Ward's Weekend of ...What?!

Me: "I'm headed to the Mexican border. I need you to do me a favor."

My listings assistant, George Ducker: "You really know how to start a conversation." 

Me: "I need you to make sure my gorilla article goes live at midnight."

Him: "Uh...Is that code for something?"

My weekend started out in an eventful, but tame, fashion: Friday night involved pit stops at a few shows of a musical nature, and a birthday party. Saturday was the usual fare: I tidied my apartment, and hit a few art happenings.

But at 2pm on Sunday, I was slumped in the booth of a stripmall pizza joint in Atwater , contemplating a to-do list that involved going to Target and buying a mop. It was then that trusted comrade Gemini suggested that we hit a dirty border town, to fear for our lives and eat hamburgers. I agreed.

We grabbed camera batteries, and hopped on the I-10, border-bound. Our destination was Mexicali, Officially Another Country, and a barbed fence away from its American sister city, the transpositionally named Calexico. 

We drove through dust storms, through baked, arid towns with dirty toilets, and into a land called Meh-eeco. Our destination: a thrash metal bar on the outskirts of the city, where metalhead legends Exodus were headlining a show that no mother would want their child to attend.

Walking the crumbling streets, windswept trash huddled in corners, cockroaches scrambled past, and our molars filled with airborne grit. We arrived at our final destination: Jardin de Silencio, a name which turned out to be rife with wicked Mexican irony. It was hella loud. 

The next few hours were a blur of humidity, mosh pits, Flying V guitar solos, sweaty hugs from sweet but really, really intimidating looking guys (including my bro-in-law, Exodus rhythm guitarist Lee Altus) and a burger at Carl's Jr., consumed after deciding that LA residents really have no reason to experiment with street-vendor tortas.

(Ward relation, Mr. Lee Altus) 

(Mr. Gary Holt, of Exodus. Not a Ward relation, at present.) 

(Mr. Rob Dukes, also not related, but cherished nonetheless.)

Gemini and I then navigated the Mexicali streets at 1am, lurched the car through the dense line back into the U.S., were sniffed by drug-seeking German shepards, and rolled 240 miles back to L.A., arriving at 5am on a Monday morning. 

I still need to buy a mop.