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Why do they hide so much history within them? Why does that past come out in most unprompted ways? Why is the pizza line at Costco essential for me to learn my grandfather's name was Salvador, that dad was buddies with famous luchadores, or that he is casual friends with many a notable playwright?
I hope it's not the feeling that I'd be uninterested; I certainly am.
His storytelling is so casual, so carefree. Maybe he likes the old days to be the old days and his place to be in the now, and his way of keeping the past at bay is to scarcely visit it, to give nostalgia no special regard.
Perhaps he likes the chance to be mysterious, and he very much is in these moments. It's strange for there to be mystery between us, but that's unavoidable, I guess. I try not to take it as a barrier. We are mysteries even to ourselves; it's an unjustly tall order to make ourselves crystal clear for others, even our children, perhaps.
Whatever it is, I treasure each pearl of the weird history, the places he has been and the trouble he got into. He was and still is that young man just as I hope to still be who I am today, even if in bite-sized, shocking portions.
Apr 29, 2024
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here are 3 of my most exciting pieces of lore:
1) my dad was in the south tower on 9/11 and he made it out, but was still in the building when the plane hit. the plane went through his office window, but he was already evacuating and on around the 40th floor when the plane hit
2) my paternal grandfather (jewish) was born in austria but his family moved to milan in ‘33/34 when hitler came into power. in ‘44 when the nazis occupied northern italy, his family escaped into the mountains northeast of milan near bergamo (he was about 13 or 14 years old at this point). his family helped smuggle guns to the partisans since they could speak german with an austrian accent and bypass nazi checkpoints. my grandfather had to shoot a fascist at one checkpoint going wrong, and so at 14 he joined the partisans full-on and lived with them until the war ended. i have a bunch of photos from his time with the partisans (attached some). apparently the group he was specifically with was led by this kinda crazy guy who threatened the security of the whole partisan operations, so he was actually killed by other communist partisans. a few years ago i found a man who researches this exact group in bergamo, and now i have an 80 yr old italian pen-pal who published some photos of my grandfather in his book.
3) my maternal grandfather was orphaned really young in cuba and was really poor. he met my grandmother when he saw her riding her bike down the street and instantly fell in love with her (yes, just like cinema paradiso). she was really rich and her family hated him, so he would wait outside her window just to see her. eventually they get married and have my eldest uncle (because love always perseveres). this part of the story is fuzzy, but i believe he got into some gambling issues and so my grandmothers family shipped him to the US (probably with hopes of getting rid of him for good). but he began to build a life for his family there. then the revolution happened and he continued to go back and forth, but then castro put in the policy that children born in cuba had to stay, so they moved to nyc permanently. but my grandfather loved castro, as most cubans did. so my family is not part of the typical exile cuban-american demographic, which i always found fascinating.
Feb 19, 2024
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i love having insane family lore like a family member that died on the titanic (she was 3rd class and moving to the us at 21) and a great grandpa who was in a plane that crashed in the wilderness
my grandpa has a whole room full of archives about our family which I feel like I definitely didn't appreciate as a kid but now think is very cool
Nov 9, 2024
My dad had always told me we were related to Al Gore and Gore Vidal and of course I knew who the former was but never really bothered to read much about the latter. His first name comes from the family name of his mother.
I started getting into genealogy and came upon an essay by Vidal that had been published in The New York Review of Books called The Ruins of Washington where he writes about our shared Anglo-Irish ancestors who came over in the 17th century and owned a large portion of the land that would become Washington, D.C. Our ancestors sold the land and as the families branched off they migrated further and further south ultimately ending up in Mississippi.
My grandfather was best friends with Gore’s uncle and my dad grew up with Gore’s first cousins, so though the cousinage between us is distant on paper, the kinship bond and shared culture was still there.
I was so excited to see what else Gore Vidal had written about our family that I downloaded his essay collection The Last Empire, where he writes:
“But then the Gore genes are strong, making for large noses and ears and, in many, chinoiserie-style eyes, more gray than blue. Blake certainly had inherited the Gore sharpness of tongue … If there is an uncomfortable truth to be told, at least one Gore can always be counted on to bear sardonic wit-ness.”
“They are also known for their forensic skill, wit, learning— family characteristics the Vice President modestly kept under wraps for fear of frightening the folks at large.”
Which is an eerily accurate and specific description of me. As I read more of the essays in this book, I began to realize Gore Vidal was right about literally everything in the world and that his quote in my bio is true. He was so much more than he’s known for in pop culture.
As I devoured as much of his work as I could, especially his non-fiction writing, I developed a deep parasocial connection with him and found in him a kindred spirit. Beneath his prickly acerbic exterior was a profoundly vulnerable and emotionally wounded man with mommy issues from his BPD mother. I love his fiercely anti-institutional autodidactic spirit. He’s my role model and I think we also look alike and have similar cunty arrogant vibes/minds.
In The Last Empire he writes that the Gore family will selectively pick and choose who to claim as family no matter how distant the relation is. I delusionally believe that if he were somehow alive today—and also not ravaged with wet brain—as a deep personal mythos weaver himself who had once found meaning in his own family story, he would be honored that I feel this way about him. Thank you if you read this rather lengthy volume of Tater Hole lore 🥔🕳️
Apr 5, 2024
Top Recs from @capnhahab
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Underwear, soap, sunblock, sheets; if you're putting up a barrier between the physical you and the oh-so-hazardous world then, if possible, have it be the most effective barrier it can be.
May 15, 2024
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Receiving is giving too. Also, there's quite a high chance you deserve to be complimented.
Apr 26, 2024
If you want to practice patience and the horror of letting go, cacti are there for you.
You'll soon learn that sometimes what the subject of your care needs the most out of you is nothing.
Overdoing is a death sentence; overwatering, over sunning, over shadowing. The damned green nub might even seem to mock your ministrations when you're not looking.
Let it be, please. Remember the name Münchhausen.
The desire to act is the most insidious poison for a cactus; it will get you high off the delusion of the importance of your actions as it drowns your plant, which will fuel further your thirst for action and the inevitable death-spiral of rot and fungi.
It doesn't need salvation. It certainly doesn't care for it.
All it asks for is a little water, enough sun, some repotting and, of course, love. Always love; just not enough of the stuff for it to kill the cactus.
Apr 23, 2024