day 11: mist and fog

My roommate keeps the apartment really clean and I like that. I just feel bad when she gets to the dishes before I have a chance to clean up after myself. I don't think she does it out of annoyance, I think she does it because she's a servant and enjoys a dish-less kitchen sink. She's actually pretty great, and for more reasons than I've had the chance to get into. 

Chris helps me with audition one last time and we both feel like this is the "one." I buy him and his brother hamburgers for lunch down the street and we have an unexpected conversation about the complexities of marriage for artistic people. I think marriage are complex even for the average person, but I find it neat to get his perspective which is very different than my experience. Later in the afternoon I get the itch to wonder.

Sometimes it's the moments when you get in your car and drive half an hour to explore something completely new that make living in a giant city worth it. I decide to hunt down the sun because of a strange desperation to see it set in the Western sky, so a drive to the beach seems to be the best option. I pick Venice beach as my destination, plug it into the GPS, and go. On the way, I am discouraged as the sun begins to disappear under a strange layer of fog that I'm heading straight towards on the freeway. By the time I arrive at the beach, the sun is completely hidden by a mix of mist and fog that lays like a blanket on the people and buildings. People don't seem to mind it much, and go about their business as usual. There are skateboarders and surfers, restaurants and consignment shops every ten feet. I put on my hood and blend right in, wishing I had brought my skateboard with me.

Standing in the beach in the Venice Beach haze watching surfers dance with the waves, I feel cold but excited. I shudder at the thought of entering the water as such unfortunate temperatures, so the decision is made to wait for a sunny day to paddle out. I leave before my one-hour parking time runs out and meet my brother Rhett for dinner in Long Beach. We originally plan to try this 4.5 star Mediterranean place, but as we both arrive and assess the situation (the situation being that the restaurant is in a sketchy corner shop with the sign burned out and a taxi driver smoking a hookah next to the front door) we realize that perhaps this place isn't the best option. I honestly don't think it could get more bizarre, so we pretend we're lost and keep walking. Across the street however is our saving grace, so we head that way and are surprised at the pleasantness of the place. We eat delicious Thai food, and it is hands down  some of the best Thai food I've ever had (and I eat A LOT of Thai food). I can't even recall the last time I had a meal together with him where it was just us alone. It's special, and I remember how much I like my brother as a human being. Our conversations never lack depth, never lack laughter, and always leave me wishing we lived closer to each other. Knowing I will live near them very soon makes it easier to part ways.  Afterwards, I head home buzzed on hope and thankful for family.