By Ryan McGowan
If you think back to summers when you were a kid, they all kind of blend together. Summer memories all evoke a certain nostalgia: long, lazy days in the pool, unending games of stickball, wiffleball, tennisball, or whatever games you played to pass the time, running from adults after sneaking into their yard to retrieve a home run ball, following the baseball standings, reading the box scores. Of course, some of our readers might have different memories of being chased, in this case by the cops or jealous girlfriends rather than by fascist neighbors. Either way, the summers of one’s childhood tend to be a hazy collection of blurred, pleasant memories.