Casimir Pulaski, the Polish fellow being honored today, died in the Revolutionary War’s Siege of Savannah in 1779.
Three years ago I packed up and moved to Savannah, seeking respite from the Chicago winters I complained so much about and hoping to start a new life amongst the genteel and seersucker clad. I rented a room from two fun gay dudes on the top floor of a fancy pantsy mansion right next to Forsyth Park.
I made the most of the city’s open container laws and unwritten karaoke-seven-nights-a-week laws, but in the end it was a lonely and failed three-month experiment. I missed everything about Chicago. Yes, even the weather.
Twentysomething me wanted to live anywhere but the Midwest, spouting standard lines about how much cooler it would be to live in Europe/the Pacific Northwest/ on an island off the coast of Honduras. It took ten years for that to work its way out of my system, but at 34 I can now say I’m here because I wanna be here.
So tonight I will eat a Polish-Chicagoan-Low Country meal of pierogi and cheesy grits to commemorate General Pulaski’s untimely demise in Georgia and to reconfirm my gushy love for this city. Plus, today is the 176th birthday of the City of Chicago, so maybe I’ll stick a candle or two in there somewhere.