If the S.S. Coachella is going to last, it's going to need its own rituals. On the night before the inaugural Coachella cruise sets off (I'm currently pregaming in a Ft. Lauderdale, Fla., hotel room) I'm missing all the usual signposts of an impending Coachella back in California. The buying of sunglasses, the selection of driving music for the 10, the debates about after-parties and the congratulations-you-made-it-to-Indio rounds at the Beer Hunter bar (OK, maybe that last one is just me).
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