ChgoRed, Girl Editor

Proof of ID

When I was younger, I developed a full-bloom fascination with the story of Anastasia, the youngest daughter of Czar Nicholas II. Quick background: In 1917, the Czar and his family were put under house arrest by the Bolshevik government, and after being moved further and further across Siberia, in 1918 they were executed. However, given that the details of their execution (time, place, bodies) were unclear and unverifiable, a lot of mystery and supposition grew up around the whole thing. In ensuing years, many people claimed to be the Czar, his wife, or his various of his children, miraculously escaped from certain death. The one who got the most attention, and who seemed to have a strong circumstantial case, was a woman who became known as Anna Anderson. She was called this because no one knew who she was. She was found wandering in Berlin one night, taken to a mental hospital, and after several months the nurses started saying, Boy, doesn’t she look like Anastasia? She spent the rest of her life trying to prove who she was.

At first, I was attracted to the Romanovs’ story because of its scope and, honestly, fin-de-siecle glamour. As I got older, I was more intrigued by Anna Anderson’s case and what it has to say about identity. Who are you? What makes you, you? If you woke up tomorrow and everything that signifies you—your memories, your family, your status, your knowledge of home and religion, your home itself and all your possessions—were gone, who would you be? How would you go on from there?  And if you thought you'd found your identity, how would you prove it?

I have been thinking about it a lot this week, this concept of identity, of starting over. The life before and the life after.

Happy Birthday Studs!

Studs Terkel is 95 years old today.  I was going to write a whole passage about how inspiring I find him.  But Studs appreciates brevity, and it all really boils down to this: He is a treasure. 

Celebrate by talking to a total stranger.  You never know what you might learn.

3x Thursday Meme: Moving Season Begins!

First, the meme, followed by some Chicago history.

1. How many times have you moved in the past 5 years? Why/why haven't you?
Three: 2002, 2004 and 2005.  2002: My roommate (i.e., dad) was moving away, and the rent was too much for me to handle alone.  2004: I met this boy... 2005: Said boy pointed out that our heating costs and rent were ridiculous and that we could do much better.  I fussed at the time, but he was right.

2. Are you one of those people who thinks moving is therapeutic? (You know, a time to get rid of things you don't need, etc.) Why/why not?
Therapeutic?  Well, if you are really feeling the need to have a big, cleansing fight with your significant other, there's nothing like a move to bring out long-simmering issues.  My husband can tell you all about the morning he woke up to the sound of boxes being taped--riiiiiiiiiiiiiip--at 7 AM.

As for the getting-rid-of-stuff part, perhaps I can show you our storage space.  Just let me work the door open...

3. Do you prefer to move yourself, or do you hire someone to do it for you? Why/why not?
I hire movers.  1) I don't own a car or a driver's license.  2) I'm over 30.  My friends no longer think it's cool to help me move (if they ever did), and asking them to haul our couch up 3 flights of stairs would only be met with laughter.  Bite the bullet; hire professionals.  Yes, it's expensive.  But they have big trucks and dollies, and most of your stuff won't get broken. 

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And now for an odd little bit of history.  In the 1800s and early 1900s, many Chicagoans would move on May 1.  And people would not only move households—some would move entire houses (as in, the building itself).  There were companies that specialized in house-moving.  This worked best for balloon-frame houses, and because the homes had no utilities (i.e., pipes) tying them to the ground.

"The Chicago tradition of moving on the first of May or October can be traced to English and Dutch rural festivals. In parts of England, May 1 was known as "Pack Rag Day," the day on which servants would gather their belongings in a bundle and change their employers at hiring fairs. Michaelmas Day (September 29) or Old Michaelmas Day (October 10) was also a time when farmhands would change employment.

The tradition was also practiced in the Netherlands, where servants would change their employers at the fair at the beginning of May or November. Dutch immigrants brought this tradition to New York as May 1 became a traditional moving day in that city.

Mentions of May 1 as moving day in Chicago can be found as early as the 1840s. In the late nineteenth century as many as one-third of all Chicago households moved annually. It was a very unpopular event, with families facing greedy landlords, exorbitant rates charged by movers (known as expressmen), and the risk of breakage and loss of furniture and belongings. In 1865 moving day was postponed until May 3, as President Lincoln's funeral cortege was passing through the city on the first day of that month.

In 1911, owing to the widespread unpopularity of a fixed moving day, the Chicago and Cook County real-estate boards allowed leases to be made at any time of the year. Despite these efforts, the first of May and October remain popular moving days in Chicago." 

Source: The Encyclopedia of Chicago.

Commander-Guy-in-Chief

Your president at work.  From a press conference transcript in the National Review's Media Blog:

"By the way, in the report [from James Baker and Lee Hamilton] it said, it is — the government may have to put in more troops to be able to get to that position. And that's what we do. We put in more troops to get to a position where we can be in some other place. The question is, who ought to make that decision? The Congress or the commanders? And as you know, my position is clear — I'm the commander guy."

What I Have Been Up To

Although I haven't been blogging, it wasn't because I was far from a computer.  A few months ago, I finally got my long-desired copy of Adobe Illustrator.  I had been doing all my greeting card designs in a 2001-era version of Photoshop LE, which is kind of like trying to drive without power steering.  You'll get somewhere, eventually, but it's going to take a lot of work to do even the simple things, and you won't necessarily want to be where you end up.

I've spent the months since figuring out how to make this program work, and Lord does it work.  It was absolutely what I needed.  More designs at the Flickr account.

Talk Talk

Blogwise, I’ve been quiet for a long time. Last year I had the wedding taking up my time. But since then, I just haven’t felt much like writing. Either I don’t have anything to say, or I write an essay and then hate it, or what I want to write about seems facile and uninteresting.

Stuff I have almost written about in the past few weeks:

1. Earth Day, which we managed to turn into "Screw You, Earth" Day. We were going to hit the big GreenFest at McCormick Place, but decided instead to celebrate the Earth by hanging out in the wonderful weather and appreciating her amazing creations in person at the Lincoln Park Zoo.

Instead, due to the crowds EVERY SINGLE PLACE we went, we actually spent the day driving a ridiculous amount, idling in traffic for an hour (seriously), appreciating Earth’s amazing creations with a side of fries, and watching a bunch of animals that had been caged for our convenience. Plus, during lunch the wind kicked up and a bunch of our napkins blew away. So we littered, too. Actually, it wasn’t so much that we littered as the Earth littered itself. Stupid planet.

2. The colorful people who ride my bus line. There are a few. Among the ones who keep catching my eye is a kid who I am starting to think of as Geek Boy. Even at the (apparent) age of 11, he is well on his way. Windbreaker? Check. Overloaded Spider-Man backpack? Check. Glasses? Check. Two weeks ago, when he got on the bus he was carrying a stuffed Pikachu AND had a plate-size spaceship attached to one wrist. He looks so much like a geek-friend of mine that I can’t decide if I should 1) pull him aside and tell him he’s not alone—that there are others just like him; or 2) just warn him about junior high. Because he seems like a sweet kid, and I think he’s in for a rough time.

3. My surprise birthday trip to Washington (pictures here), which was lovely and exciting and full of cool, famous stuff. Our hosts were very kind, and my husband is a dear for going to such trouble for me. He managed to involve my sister, my aunt, my dad, and two friends in his scheme to spirit me away. Among my new experiences—having an entire Greek restaurant sing me "Happy Birthday," getting to see the Lincoln Memorial, and visiting the Vietnam Memorial.

Also, the Husb and I spent 45 minutes in the Senate Gallery, putting names to the faces we’ve seen so often on Sunday morning TV. And that? Totally rocked. If you ask, we will tell you all about how we think we saw Barack Obama sneaking cigs and how John Kerry walks like Frankenstein.

4. The god-awful impersonations I have been doing for my husband. If I do Henry Kissinger for him one more time, I may end up divorced.

5. How even 7 months later, The Wedding is still not out of our lives. I finally finished the albums I made for our parents (now being printed), and am only about halfway through the thank-you notes. Such appalling slackosity may well cause me to forfeit my subscription to Martha Stewart Living. If you have not yet gotten your thank-you note, my apologies. While you’re waiting, would you like to hear my Kissinger voice?

6. The fact that SPRING! IS! FINALLY! HERE! We had a lot false starts—also known as "February, March and April"—but I know it’s here for good now because I got to wear dresses TWO days in a row. I am all about the dresses. I am becoming a total dress convert. Like, if I had pamphlets I would give you one. One piece of clothing? I just put it on and I am done getting dressed? And I don’t have to coordinate anything except my shoes and maybe a necklace? Sign me up.