You really have better things to do

WARNING! This is a really long post that you don’t really want to read. But after spending the time to two finger type it out it seems wasteful to delete it. And quite frankly it’ll push some of those awful photos down the page a bit. Remember, I warned you.
So, I admittedly, am not a huge follower of politics. As a matter of fact, I honestly couldn't care less who holds what office. It's never seems to matter one way or the other. All we really have to cling to is the what -if of somebody else may have done it better. I know that this is the kind of mentality that drives Robb nuts but who cares. I love him all the same and maybe even more for his zany, neo-hippie, political drivel (not to mention the 27 blogs he currently operates). All that aside, residing in Illinois means that there was absolutely no way to escape the minor gubernatorial debacle that took place here recently. Still I managed to turn a mostly deaf ear to the situation. That guy got a job and as part of his job there are apparently some spiffs regarding contracts and political positions and what-not. That’s cool; I’ve never been one to stand in the way of another guy making a living. Live and let live, that’s what I say. But toward the end of the original circus a new player emerged.
Rolland Burris was soon going to be, then not going to be, then ultimately going to be, and then appointed but maybe there was gonna be a blockade of some sort…oh fuck, I don’t know. Look him up if you want the story on him. My point is as I was throwing down my Sun Times in frustration at the Friday edition New York Times Crossword (how come there isn’t a Chicago Sun Times edition?) anyway, as I slammed the paper down on the really nice coffee table at the local Starbucks, the paper flipped over and right there, on the front page, was a vaguely familiar face. One of those, I know I’ve seen that guy before, kind of faces. Initially, I thought he may have been one of my customers when I worked for Rent-A-Center. After looking closely I noticed that his suit looked like it was purchased at Kohl’s or Sear’s and not out of the back of a truck I realized that wasn’t it. Then I thought, maybe I was sitting across from him at Harold’s Chicken Shack or maybe he washed my windows one time when I worked in Elgin. No matter, politics, I don’t care.
The next day he was on the cover of the paper again, this time I read the article. Blah, blah, blah, corruption, blah , blah, blah, Blagojevich, blah, blah, blah, Senate, blah, blah, blah, Rolland Burris. Aha! The name struck the same chord the picture did. I rolled it around in my head for a bit and then pulled out the trusty laptop (using my 2 free hours a day internet at Starbucks, acquired by being a Gold Card customer) and skimmed nearly every google entry for Roland Burris. 2,030,000 web posts later (I’m a quick reader) and nothing.
Later that night, after having given up all hope on finding out where I recognize this man from, I fell into a deep slumber weary from all the reading. Whilst I slept, I had a dream. In my dream, I was the manager of a Taco Bell in North Chicago. It was late in my shift and the store was closed for the night. I was letting Aquanetta, Latrina and Peaches out of the store when I noticed what appeared to be a couple of pan-handlers stumbling through the lot. I quickly locked the door but watched through the glass as they approached my three worthless coworkers in the lot. Looking more closely I could see that one was a woman and the other was none other than the man I’d been trying so hard to place. Although I was sleeping, at this point my conscious mind took over, a state called lucid dreaming, and I willed myself to hear through the double paned bullet proof window. I feared that I was too late as I saw the woman begin to walk away. But just then, I heard, clear as anything, her call to the man. “Come on Rolly, theys some nigga hating bitches”. I immediately awoke from my dream. I scampered out of bed and ran downstairs to my living room. I now knew I had the key I needed to end my day and a half of suffering at the hands of this still unknown man.
I lit a cigarette and without pause opened a cabinet to reveal my immense collection of Radio Shack VHS tapes. Hundreds and hundreds of super long play television recordings stared back at me ominously, almost as if daring me to uncover the secret they held. Knight Rider, Diff’rent Strokes, Headbanger’s Ball, One Day at a Time all challenging me to find the right one. Facts of Life, Fantasy Island and It’s Your Move (an amazing show highlighting the talents of a young Jason Bateman) all tossed off the shelf. A brief pause at Good Times and in the pile it went right on top of Rick Springfield’s Working Class Dog concert video. More and more cassettes went on to the floor; Three’s Company, Taxi and that show with Nell Carter where she’s the fat, black maid to the white, middle-aged chief of police and his daughters. And then, finally, behind a tape labeled WrestleMania II, there it was….Sanford and Son.
I quickly hit the power button on my top loading VCR and slid the tape home. Grabbing (and sadly untangling) the wired remote, I took a seat on the couch and played the tape. Fast forwarding while still paying the tape I quickly skimmed the episode where Julio’s goat ends up in Fred’s house and Fred calls Lamont a dummy several times. The next episode featured the cops, Smitty and Hoppy and Fred thought he was having a heart attack (what a great performance, I was always fooled thinking , this was the big one), And then in the third episode on that tape, right after Aunt Esther calls Fred a heathen, I saw him. There he was, the man that calls himself Senator Rolland Burris. Introduced by Grady as his nephew from Watts, Rolly, he was only in the episode for two forgettable lines; “Thanks Uncle Grady” and “This ain’t like the ripple we gots back home”. I skimmed through a couple more episodes but it was just for fun. I’d found what I’d been looking for.
Mr. Burris, I normally don’t care one way or another about politics. But I’ll make this exception, just this once, any nephew of Grady’s is alright by me. Keep up the good fight!