All Sunday morning, Poseidon, God of the Sea and Earth-shaker, huffed and puffed, blowing sand all over the beach and bending palms, while more than 5,000 circuit boyz and girlz peered from their windows—and freaked. Would Muscle Beach, CareResource’s Sunday afternoon event, be a washout? Not to worry—for the only person more powerful than Poseidon on that day was Johnny Chisholm, producer of Muscle Beach, and according to some, he merely roared at the sky—and that was that. Poseidon rolled ashore and made nice.

Ever since Chisholm took over the production of Muscle Beach, this party has become a benchmark for how to do a beach party right. What was at one time an opening act for the main event at Vizcaya has now become the centerpiece of Sunday—and the latest in a series of legendary Miami Beach beach parties.

And, in the end, the weather was perfect. Oh, sure, some people thought it was chilly—but hello, kidz—it’s November. By the time Poseidon climbed atop a box to shake it, the sun was peeping through the clouds, playing hide and seek. All you had to do was throw on a wrap and work it like Beyonce.

And with DJ Wendy Hunt on the boards, the early afternoon was an epic mashup of trippin’ gospel house and dancing divas. This is a woman who’s spent more time in the booth than some people have lived on the planet and when Hunt throws down an outdoor beach set, you can be sure she’s going to trip your memory as she works you into the future. She segued from Peyton’s “Higher Place” to Tata Vega’s “I Just Keep Thinking About You”—the kind of songs that had the kidz dancing with abandon, working their sun shades, and doing that “Single Ladies” dance.

Let’s face it, we do know how to turn it out. A little shady weather? Hello, we do shade better that Ma Nature. And as one Haitian cabbie reportedly said to a bunch of revelers, “Your people really know how to have a good time.” YOUR PEOPLE. That’s right. Our community. Our family. And yes, we do—know how to work it. When the going gets tough, when the weather (and the electorate) throw shade, we shake it off and party.

So there we were, 5,000 of us, give or take a thousand, all reveling together in Chisholm’s underwater seaquarium. Five thousand splendid specimens of Poseidons (and a couple hundred Tritons and Amphitrites) washed ashore for the day and dancing amidst the seaweed and serpents—and when DJ Phil B took the booth just after four, he carried the torch that Hunt handed him. It was seamless; it was joyous. Phil B raised his musical spear and sent out a series of Siren-esque songs that kept the boyz enraptured, from Suzanne’s “Free My Love” and Thunderpuss’s “Papa’s Got a Brand New Pigbag” to Twisted Dee’s “Kung Fu Me” and “Destination Unknown.”

And to the strains of Fragma’s “Tocca’s Miracle,” the sun set behind the South Beach skyline as the lights came up over the floor, illuminating the multi-colored rainbow of myriad sea creatures. We were all underwater, dancing in the deep.

And then it was time—fireworks time. As for The Fireworks Song? None other than Whitney’s “My Love Is Your Love”—and all along the railing above the floor, a series of happy couples swayed and clung to each other as fireworks burst from out in the middle of the ocean. It’s a Chisholm signature—fireworks—and the man knows how to deliver. This was some fireworks display, a cacophony of resplendent explosives, and as the boyz sang along with Whitney—SANG ALONG OUT LOUD, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!—the floor became a mass of group hugs and long kisses.

Oh, please—does it get any better? What more do you need in a world like this than a bunch of group love? Well, how about a little sex, as Mariah sang, “Touch My Body.” The moon was out and so were the stars—five thousand of them shaking it on the beach and even more flickering high above.

And when it was over, when it was time for the next party, we walked home along the ocean, Amber’s “Sexual” trailing behind us, and marveled, yet again, at the miracle of such an incredible LGBT community.