Recipe number one: a doomed quest to wear social inabilities as a badge of honor plus that wonderful child-like feeling when reading a fine piece of writing plus the tendency to sit on the right side in church, and in movie theaters, slightly left.
This abiding shame at having missed a day that didn't have to be missed.
A different recipe: Cat Power's rendition of Still In Love, California Girls by the Beach Boys, A Fantastic Woman by Sebastian Lelio, The Death of Stalin by Armando Iannucci, Final Portrait by Stanley Tucci, The Honourable Schoolboy by John LeCarré, a broken end table, a Cuban sandwich, a bad foot massage.
Come back to today's guilt at having woken early to surf only to instead brush the dog, blend up a banana cacao smoothie, sweep the floor and see an early-bird movie. Add in the comforting smell of a claustrophobic bookstore.
A third recipe: the Russian banya and a plate of pickled vegetables, herring and onions. A bottle of beer and Cliff Richard's I'm Looking Out The Window. A dash of Ahmad Jamal's Poinciana.
Come back to the unsettling, pursuant truth that surfing is not something you can just choose to do when you feel like it.
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