Visit Us at the Amoeba Pop-Up Shop at Ace Hotel's Desert Gold in Palm Springs During Coachella

Posted by Amoebite, March 31, 2015 04:06pm | Post a Comment

ace hotel and swim club

If you’re headed out to the desert for Coachella this April, check out the Amoeba Music Pop-Up Shop at Ace Hotel & Swim Club in Palm Springs.

During 2015's Coachella week April 9-20, Ace hosts its own mini-fest of vendors, 7th Annual Desert Gold. We’ll be on hand at The Co-op retail space near the pool with vinyl from the artists performing at Coachella, plus T-shirts and loads more, from 12 p.m. to 6 p.m. Friday through Sunday each weekend. RSVP to Weekend One and Weekend Two here.

They’ll also feature L.A.-based web radio collective dublab radio, broadcasting live from the hotel and swim club every day during Desert Gold; DJs from Sunday party people The Do-Over, elixirs from Venice-based holistic drink shop Moon Juice and food from New York-based Five Leaves, who have recently redone the food at Ace’s King’s Highway diner. New York-based artist MOMO will helm the annual Communal Wall mural.

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Palm Springs Film Noir Festival @ Camelot Theatres

Posted by Mr. Chadwick, May 22, 2009 12:55am | Post a Comment

Lately I've been making more of an effort to take small trips out of town. Recent trips to the Shady Dell in Bisbe, AZ and the Red Fox Room (hang out in Marion Davies' old living room!) in San Diego have proven to be quite enjoyable, so we're going try out a little Palm Springs action. The festival is a great excuse to drive out into the desert & this year's schedule is packed with true rarities, so we're going to try to cram in at least 5 movies into 2 days.  Anybody out there that can recommend any must see Palm Springs curiosities, let me know...

(In which Job hero worships.)

Posted by Job O Brother, July 29, 2007 02:48pm | Post a Comment
I just received my copy of Playboy Magazine in the mail. Stoked!

No, no… don’t get all shocked. I’m not a subscriber. Who can afford magazine subscriptions? Not me. And if I could afford a magazine subscription, I would choose National Geographic over Playboy. I mean, National G gets you way more pix of naked women for your money.

Before you start second guessing that you clicked on the right blog, I’ll explain myself. While I’m known to ogle a pretty gal now and again, the reason for my purchase is for one woman in particular: Sandra Bernhard. 

You just reacted one of three ways:

1.) You groaned a little. You don’t understand why this woman is famous; you don’t “get” her stand-up comedy and your knowledge of her is mostly confined to vague recollections of shenanigans with Madonna and, oh yeah, she was that lesbian character on “Roseanne.” You fall into the category of person we’ll term “Plebeian.”

2.) You got all excited and an exclamation of “Yes!” echoed in your brain … urr… unless you’re French, in which case it would have been “Oui!” - or “Iya!” if you’re Papua New Guinean, which, if my research polls on who is reading my blog suggests, you are. I really should learn Tok Pisin…

Oh, Sandra Bernhard. Right. Okay. The second category of person is the one in which I fall; that is, a fan. We’ll term this sort of person “Rad.”

3.) You have no idea who Sandra Bernhard is. We’ll call this category of folk “Linda Hamilton” (not to be confused with the actress who starred in the Terminator films).

My first encounter with Miss Bernhard was at age 17. My friend Salem and I were alone in the enormous house which my Mom and Step-dad could afford for about six months, thanks to a brief cash flow yielded by a Pyramid-scheme.

I don’t remember how it came in to our possession, but we had a VHS copy of Bernhard’s “Without You I’m Nothing,” a film version of her one-woman show. I was probably stoned; I usually was at that age, and even if I wasn’t, being 17 is pretty psychedelic.

Salem and I popped in the video (“Have we got a video? YES, WE HAVE A VIDEO!!!”) and sat transfixed for the next 89 minutes as Miss Bernhard blew our f-wording minds.

Crazy on you: Miss Bernhard live... very, very live.

It’s not that it was laugh-out-loud hilarious, though it often was – it was something deeper and altogether special. This woman was creating a world and speaking a language that was hers entirely, and if we didn’t understand, that didn't seem her concern. Her wit and heart were uncompromised, pure, and complex; some kind of impossible cross between Joan Rivers and Marcel Proust.

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