Chicago Got a Very Bad Haircut Last Night

                                                 

Q. What's the difference between Lori Lightfoot and Toni Preckwinkle?
A.  7,856 Votes

Q. What's the difference between a very bad haircut and a return to some semblance of good grooming?
A. Two Weeks.


Wow.  Two stunning mediocrities will face-off in April with the winner set to close Chicago down altogether,  Talk about a bad hair day.

I was surprised to see Lori Lightfoot best Toni Preckwinkle.  SEIU won that one for Ms. Lightfoot and will allow the idiotic editorial board of SEIU's Sun Times and its cut and paste columnists to crow over a landmark defeat of the really idiotic Chicago Tribune and its help in Bill Daley's attempted hostile take-over of Chicago.

Credit is due to the Purple T-Shirts and not the ink-slinging four-flushers of that daily rag.

Toni Preckwinkle, the humorless former Mrs. Zeus and County Board Boss, will go scorched earth on Ms. Lightfoot these next few weeks and her army of patronage workers will feel the lash for coming up short last night.

Chicago?  Chicago screws itself every election.

Chicago will not recover, but the oligarchs who make millions from the Liberal Gentry Culture here will make millions more in real estate and government set-asides.

The gap between Rich and Poor is closed.

The Middle Class ( the Skilled Trades Members, City Employees, Small Business People) , which is to blame for this situation, truth be told,  is vanished.



Note this telling graphic lifted from Second City Cop (on election day ironically enough) which notes the middle class going the way of the  aboriginal Illinois Confederation.
The Orange represents the poor and the blue represents the rich.  The lighter colors are the middle class of Chicago, which has all but disappeared, since I graduated from Little Flower High School in Auburn Gresham,

I am moving to a south suburb, after twenty years in Morgan Park of the 19th Ward,

Two of my children rent in Chicago and one owns a home just across the street from Chicago.  God help them.

I loved growing up in Chicago.  I got great haircuts from Max Esposito in his shop at Marshfield and 79th Street, next to Billy Ellis' Wooden House.  Max Esposito was an exacting and serious barber, but his shop had no comic books.  


Mac the Barber/Bookie had every DC issue of Batman and Superman, as well as sexy calendars, but haircuts were often given by gamblers, while Mac made book calls in the back.  My folks knew immediately where I had gone for a haircut.

Chicago has opted for Mac haircuts these last twenty years (Daley/Rahm & Whoever).  Last night was the worst chop of all.

We can celebrate that an African American Woman ( one openly LGBTQRSTUNVWXYZ) and Chicago will. . . .ad nauseam. 

Can we celebrate a bad haircut for the next four + years?

We will.

Hey, Chicago!  I see YOUR barber has a great sense of humor!

The Rube and Hu - Chungking on Bubbly Creek

Not since Mayor Long John Wentworth nodded the Prince of Wales to the Chicago City Council with - "Prince, the Boys! Boys, the Prince" - has Chicago had a State visit chock filled with an opportunity as Hu Jintao's two day visit to Chicago.

I can picture Mayor Daley, an Everyman American Rube, dealing the opportunity cards to Hu.

Daley - "Here! Lookit dat Bean. Dat's whadda city dat werks means, Hu. A fine eggsample of da How Too Spearutt in shinny steel. Pay'd fer by Pritzkers and Citizens like you, Hu. All over dis grate city you see fabyalus oppertoonities fer growth'n biznis. You too, Hu, KenBee a pard'ada growt'n opportoonities fer growt'n bring dis grate Cidyener peep'l to da world a tomarrah."

Hu - " I have."

Daley -"Dats Grate!"

Cave clamavit
[

The Heathen Chinee] by Brett Harte

Which I wish to remark,
And my language is plain,
That for ways that are dark
And for tricks that are vain,
The heathen Chinee is peculiar,
Which the same I would rise to explain.

Ah Sin was his name;
And I shall not deny,
In regard to the same,
What that name might imply;
But his smile it was pensive and childlike,
As I frequent remarked to Bill Nye.

It was August the third,
And quite soft was the skies;
Which it might be inferred
That Ah Sin was likewise;
Yet he played it that day upon William
And me in a way I despise.

Which we had a small game,
And Ah Sin took a hand:
It was Euchre. The same
He did not understand;
But he smiled as he sat by the table,
With the smile that was childlike and bland.

Yet the cards they were stocked
In a way that I grieve,
And my feelings were shocked
At the state of Nye's sleeve,
Which was stuffed full of aces and bowers,
And the same with intent to deceive.

But the hands that were played
By that heathen Chinee,
And the points that he made,
Were quite frightful to see, --
Till at last he put down a right bower,
Which the same Nye had dealt unto me.

Then I looked up at Nye,
And he gazed upon me;
And he rose with a sigh,
And said, "Can this be?
We are ruined by Chinese cheap labor," --
And he went for that heathen Chinee.

In the scene that ensued
I did not take a hand,
But the floor it was strewed
Like the leaves on the strand
With the cards that Ah Sin had been hiding,
In the game "he did not understand."

In his sleeves, which were long,
He had twenty-four packs, --
Which was coming it strong,
Yet I state but the facts;
And we found on his nails, which were taper,
What is frequent in tapers, -- that's wax.

Which is why I remark,
And my language is plain,
That for ways that are dark
And for tricks that are vain,
The heathen Chinee is peculiar, --
Which the same I am free to maintain.