“Everyone who goes to these parties is so friendly.”

I pull up in front of a homeless encampment on G street downtown next to the Arco, scan the meter, and pay for an hour and fourteen minutes of parking. Parking after six o’clock is free. Shipwrecks Fest kicks off at four. That means I’m running around an hour late, but I’m not rushing. The party is supposed to keep on kicking until nine, so there’s plenty of time to see what this house music promotion is all about.

I’m walking up the sidewalk, and I’m still about two blocks from the Quartyard when I start hearing the bass thumps. At about a block away, I begin to feel them. By the time I reach the corner of Market and 13th, the venue is pounding like a pissed off hammer. On an elevated platform, just outside the outdoor partying, a sweaty bucko in saggy pants and a basketball jersey is dancing to the repetitive mechanical beats booming from the venue, yelling, “Spank that monkey! Spank that monkey!” I’m trying to decide whether he’s a ticketed party-goer or just a random East Villager when a security guard shows up and hollers “Get the hell outta here!” I have my answer, but come on, my man was having a good time. Why they gotta do him like that?

As I enter the outdoor space, a different security guard pats me down and asks me to turn around. He notices my collar is a little fucked up. “Here, let me fix that for you,” he says. “Lots of ladies in there.” I walk in and look around. The thoughtful security guard wasn’t wrong: it looks like a beach volleyball tournament rolled straight in from La Jolla. Winter tans, muscles, shiny cleavage, belly shirts, short shorts on chicks and dudes, colorful vacation shirts, and Freddy Mercury mustaches everyplace.

The DJs kept the party moving.

The stage setup, placed in front of a multicolored butterfly mural, is pretty dope. The first DJ is spinning some lighter jams, getting the early crowd moving as they begin pouring drinks into their heads. The beverages of choice seem to be Juneshine hard kombucha in one hand and water in the other. A photographer from the Shipwrecks media team jumps down from a picnic table next to me after taking some snaps. He starts telling me about how Shipwrecks started in backyards — as house parties. “Then they started hosting stuff in North Park. Now they’re going to be playing Waterfront Park in June [on the 10th]. I don’t like really like electronic music, but house music, I’ll fuck with it. And everyone who goes to these parties is so friendly.”

I start to swim around the crowd and dance a bit. The next DJ on deck is Maximo, who gives off serious Zack Morris vibes. It’s the Saved by the Bell cast, but time-jumped from thirty years ago. The rest of his crew and the other DJs sit on a couple of couches on the stage near the booth. Maximo keeps the charged-up party moving as the sun begins to drop. I notice that once night falls, the people get a lot more touchy feely. It seems the love drugs have taken effect. I see a dude playfully grab his girlfriend by the throat. The next moment, they’re chewing on each other’s faces. Ah, to be in love. Then, with their girlfriends straddling their shoulders, a couple of guys grab at each other’s junk, while bare booties in miniskirts clasp their necks.

The night descends. The Shipwrecks party is getting ready to pull anchor and, from what I’m told, relocate to a club in PB to keep things going. Standing near the bar, I hear a guy complain, “It’s always the same people that go to these shows.”

Then I catch the dilated eyes of a hungry wench staring me down from about two fathoms away. We maintain eye contact for about five seconds until she starts towards me. As she walks by, she deliberately brushes her hip into mine. Now she’s behind me. I look back. She’s still staring at me, chin down. I’m not sure what the hell is going on. When I turn back around, the wench bumps me from behind, moving back in front of me. She’s peacocking, trying to get a quick grind…I think. She’s zig-zagging all around me. I ask what’s up. She stays silent, then buzzes back behind me, making sure to rub her love bubbles on my shoulder as she goes by. Blimey! Everyone here is friendly.