Who cared that it was Sunday morning? What a great excuse for a party, for parties all over the city.

By 7 a.m., people were pouring into the Smith Tower to watch the Kingdome's collapse, wielding tickets of various colors to events on what seemed like every floor.

But the place to be - at least according to those who were there - was the sold-out, $125-a-head champagne brunch in the building's 35th-floor Chinese Room and 360-degree observation deck.

"There's no better place in the city," said Jay Edmark of Seattle.

While he gladly paid admission, Edmark drew the line at getting dressed for the early-morning affair. He showed up in flannel pajamas and a white bathrobe. "I don't get dressed before noon."

The swank setting and steep price notwithstanding, the charity brunch benefiting the Samis Foundation was casual. Guests sporting jeans wore their souvenir hard hats, snacked on bagels and berries, downed Bloody Marys and mimosas, and speculated.

"So we're safe up here, right?" asked Sandra Small of Boise, in town visiting relatives. "I've never even been in the Kingdome. I'd just hate to die for something I have no sentimental feelings for."

By 8:15 a.m., everyone had gathered on the observation deck. The crowd quieted when it heard a series of beeps, then fell silent at the thunder of the explosion and the floor rumbling and shaking beneath their feet.

When it was over, they cheered briefly before fleeing the fast-approaching dust cloud, running inside where a disc jockey was playing - what else? - "Another One Bites the Dust."

They rehashed what they'd witnessed, replayed the scene on camcorders and waited for eggs Benedict, home fries, sausage and bacon.

Several blocks away, just east of the demolition perimeter, implosion parties by sister social-services agencies Legacy House and the Asian Counseling and Referral Service (ACRS) were decidedly more low-key.

While the implosion itself drew the oohs and ahs common to parties across the city, the history of the building and its construction did not go unnoticed.

In good ways and in bad, the Kingdome had shaped the Chinatown International District.

"When the Kingdome was first planned, a lot of us were concerned about it," said Bob Santos, a longtime leader in the district, attending the ACRS affair.

From the stadium's groundbreaking through years of construction, protesters - many from the Asian-American community - waged the hot dog vs. humbao war. They called attention to the neighborhood, then plagued by high crime, deteriorating buildings and lack of social services. They correctly predicted the area would be flooded with people looking for parking once the Dome opened.

Santos, then the new executive director of the International District Improvement Association, said he and fellow activists didn't think they could stop construction but wanted to turn the spotlight on a largely neglected area.

"I don't have any fond memories of the Kingdome," he said. "We got out of it what we wanted."

But Richard Mar, an ACRS board member, wondered about what would follow.

"There was an amount of stabilization that came to the neighborhood after the Kingdome was built," Mar said. "Now with something new coming in, it changes the balance again. And those changes will create different types of pressure on the community."

The Dome's demolition-inspired parties weren't limited to land. In this boating capital, vessels large and small crowded Elliott Bay, maneuvering in a tight field for a view. Argosy Cruises had 11 ships on the water.

"Our boat's bigger than your boat," somebody yelled from a deck of Argosy's The Kirkland to small pleasure boats below.

The ship had left Pier 55 at 7:30 a.m., filled with 170 squinting passengers eager to cheer the destruction and pay 38 bucks to do it. The partygoers dined on croissants and strawberries, and sidled up to the bar for an early-morning drink.

"I didn't think there'd be this much enthusiasm about it," said Daryl Mobraten of Woodinville, who bought Argosy tickets for the whole family a few weeks ago.

The Mobratens attributed people's attachment to the Kingdome's history and its hardscrabble roots.

"I think it's because it was built when there were the Boeing problems, when there were no jobs, no pride about the town," Wanda Mobraten said. "And some people feel like it shouldn't be coming down."

But after the concrete had crumbled and the dust had dissipated, people looked down at their shoes, smiling and squinting. That was good, they said, real nice.

"OK, let's do it again!" yelled Patrick Sugrue, and the people laughed.

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You can take home a chunk of the Dome

You can get a chunk of the Kingdome on three Saturdays this spring: April 15 and 29 and May 13, from 9 a.m. to 3 p.m.

On those days, workers will give out free palm-size chunks of concrete in the parking lot north of what used to be the Kingdome.