality in the theater are as advertised — meaning it’s really good. I’d like to stay and hear the rest of his set, and then Groban and Keys afterwards, but deadline looms. Besides, Diddy’s waiting for me in his private VIP den. Can’t keep the great man waiting.

As I leave, a group of young women take advantage of the still-lit but now abandoned red carpet to pose for a photo — as though THEY were celebrities. It’s sort of the casino grand-opening equivalent of saying “Hi MOM!” when a camera pans across your bleacher seat at a ball game.

But what do I know? These days, maybe they ARE celebrities.

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