Weekend of Ward: Coachella low-rollin'

Ahhhh, Coachella.

2006: Slept on patio furniture outside Madonna’s hotel

2007: Slept in the passenger seat of my Subaru

2008: Stayed in the Hotel Malibu  

You might see a pattern to my Coachella accommodations and assume I’m moving up in the world. After all, the Hotel Malibu is but a year old, and quite exclusive: it only accommodates 4 guests at a time. Georgia, my Coachella cohort, and I were its only residents and we each slept by open window with a desert breeze. The hitch: the Hotel Malibu is a rented Chevy, parked behind a Del Taco.

“But Ward,” you say, “don’t you work for Metromix? Don’t you have the hookup?”

Of course I do. Not only does Metromix have a candy bowl in the office, but we’d even lined up a hotel room for some staffers. In this hotel room was a couch with my name on it. The problem was, after a lengthy day of continuous perspiration, doing the robot to Kraftwerk, singing along to Tegan and Sara, walking roughly 10 miles in broken jelly shoes, and eating more than one deep fried corn dog, we were tuckered out.

After leaving the festival around 11, my partner in grime washed her feet in the sink of a pancake house and we decided to take disco nap in a strip mall before hitting a few afterparties. When we woke up at 2:40 am, groggy, confused and ugly, we realized it would be an unquestionable party foul to ask to crash anywhere. So we shrugged, and spent the night in the automotive luxury of the Hotel Malibu. Beds are for the bourgie, right?

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