North of McGaw Hall, DePaul University, Lincoln Park, The Crossroads Project practices in the fresh autumn air. They'll play again Saturday, September 25, at 9 p.m. at Lily's, down the street at 2513 N. Lincoln Ave.
Both Congressman Luis Gutierrez and City Clerk Miguel del Valle are now actively running for mayor, and regardless of who else throws their hat in the ring, if Chicago's going to have a Latino mayor this time around, it'll be one of them.
Indeed, other Latino candidates may yet emerge but none will have what these two possess: name recognition, money, election experience and plenty of chits.
Even though del Valle won citywide for his current office, I'm willing to bet that Gutierrez probably has the edge on name recognition. But that cuts two ways: Gutierrez is in the news far more frequently, but not always in the most flattering of ways.
I have never practiced the kapparot, nor even so much as witnessed it, though it's a ritual that fascinates me. And these days -- the down days, if you will -- between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, the curiosity and speculation always comes back in a rush.
The kapparot is an ancient Jewish rite of atonement in which sins are symbolically transferred to something else in order to be saved.
Aterciopelados "Bandera" came out on 1998's Rio -- - two years ago, a lifetime by music world standards -- so it was a bit of a surprise to see it pop up with a dazzling new video this month.
In the dreamy clip, an animated narrative by Diego Peñuela, a cute and cuddly pre-Colombian figure is on a dark and harrowing road trip through desert, sea, psychedelia and the heavens (with a little nod to Manu Chao thrown in for fun). The soundtrack, already an immigrant anthem, asks questions about borders, race, and nationality.
And now it's Chicago's version of the running of the bulls. With Mayor Richard M. Daley's decision not to run for another term, anyone and everyone who ever imagined his or her self sitting on the city's big shoulders is already out on the streets, elbowing, jabbing, leaping and dodging.
But keep this in mind: Anyone can talk.
Justice in a democratic society begins here, in voir dire, or jury selection.
You and everyone else crowds into the courtroom, filling even the jury box. The judge explains the case, the two counts: basically, DUI, and driving drunk with a suspended license.
The judge is tanned, slick, super-friendly.