Today’s TTT is weird or funny things we’ve done online searches for as a result of a book. I know I do this all the time, but I can’t really remember any. Instead, I’m going to list….’cryptic phrases in my notes app on the phone’.

MYSTERIOUS KEEP NOTES:

“Cow cow boogie”
“How the word is passed”
“Since Rebecca came back from Mecca”
“Monty Python Sam keckojgfall badminton”
“Mind parasites colon wilson”
“Strangers with Sndy”
“Feed Astair jukebox the ghost”
“St MOtel kz books”
“The Doritos effect”
“I don’t want to be nobody o just want to be myself”

I’m guessing most of those are songs I heard while a friends’ houses and wanted to look up later, along with some random book/movie recommendations. Now, a trio of teases!

This is the Red Sox and this is the Yankees. I am twenty-four, and I am pitching in Yankee Stadium, and every seat is taken.

In 1948, there was a crude attempt to televise the [World] Series to the East Coast from so distant a city as Cleveland by having a plane fly above the ball park in a kind of horse-and-buggy version of a satellite. That year there were so few television sets (by one count, 325,000 in all of America, half of them in the New York City area) that the Gillette Company, which was sponsoring the games, placed 100 new sets on the Boston Common so that ordinary fans might gather there and watch.

Summer of 49, David Halberstam

When you start a child on meds, you risk numbing him to life at the very moment he’s learning to calibrate risks and handle life’s ups and downs. When you anesthetize a child to the vicissitudes of success and failure and love and loss and disappointment when he’s meeting these for the first time, you’re depriving him of the emotional musculature he’ll need as an adult. Once on meds, he’s likely to believe that he can’t handle life at full strength—and thanks to an adolescence spent on them, he may even be right.

Bad Therapy: Why the Kids Aren’t Growing Up, Abigail Schrier

Each of my three names was taken from a different adult. Robert was the name of my biological father, who abandoned my mother and me when I was a baby. I have no memory of him. In fact, the only information I have about him is contained in a document given to me by the social worker responsible for my case when I was being shuffled around to different foster homes in Los Angeles. My middle name, Kim, is from my birth mother. It was her family name. She succumbed to drug addiction soon after I was born, rendering her unable to care for me. I have only two memories of her. I haven’t seen her since I was a child. And my last name: Henderson, which comes from my former adoptive father. After my adoptive mother separated from him, he severed ties with me to get back at her for leaving him. He figured that this would hurt me, and that my emotional pain would transmit to my adoptive mother. He was right. These three adults have something in common: All abandoned me.

Troubled, Robert Kim Henderson