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I am a Leo, so summer is, as they say, my season. I am obsessed with summer. Seven months out of the year I am frowning because it is not summer. In May I smile because it is almost summer; in September I smile because the last glow of summer is still clinging to my skin, but I am secretly distraught because it’s just so long until we get more summer. When the weather is warm I am, famously, 30 percent nicer. When the sun is out and it is over 70 degrees, I am legally and morally obligated to play “Caught Up” and simply find a way to misbehave. Summer is the season of A Bigger Splash, of Dirty Dancing and Dog Day Afternoon, of the Mamma Mias and the Befores. (A few years ago I bravely defended the season’s honor for Vulture.) Summer is not a game to me. I do not play about i…
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