Hollywood in Houston?

What's a "Celebrity All-Star Weekend" without either celebrities or all-stars? Not much, baby.

Just around midnight, DJ AM takes to the turntables and the crowd lets out an almost simian roar of approval. Girls are grinding against the crotches of men who obviously work out. Boobs look like they're about to fall out of the ladies' skimpy tops. Alcohol is poured in great quantities up in the crowded VIP section. The house is so packed we have to dance with our arms drawn up stiffly against our bodies. People seem to be having too much fun to notice that AM is playing a handful of the same songs that made up Boombai's set, including "You Shook Me All Night Long," the Ying Yang Twins' "Shake" and, yes, even "Milkshake." And once again, on the dance floor there's a whole lotta shakin' going on.

After more than an hour of this, we still haven't spotted any celebrities, let alone B- and C-listers, and we're starting to feel duped. All we've seen, objectively, is a lot of people paying a lot of money for a lot of drinks while dancing to the redundant sounds of a mediocre, over-hyped pseudo-celebrity.

By the time we leave it's nearly 2 a.m. and everyone is inside, including the doorman. The red carpet looks really lonely. Since we didn't get the star treatment on the way up the red carpet, my lady and I decide to stop and give each other a little of the old flashbulb tan. It's oddly satisfying: at this moment, we're our own celebrities. And, truth be told, we do feel fabulous: We're finally going home.

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