There's been a big hoo-ha the last few days over the revelation that the writer of the hilarious
@mayoremanuel Twitter saga, which followed the adventures of an imagined Rahm Emanuel during the recently concluded campaign, was a Columbia College professor named Dan Sinker, and that the real mayor-elect Rahm Emanuel actually thought it was funny. The Atlantic
broke the story on Feb. 28 and on March 2 Sinker and Emanuel
met on the radio.
The Twitter saga had begun as a spoof of the candidate's alleged hot temper and potty mouth. But Emanuel declined, as he has since deciding to run for Chicago in September, to lose his cool or burst into profanity.
I enjoyed following @mayoremanuel as much as anybody--about 40,000 people, apparently, four times as many as followed the real mayoral candidate at
@RahmEmanuel. (It's worth noting, though, that although this all was great fun for political junkies nationwide, there is no indication that it had any effect whatsoever on the actual Chicago election, which the real Emanuel won handily despite all parody and opposition.)
I can easily concede that @mayoremanuel was, as many have said, the best fake Twitter account ever. (Or the best #@$*&%!! fake Twitter account ever, if you like.)
But like many others, I didn't enjoy it just as parody. I enjoyed it for its gradual deepening into real feeling. And for me, the most poignant moment in the saga was an imaginary image that Alexis Madrigal, author of the Atlantic article, extracted from tweet form (in the first-person voice of Sinker's imaginary Emanuel) and presented as prose:
And Daley's gesturing for me to follow him, and suddenly we're out a window and heading up a motherfucking fire escape. We're on the roof of City Hall. The wind is fucking strong and the snow stings when it hits my face. Daley heads into a glass dome. It's so warm and beautiful in the dome--green everywhere--and the air is pungent with the smell of... is that fucking celery? Daley fucking plucks a stalk. "Care for these. Let flowers bloom. Dry them. Harvest the seeds. Grind them. Mix with salt." He hands me a small pinch of powder and the sharp taste of celery salt crosses my lips. "Our legacy," he says, and points to the stalks.
For so many people Richard M. Daley's City Hall roof garden is a joke. His love of trees that expanded into a broad environmental consciousness is a joke. His green initiatives are a joke. And his "green legacy" is a joke.
But I don't think so, and that's what gives this little snippet from @mayoremanuel (hot dog references aside) its sad power for me. I think that as we lose Daley we are losing something real and important. There's a big pothole appearing in the city where environmental leadership used to be.
Emanuel is certainly more knowledgeable about most environmental issues than most of his challengers were, but there's no indication he considers them important.
Of course we expect him to deal first with the crushing deficit, the brutal cuts that are no doubt necessary, the leaderless and ineffective schools, the police department whose most arrogant and intransigent members are now preening themselves for having driven out Jody Weis. But Emanuel gives no sign that he plans to give any consideration at all to the lake, the parks, the trees, to the role of landscaping in the city's vital fabric, to water issues, conservation issues, energy issues, food issues -- or green roof issues.
Mayor Daley's push for a green Chicago has been an enormous source of focus and energy and growth in the city over the last 20 years. If that green roof dries up and blows away, a lot more than celery seed will blow away with it.
Got a garden question? I recommend you call or e-mail the Plant Clinic of The Morton Arboretum in Lisle, the Master Gardeners of the University of Illinois Extension or the Plant Information Service of the Chicago Botanic Garden in Glencoe .
All contents of this post are copyright Beth Botts. Feel free to link or share a brief excerpt with a link, but please do not reproduce photos or any other part of this blog without my express permission.