Seattle is a city for parties. On any given night, there are gatherings in houses, crowds in bars, and celebrations in parks and on the streets. To ride a bicycle down Broadway or through the University District on a Friday night is to watch Seattle shuffle off the coils of labor.

A party has no beginning or end, only an aggregation and a dissipation of people. The first person to become drunk on any given night is as easy to predict as the turning of oceanic tides. There is nothing of substance that separates my attendance of an animal-themed house party on Friday, so weird and intricate in its decadence, from a large and concerted effort on Saturday to cook dinner with friends.

Everywhere in our city there are people who see the opportunity to host a party as a chance to inject the populace with a level of vigor and community far above the quotidian. The high buzz of energy at a good party amplifies both friendship and rivalries. How else can one explain the phenomenon of "catching up" with acquaintances while enjoying a night out?

There is only one enemy of the Good Party, and that is the Party Without a Purpose. Where the former is an informative and energizing experience, the latter is nothing more than a blind pouring of alcohol on the workday malcontent of a demonstrably violent species.

Now, this Saturday night in Seattle, the beer is good and the mood is a deserved calm in the warm confines of a Green Lake home. Vegetarians and carnivores chew contentedly in a living room, conversing about their lives and wondering how extensive the smoke damage is from the bedroom fire the night before.

Want The Stranger to attend the makeup dinner for your aborted house party? Send the date, place, and party details to partycrasher@thestranger.com.