Alizah Salario

Pic from the Chicagoist

Last night Wilco’s Jeff Tweedy headlined a fundraiser for Rahm Emanuel, a move that some considered a cheap ploy to conquer Chicago’s thriving hipster mecca (see Logan Square). Other candidates have implied  that celebrity has no place in politics, but who are they kidding here? (see Sarah Palin) Although Emanuel, an avowed Wilco fan, isn’t exactly what I’d call hip, he might be in the groove with his latest celeb endorsement. [...]

Since I follow all the mayoral candidates on Twitter, I decided I’ll cast my vote in favor of the most Tweeterific.

Um, not really. Clearly, some social media-savvy staffers are the Twitter proxies for each candidate. However, I tried to glean as much as possible from the candidates’ Twitter feeds and decipher what their stances on the issues can’t tell me: their sensibility, their style, whether or not they have a grasp on complex sentence structures, etc. Regardless of the authenticity of each voice, I wanted to know who I connected with most via Twitter. If I feel like I “know” people I follow on Twitter based on the personal nature of their Tweets, then why couldn’t I get to know the next mayor? All have the basic tweet-etiquette down – campaign updates, news items, retweeting flattering updates from followers, responding to supporters and making them feel special – but who had the strongest presence and the most recognizable voice?

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Clinton has left the building

I’ll be honest. I’m not some intrepid Brenda Star type. I’m no tough-as-nails journalist who gets off on getting the scoop. Well, actually that’s not true. Though I love to be part of the action, I get all nervous under pressure, and I hate hounding people for information. I feel like a sleazy paparazzi rat. I much prefer to mull things over, do my research, make phone calls at my leisure, and let a piece simmer until it’s well done. If I’m working face to face, I”d rather describe drinking mimosas with Ricky Martin or detail a lunch date with Nancy Pelosi. Shooting impersonal questions in the direction of someone famous is not my cup of tea. [...]

I was hoping to start the New Year off with something introspective and profound, but upon turning on my computer I realized the draft I though I’d saved no longer exists. Sigh. Lets start somewhere else.

I was sorting through the post-holiday sales at Macys with a slew of bargain-hungry shoppers — scarves, gloves, hats, 50 percent off, oh my — when I heard a male voice scream from somewhere behind me. “Watch where you’re going!” I spun around to see the back of a short, balding man wearing a messenger bag. His gait reminded me of a constipated bulldog.

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I know the little pimpsqueek fashionista has caused a bit of controversy, but at fourteen, Tavi Gevinson is effortless cool. Thrift stores, funky fabrics and the world of couture weren’t even in my orbit until the latter half of high school. I thought the best places to shop were the Express and Claire’s Boutique. I really wanted flower-patterned Doc Martens and a mood ring. I never got either.

Gevinson is now starting her own fashion magazine with former Sassy editor Jane Pratt. Do you have your own magazine? Hm. Didn’t think so.

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Yesterday was “Oprah’s Ultimate Favorite Things,” one of the most anticipated shows of her over-the-top final season. The holidays came early for the folksy folks in the audience because they all left with an obscene amount of stuff certified with Oprah’s gold seal of approval. I just happened to be hanging out with some old ladies in the laundry room, “writing my novel” and waiting for my clothes to dry (gotta love unemployment) when the show came on, so I was lucky enough to catch the Oprah insanity wave in real time.

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Ricardo Muti, the new conductor of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, held his inaugural performance on Sunday in Millennium Park. Muti chose to preform in a public space, rather than at the home of the CSO, because he wanted as many people as possible to attend the (free) concert.

It felt like the entire city of Chicago was gathered in front of the alien-like amphitheater, one that I find stunning at times, a monstrosity at others.  Attending a concert like this is one of those things that makes me feel like a person, not some sterile, over-programmed and overloaded excuse for a human being. It was the type of thing I always say I should do more often, but rarely do. I’m usually too busy sitting in traffic, waiting on hold about a bill, or not updating my blog.  The park was filled to capacity, and when I arrived a half hour before the concert started, security was already blocking the entrance. I walked right in anyway, feeling slightly guilty about breaking the rules, but I still had the thrill that comes with defying authority. So tired of writing. Perhaps I’ll just listen.

the amazing Dita Von Teese

For a long time I’ve wanted to do something thrilling and just a little bit saucy with my life. Today, I finally did: I danced burlesque. Well, sort of. I’m just getting the basic bumps, grinds and shimmies down. I’ve wanted to pursue burlesque since I tried a one-hour class nearly three years ago. Of all the dance forms I’ve tried, burlesque feels the most natural. Chicago burlesque, according to my teacher Frenchie Kiss, is the most classic  compared with the rock’n'roll style of LA and the arty vibe in New York. Little did I know there are three walk that involve different ways of swaying the hips: elegant, cutesy, and the bump and grind. Don’t get too excited; there’s no feathers, boas or pasties involved – yet. The emphasis of this slow striptease is on the tease. What remains a mystery is always more exciting.

This afternoon I watched base jumpers glide down from the Trump Towers from the vantage point of my nearby 18th floor office.  I looked down onto Michigan Avenue, and it was bumper to bumper for blocks. I watched taxis flip illegal u-turns on Wacker after being stuck in the same spot for five minutes.  The scene was accompanied by a soundtrack of what sounded like fake machine guns blasting. It was a city under a siege. Even it was only make-believe chaos, the drama in Chicago this weekend was most certainly real.

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