How to Party and/or Not Party in Palm Springs

As you might know, we recently returned from Palm Springs. In case you're curious about the why with the Palm Springs, it's because the six of us who went included some east coasters and some west coasters. We determined Palm Springs would be excellent middle ground to rent a house for the long weekend.

Also it felt like a great place to escape the winter. Sunshine, great friends, napping my ass off in a lounge chair on a weekday. 

Some homes we saw in Palm Springs.
We were there during Modernism Week.

Upon check in at our AirB&B, we discovered a very official document. It was neatly laid out on the table beneath a sign that we all needed to sign said document immediately. As in everyone, not just the person whose name was on the rental agreement. 

This official document concerned the noise ordinance in Palm Springs: 

• No music of any kind at any time outside. 
• Also, no talking above a whisper outdoors after 10PM. 10PM. Outdoors meaning on your patio or around the pool out back the house you rented. 

On one hand, it felt onerous. On the other hand, the world's tiniest violinist just whipped out her fiddle and serenaded us, while we swanned about in our gorgeous rental property filled with amenities including trees bearing citrus fruits.

10PM is apparently when most residents in Palm Springs legit hit the sack. Keep that in mind if you plan a trip there -- this whole town tucks in just after the sun sets. You can't get an Uber after about 9. Everyone is already at home by then watching Carson reruns in their mid-century jammies. 

Ironically or not ironically on a case-by-case basis.

This all became relevant when we decided to have a party at our place on Sunday night. Turns out, between all of us, we have a surprising number of friends in the Palm Springs area. Also friends of friends. The guest list expanded with some velocity.

It was a fun party. There was grilling and a fire pit and margaritas made with the fruits of the trees out back. Just like any good farmers we can go outside at the crack of noon, find a ladder in the garage and conduct a harvest.

Harvesting fruits for the party.

Mostly, we got all our guests in the house by 9:56 PM despite some grandiloquent protestations by a friend of a friend, we'll call him Bobby. Bobby felt like we were caving to the Man. He expressed his point of view in a way that sounded just like an American tourist would sound while demanding a packet of catsup in a quaint cafe along the Seine.

I could imagine everyone with a house within a 50 yard radius of us (meaning three houses), sitting in their Eames lounge chairs overhearing exactly where they can stick their stupid noise hang-up. 

It definitely could have been the opening scene in an off-off-broadway show. One that's basically just a poor adaptation of a classic O. Henry short story about some asshat paradoxically causing the exact trouble they aspire to avoid. 

I had to get another drink to process the intensely meta nature of it all.

Also, I think Bobby met his girlfriend on Sugar Daddy dot com, which I'm pretty sure is a thing. I will not be checking, however. One time I innocently googled, on behalf of my grandmother, the search term 'cream pie' and I will forever be traumatized. 

Sure enough, at 10:00PM, meaning 10 zero zero PM, we get a call from the landlord that the neighbors were complaining about the racket.

I guess we should be happy that the neighbors called the landlord and not the cops, because if they had called the cops, every one of us would have gotten a mandatory, no questions asked $50/person fine. This factoid was duly noted on the contract we all had signed.

So yes, we rocked our vacation. In fact, we don't even count it as a vacation anymore unless at least one neighbor complains.