The summer of 1980 was exceptionally simple for the 12-year-old me—not that 12-year-olds lead very complicated lives, but still. I remember pedaling on my banana-seat Schwinn from my La Habra house to Brea Mall, just to bask in the killer air conditioning at the ice-skating rink that was once there (and to laugh at the newest naughty toys at Spencer's Gifts, like candy underwear, rubber dogshit and squirting plastic toilets—the place was... More >>>