Everywhere you turn, someone is talking about Borgata. It’s as if Atlantic City’s first casino opening in 13 years is the biggest news since the moon landing (falling frames at the Constitution Center aside). You’ve heard about Joey Pants’ appearance, Susanna Foo’s latest elegant restaurant and the $1,000 slot machine (City Paper didn’t pony up for a test pull, alas). Can a casino really be worth all this attention? In a word, yes. Borgata is a perfect mixture of actual class (gorgeous rooms, fine dining, Dale Chihuly’s glasswork), gambler’s crass (the omnipresent casino carpet, footstools on the slot machines) and blatant nods to stale trends (the Miso-Horny soup at Latin-Asian fusion nightclub MIXX). Combined, it all adds up to one hell of a time. After a bloody brawl, we were the lucky two selected to stay overnight at Borgata’s pre-opening bash. Here is our tale.

Wed., July 2, 11:30 a.m.

After a scenic tour of scary downtown Atlantic City, we arrive. A bitchy Borgata employee chides us for not having our parking pass on display. After escaping him, we find nothing but welcoming, smiling faces inside. At the enormous check-in desk, it looks like about half the hotel’s 5,000 employees are lined up to greet us.

12:30 p.m.

We head up to our suites. Fiore suites, to be exact, featuring a seating area, a wood-floor foyer and the world’s largest bathroom. There isn’t enough space here to rhapsodize fully about the king-size, down-pillowed beds, fitted with Egyptian cotton sheets. You can send complimentary e-cards from the TVs in the Internet-equipped rooms, and rent movies still out in the theaters. Incidentally, there is a vast array of porn available in-room.

2 p.m.

We go to the media center. Here, the swarms of reporters can pick up information on various aspects of Borgata’s operations, like the farm that grows veggies for the 11 "signature" restaurants or the handpicked Borgata Babes serving the gaming floors. They get regular foot rubs! They wear outfits designed by it-boy Zac Posen! We briefly consider changing careers, then realize we do not have the requisite Borgata Boobs. It’s time for the Borgata 101 tour.

2:15 p.m.

It becomes evident that our friendly and enthusiastic guide doesn’t know the answers to any of the questions showered upon her, expectedly, by the dozen or so media-types on our tour.

3 p.m.

Wow, this place is huge. We explore the casino’s main floor, which includes gaming areas, retail shops (we really want matching Borgata sweatsuits), lounges for high rollers and restaurants. The eateries range from the classic buffet and affordable bistros to dress-for-dinner spots like Old Homestead Steak House, Susanna Foo’s Suilan and Luke Palladino’s Ombra and Specchio. There are also two restaurant/nightclubs, the aforementioned MIXX and Gypsy Bar (who cares about their food, they have 50 different kinds of tequila).

3:30 p.m.

Starving after our tour, we head over to Noodles of the World, located on the gaming floor. Given its name, the fare is suspiciously Asian-centric (our effusive host assures us that they will add spaghetti and mac and cheese). Watching casino employees receive last-minute training, we chow down on delicious noodles with yellow curry and an equally yummy chicken-on-a-stick appetizer blatantly devoid of noodles.

4:15 p.m. Returning to our rooms, we watch 30 seconds of The Fifth Element on the TV screen in the elevator (played on repeat -- aside from one trip featuring Some Like it Hot, it was all Milla Jovovich and freaky future people during our stay).

5 p.m. At a cocktail party, we sample beluga caviar and meet some FOBs, or Friends of Borgata -- mostly men in their 20s who have invested in the $1.1 billion "property." They are suitably slimy and provide much of the requisite inappropriate touching and talk of strip clubs. We sip wine and contemplate marrying FOBs and thus staying forever in our Fiore suites.

7 p.m. For dinner, it’s the Old Homestead, a transplanted NYC steakhouse famous for its $41 Kobe beef hamburger (they don’t find it amusing when Philly reporters exclaim, "Does it come with a blow job?"). We opt for salmon and filet mignon. Both are ridiculously good, accompanied by crisp rectangles of garlic bread and a lovely chardonnay, and we proceed to gorge ourselves silly.

9:30 p.m. The show that’s planned for us at The Music Box, Borgata’s 1,000-stadium-seated theater, is not one of the big-names (David Spade, Def Leppard) slated for the summer. It’s Michael Bublé, a 25-year-old Canadian crooner with a penchant for Dino and too-tight trousers. The drinks are free, the songs are decent and apart from the unfortunate "Moondance" opener and the fact that the whole shebang would be better suited to a smoky, table-filled lounge, it’s fun.

11 p.m. A brief return to our suites reveals that Borgata’s not a one-mint-on-the-pillow kind of joint. Instead, we find beribboned boxes of gourmet chocolates. We eat some more.

11:15 p.m. The door to one of the larger suites, still under construction, is slightly ajar. Feeling a bit naughty, we sneak in. In addition to the amenities of our own rooms, this one features a wall-mounted plasma TV, two bathrooms, a dining area and a sparkling view. We feel slightly less important.

11:38 p.m. The casino opens! At a $10 blackjack table outfitted with brand-new cards, chips that have never been used and a jovial dealer, we lose $100 in a few minutes. Lukas Haas wanders by, and we wonder how we know him. High school? College? Oh, right, he’s marginally famous. As we make the Witness connection, David Arquette walks past. We get more drinks.

Thu., July 3, 12:45 a.m. We pass the throngs who have swarmed the casino and go into MIXX’s media-only party. Spotlights are passing over the dancefloor, while professional dancers work it to "It’s Not Right But It’s Okay." Joey Pants struts in, smoking a cigar. We have Goonies flashbacks but manage not to swoon. All the drinks are on the house, our friendly bartender tells us. We drink some more.

2 a.m. Tipsy and full, we stumble back up to the suites. Outside the posh suite we snuck into hours before, a smashed cone of chocolate soft-serve lies dripping against the wall.

10:30 a.m. We settle into the media center for a press conference with Borgata CEO and President Bob Boughner and other casino bigwigs. Various local dignitaries, like N.J. Gov. Jim McGreevey (who just raised taxes for the gaming industry) and Atlantic City Mayor Lorenzo Langford, sing Borgata’s praises. Boughner illuminates the name: Borgata means "village" in Italian.

12:30 p.m. We eat more steak and salmon at the lunch buffet.

1:30 p.m. We visit the spa, still getting its finishing touches. There’s a gym obnoxiously called the Pump Room, populated by trainers eyeing the hung-over reporters who haven’t stopped eating since their arrival. The pool looks out on gardens with private cabanas. There will be a bar serving loungers and poolside spa services. Aaah. Spa Toccare is opulence personified, and sits next to his and hers salons. It all seems very far away from the casino, now teeming with tourists.

2 p.m. Bidding a fond farewell to our suites, we check out. The final selection we hear of Borgata’s eclectic background music is Lenny Kravitz’s "It Ain’t Over ’Til It’s Over." For the first time in 26 hours, we go outside.

Borgata Hotel Casino & Spa, One Borgata Way, Atlantic City, N.J., 866-MY BORGATA.