At Least They Laid Off the Achy-Breaky Heart

I keep forgetting, I have 6 more gmail invites if anyone still wants one.
Adam's house has been officially warmed, methinks. You can fit a ton of people into a huge apartment, who knew? I enjoyed the second-best view ever (nothing will ever beat the year Randy and I watched from the train bridge) of the Boomsday festivities hanging out of Adam's bathroom window. Looking down on the quivering mass of humanity by the riverfront, I felt privileged, even bourgeois, if you will. I watched most of the show wide-eyed, with an ear-to-ear grin, with the exception of the patriotic bit, when I just felt "Sad to be an American" while the crowd at the riverfront enthusiastically sang along.
It upsets me that I can't feel proud to be an American. I can't find words to express how much I'd like to, but as I watched the crowd pump their fists in the air, I actually cried a little bit. I thought about the explosions and lights overhead, thought what it must be like to live in a country that sort of thing brings destruction instead of delight, and what it must be like to deal with it all the time for years. I felt responsible, and angry at all the people who don't. Like the 500,000+ in front of me. It was overwhelming.
Then I scolded myself for trying to ruin the moment. And thanked whatever force was responsible for puttng me here, in this place and time, and tried to enjoy the rest of the show.
Afterwards, I celebrated my Americanism by getting trashed, and mounting a party-wide campaign against Adam's balls. If anything makes me feel "Proud to be an American", it's Adam, mingling around his own party, a drink in one hand, and his nuts in the other. Love you, man.
Love you all.