All the News Fit to Cry About (Or, when I finally lose my mind from grief)
A highlight reel of all the terrible things that have gone down in recent months:
1. Karen falls seriously ill, announces she isn't running. Like most Chicagoans, I didn't realize how badly she was needed until she was no longer an option. A rich fantasy life I didn't even remember cultivating suddenly came apart--a city of glistening, well-maintained school buildings, happy, cared for children, equitable school funding, equitable mental health funding--POOF! Gone in the instant I heard the news.
2. So then there's this guy. My work BFF Carlos says calling the progressive's new candidate by his folksy, homespun nickname of "Chuy" makes the guy sound like a joke, like he's Cheech and Chong's sidekick. Also, he had an Uncle Chuy, he confided, who died of penis cancer. I'm not as negative as Carlos, but it's true that Chuy does not have the same forceful Teutonic monosyllable affect as "Rahm." Furthermore, Mr. Garcia does not carry the name recognition or curry the loyalty of a Lewis or a Precwinkle. Can he run a professional campaign? Can he ride Lewis' momentum? He must work extra hard where others before him have failed.
3. And finally, it does not help that when I searched Chuy Garcia this morning, the first google image was of this actor, who is basically a poor-man's Edward James Olmos.
Which brings me to my next point. I have literally no problem electing Edward James Olmos to be the mayor of Chicago. He inspires low-income students to be high achievers:
He has engaged in important civil rights battles:
And, most notably, is a gravelly, trustworthy, battered but not broken leader in the most trying of times.
In conclusion, Edward James Olmos for mayor.
-Ms. P