Runoff

Wrote the majority of this a week ago. Better late than never. Better luck next time, Chuy. 

The skies are spitting at us trying to deter us from voting today. I say us but I mean you. I voted when it was sunny a week ago. Early voting lasts for two weeks and we can still barely get one third of the city to vote.

So that's why the skies spit at us. Because we get the weather we deserve.

I'm sitting at the bar at the Hideout waiting for Mick Dumke and Ben Joravsky to woefully announce the imminent results of Chuy Garcia's loss in the mayoral runoff, the first in this city's history. It's only a matter of time. The bar being out of Daisy Cutter is a sign. That scattered laundry basket on Elston Ave. is a sign. My flat tire last night was a sign: Chuy won't win.

It sometimes feels like I live in a bubble. I saw exactly one (1) sign in someone's yard supporting Rahm Emanuel in my neighborhood. Logan Square is populated by Chuy. My social media is nothing by Chuy supporters. My hood has more 'Raht' stickers than 'Rahm' posters. Creative signs and wheat-pastes have sprouted on brick walls like buds on the trees along the boulevards are about to.

And he's still going to lose.

And life will go on. Because really, here is my unpopular opinion: Rahm is fine for me. Not by me. But for me. I'm someone who should vote for Rahm. A white suburban transplant who lives on the Northwest side, likes to ride a bike, has no kids, has no extreme mental or health issues.

So why didn't I vote for Rahm?

Because I want to live in Chicago for as long as possible. I wasn't born 606 but I want to die 606. I want the future leaders of this city to be smarter and more empathetic than the present ones. I want people to get the help they need when they need it. I want multiple thriving artistic communities. I want unique businesses that can maintain a consistent clientele interested in supporting local businesses. I want more Bow Truss' than Starbucks. I want people on both sides of Madison to be able to live the lives they want to live (well, everyone except douches that do shit like this).

I want this city to be chaotic and unique and weird and move away from corporate monotony: I want Chicago to be Chicago.

Could Chuy have fulfilled these desires? Maybe. Can Rahm? Maybe. Four years is a short period of time and Rahm has managed to piss a lot of people off in that time. Fortunately for him, those people have small voices. Unfortunately, if he doesn't learn from his mistakes, he'll learn a basic rule of audio: an increase of only six decibels results in a doubling of sound. He says he's changed. But try as he might, it may be too late to keep the volume down (another six, then another six, then another) on this city for too much longer.