$279,000 No Pest Strips

If this photo doesn't get you excited, those of us who do go into heat when seeing this don't understand.

I've liked cars since I was a little kid.  I earned Arrowhead points as a Cub Scout for being able to identify different makes, models, and years of cars.  

The beauty pictured above is a Porsche 911 Turbo S.  

My wife is car-agnostic.  If she sees an SUV in the same color as hers, she'll just as likely get in that car in the parking lot as not.  They all look the same to her.  I've seen her get into a car similar to hers with people in that car!

She doesn't understand the Porsche 911 Turbo S.  It's too small.  It's kinda ugly.  And why would someone buy an expensive car and have No-Pest strips on the wheels?

If you were born after 1980, you may not remember No-Pest strips.  Because they were outlawed for being poisonous, cancer-causing nightmare machines.  

They were a garish yellow strip that hung where there were flying, biting insects. Especially in the un-airconditioned kitchen in the middle of a muggy Southern summer.  

That's what my wife thinks yellow Brembo brake calipers look like.  

Brembo is an Italian company that manufactures high-quality brakes.  In order to stand out, they paint their calipers different colors.  First, red for Formula 1.  Then yellow.  The luring public got hooked.  

It has led to BDS, brake derangement syndrome.  No car is cool unless it has brightly colored brake calipers.  

It has gotten so crazy that you can buy vinyl brake caliper covers if you're ride didn't come equipped properly.  Upgrade dad's (or grandma's or junior's) hooptie today!

So, perhaps my wife is smarter about colorful brake calipers than the average man.  If I could get my hands on some No-Pest strips, I could launch a profitable side hustle.

I'd call it the Oh So Fly No-Fly Zone.  

Dry Wheat Toast

My sweet wife and I like ice cream.  

Here in Dallas, Braum's is one of the leading ice cream purveyors.  Good, solid enterprise based in Oklahoma City.  Vertically integrated, meaning that they own their own dairy cow operation.  It is a unique combination of a fast food/ice cream restaurant.  Each store also has a small market inside offering dairy products,  baked goods, beverages, frozen entrees, meats, and produce.

Very recently, we went through the drive-thru for our evening ice cream treat.  

My wife wasn't supposed to be eating dairy products.  She just wanted a brownie. 

So, knowing that Braum's has brownies that they use in their brownie fudge sundae, I ordered my double-dip cone of cherry limeade and orange sherbet, and a brownie.  

The good folks at Braum's have a rule.  You cannot order "market" items through the drive-thru.  This helps with speedy service.  I was aware of that rule.  

My order was immediately met with the following response: "We don't serve market items through the drive-thru."  

My stupid meter went off and with blood pressure rising, I responded curtly:  "You sell brownie sundaes thru the friggin' drive through.  Give me a brownie, cause I know you can do it!!"

Again, "We don't serve market items through the drive-thru!"

As I began to order a brownie fudge sundae, hold the cherry, hold the whipped cream, hold the fudge sauce, hold the ice cream, my wife patted my arm and said, "I'll just have a cheeseburger."  

She sensed the inevitable battle and took away the issue.  She should be the Swiss Ambassador for World Peace.  

Oh, the opportunity missed.  I might have ended up in The Dallas Morning News if they printed more than 8 pages a day.  Not sure my verbal whipping of the night manager at Braum's would earn space in the tiny area where they print news.  

The next day, I went to Loew's Home Improvement.  I needed a bolt and a nut to repair my beloved but aging Traeger. 

By myself, I found the hardware aisle and the nuts and bolts cabinet.  By myself because there is no help anymore in these warehouses of stuff.  It's why Ace Hardware is still doing well.  They have knowledgeable people who work there.  

I digress.  I found the size bolt and nut I needed.  Went home, inserted the bolt, tried the nut, and discovered it was a lock nut.  Not what I needed. 

So, back to Loew's.  (What's your average number of trips to Lowe's or Home Depot on simple projects?  Mine is three.)

Again, I found the hardware aisle and the nuts and bolts cabinet. I open the drawer with the size I need, and there are zero nuts to be found.  Except for one free-roaming wing nut in the size I needed.  Everything in the drawer was sold packaged in groups of three.

I took my bolt and their wingnut to the front.  First, I asked the cashier who was in charge of the self-service cashier machines.  Impossible to check you out, sir, with no barcode. Please try customer service.  

I did.  The nice lady at customer service had no idea what to do.  An elderly man, who I believe is one of those folks who is supposed to help you, looked at the situation and told the nice lady to tell me, "It is impossible to help you."

The customer service lady then paged the manager.  Several responded over the walkie-talkie, each saying they had no solution.  "Could you come back another day, sir?"

I was about to give them the dry wheat toast speech made by Jack Nicholson's character in Five Easy Pieces.  

I offered to pay a dollar for the wingnut that retailed for about 13 cents.  That was impossible to run through their system as well.  

Finally, another manager was located.  I explained the problem.  He said, "Just take the wingnut.  I don't believe it will crash our profit margin."

Problem solved.  

Corporate America has its head so far up its butt and is so ruled by IT systems and rules that providing customer service is impossible. 

Unless you have one sane person who knows how to say yes. 

O holy night

Last evening, my wife and I went to a birthday party for a friend.  Drove home in a steady rain anxious to get inside to a dry, safe house.  

I have put up Christmas lights around our front trees.  They are lovely, except when it gets wet.  They short out and trip the GFCI outdoor plugs.  Which includes the plug for our garage door opener. 

We pulled into the driveway and quickly figured out the garage door wasn't operating and was locked.  We cannot get in through the back of the house because the fence gate is locked.  Looking at each other with desperation, we said, "We don't have a front door key on us, do we?"  And we didn't and that's when the adventure began.  

I thought I could scale and jump the back fence.  It is 8 feet tall.  It is very wet, still raining.  I am very out of shape.  It is cold and dark.  So, I attempted it and got close to the top of the fence but realized something very painful was about to happen to me.  

So I got back into the car and announced, "I cannot believe I'm this stupid to not have a house key hidden somewhere around.  Just because I deserve it, I'm going to drive this car through the back fence and I'll just have to pay to get it all fixed."  Steam was coming out of my ears.  

Lea just quietly said, "Can't we drive up to the fire station and see if they can help?"  Such an angel.

So we drove the the station house.  Knocked on the door, and three young heroes came to see what the commotion was.  I explain the dilemma.  They say, "We'll meet you in front of your house."

And in no time, they were there.  Three young men, none yet to reach 30, were all ready to help in whatever way they could.  

Since October 7, we have also flown an Israeli flag on the front of our house to show our support and solidarity with the people of Israel.  As Christians, we are called to "pray for the peace of Jerusalem."

One of the young men asked if we were Jewish.  I said no.  He said, "I am. Why do you fly the Israeli flag?"  I tried to provide him some history and scripture to put it into context for him.  

"Sir, I can't tell you how good it makes me feel to see that flag.  Being a Jew in the fire department, it can get a bit lonely sometimes.  Lots of people just don't understand or care about our connection to Israel.  Thank you for standing with me and us.  It makes me feel less lonely already."

With that, we go to the back of the house.  Before I can say boo, one young man has scaled the fence and is asking me for the combination of the lock on the gate.  

Boom.  We were in.  

We sleep soundly in our beds because rough men stand ready in the night.  

Happy Christmas.  

Thrilled to have made someone who makes me feel safe feel safer himself.  

P.S.  I'll be smoking racks and racks of ribs for my new heroes on Tuesday.

Adulting is not fun

Headstone for Betty and Haskell Burks 

My dad died three years ago.  

My brother, sister, and I buried his ashes two weeks ago in Westview Cemetery.  

Honestly, I still don't get it.  Meaning, it is hard for me to believe and accept that he is not here.  That he is in another plane, another reality, and not my reality.  

Pops didn't die due to COVID.  But, he passed during the COVID craziness.  

My dad was known as Mr. Dependable.  He was a residential real estate agent and broker on the Southside of Atlanta for over 50 years.  It's amazing how many people know him and his legacy in East Point, College Park, Fayetteville, and beyond.  

He was a volunteer at the Chambers of Commerce, the Methodist Church, and more Realtor Boards than I can name.  

He was a good man.  Loyal to his wife, Betty Burks.  He was loyal to his children:  Michael, Alan, and Laurie.  

He never made a lot of money, but he provided.  Us kids thought we were rich.  

He joined the Navy at age 17 when WWII was roiling, after being the leader of the ROTC at Russell High School.  He wanted to be a gunner in a B-52.  But the fact that he wore glasses ruled him out of that.  

My dad wasn't overly demonstrative.  He was a quiet man.  Strong and quiet.  Much like his dad, my Big Papa, Jesse Kirby Burks.  

Pops, you were such a leader in your own way.  People respected you in the communities where we lived.  

I believe your strong silent leadership was passed down.  Maybe skipped a generation.  Mike is kinda hot (brother you are free to disagree) and no doubt Laurie has Mom's fire.  I honestly believe Ali, Pete, and Zac got your genes.  And, Oliver may well have them.  

Dad, I can't believe you are gone.  I don't know how Heaven works, but I hope you are reunited with Mom and all of your friends.  

Please know that I hope to honor your legacy by being a good human.  I've got a lot of Mom in me.  And that's a good thing.  But Pops, you were the coolest dude in the midst of many storms.  

Rest easy.  You worked so hard to get to this place.  

We thank you for your quiet strength and guidance.  

I know you are in Heaven because you had faith in Jesus.  

I wish we could go to one more Braves game together.  

I love you and miss you, but you are not buried in Westview Cemetery.  You are in Heaven with Mom, Woody, Marylou, Gene, The Garcias, and so many more.  

I'll see you soon.

ab

An Open Letter to President Biden

Dear President Biden,

President Joe Biden speaks before designating the first national monument of his administration at Camp Hale, a World War II era training site, Wednesday, Oct. 12, 2022, near Leadville, Colo. (Chris Dillmann/Vail Daily via AP)

On October 12, you stated at Camp Hale that your son Beau "lost his life in Iraq".

Sir, Beau served honorably in Iraq. But he did not lose his life there.

My son did along with over 4000 other patriots.

In the almost two weeks since these erroneous words came out of your mouth, not you nor anyone in your administration has taken the time to correct this.

President Biden, you are either addled or a liar.

You have embarrassed your family. You have besmirched the reputation of Beau. You have spit in the faces of Gold Star families across this country of which you are Commander in Chief.

A simple apology and explanation would suffice.

Over 4000 families will be waiting as well as the one million brave men and women who wear the Cloth of our Nation.


Sincerely,

Alan Burks
Gold Star Father
2LT Peter H. Burks
KIA Baghdad, Iraq
11/14/07

The meanest sumbitch in Texas

There are lots of great things in Texas.  Unfortunately, the interstate highway system isn't one of them.  And I-35 is the worst of them all.  

I-35 runs from Laredo, Texas to Duluth, Minnesota.  1568 miles.  And 503.9 of those miles are in Texas.  

I think Texas has a secret population control plan.  Which is probably right-minded given all of the people moving here. What else would explain this stretch of concrete mayhem?  It is the 5th most deadly road per mile in the nation.  For every 100 miles of the highway to hell, I-35 in Texas averages 12.56 deaths per year.  This road averages over 22,000 crashes per year.  

Why?  Why is it such a mess?  

Reason 1:  The road isn't large enough to handle all of the traffic.  Or, there's too many dam vehicles on the road.  You pick. 

Depending on which part of this ballbuster you are driving, it might be four lanes wide and it might be two lanes.  And sometimes just for fun, they'll dial it down to one lane (at night) during construction.  This for the de facto route North and South route for 18 wheelers and the jillion other people driving their cars, motorcycles, pickup trucks, RVs, and other contraptions, at speeds not meant to be driven by a human on a public highway. 

Reason 2:  The formerly mentioned construction.  The endless construction.  I don't know which government entity manages this stupidity, but they must be paying by the hour for the work that's sorta getting done.  Construction everywhere on this slab.  Those median barriers that you need a Formula 1 car to navigate thru.  (You can tell by all of the tire marks on those concrete death traps.)  

Reason 3:  Waco.  It's sometimes pronounced Whacko, which is fitting but not the correct pronunciation.  WAY-CO.  Waco is an old Indian word for shithole.  I-35 thru Waco has been under construction, reconstruction, updating, widening, etc. for 35 years.  And it isn't going to end anytime soon.  And I don't mean to disparage the fine educational institution there.  Why, Midway High School is an excellent school.

Reason 4:  Rubbernecking.  Sometimes it's to peer at the carnage across the median in the lane going the opposite direction.  But many times, it's to ponder the amazing roadside oddities that are a never-ending source of debate, tall tales and rear-end crashes.  

For instance, there is the Monolithic Institute.  What on God's green earth is that you ask?  Well, here's what it looks like.  It's next to the Northbound side of the Grim Reaper Highway near Italy, Texas.  (More about Italy, Texas to come.)

Then of course is the Milford Tower.  Near Milford, Texas.  Where you can skydive if driving I-35 is too tame for you.  Here's a pic.  

Oh, the guesses, the theories, the stories, the myths.  "They use that thing to catch the skydivers if their chute don't open."  "It's the world's biggest lightening rod."  "It's the latest project of the Branch Davidians."  

The truth is actually stranger than fiction.  This lonesome tower in this pitiful pasture is owned by Viziv Technologies.  It is designed to mimic Nikola Tesla's Wardenclyffe Tower.  Tesla built his tower on Long Island in the early 1900's.  It was to send messages, telephone, facsimiles images and wireless power transmission.  (So Tesla was way ahead of Lily from AT&T).

The good folks at Viziv plan to use their tower in Milford for exactly what Tesla built his to do.  Good luck to them.  In the meantime, now you know the rest of the story.

Then, there is Quarry Row.  It looks like the movie set for the next Transformers movie.  Massive in scale.  Machines the size of Jeff Bezos' ego.  Thirty miles of eleven rock-mining operations just south of New Braunfels.  You can't miss it.  It's just behind the Snake Zoo.  

Reason 4:  Getting lost.  It seems impossible to get lost on a major North-South Interstate Highway.  But, it happens.  Primarily because folks have an issue with their vehicle, call for help, and can't get help because they can't pronounce the name of the town they are in.

If your boat trailer breaks loose in Buda, do not call and say you need help in Buddha.  You are in "BYOO-duh".  

If your RV runs out of gas in Italy ()and there are a killion RVs on I-35, you are not in Italy as in the country where Sophia Loren originated.  You are in "It-ly".  

If you run out of gas in Bexar County, you are not in Bex-are County.  It's "Bear" County.

If your pontoon boat (please God shoot me if I'm ever the captain of a pontoon boat wearing white New Balance shoes and a Come and Take It t-shirt), gets blown off of its trailer by the constant winds, and you are in Gruene, please know it is pronounced "Green".  

And then, there is Waxahacie.  I've misprounced this town most of my time in Texas.  It is another town with an American Native name.  'WAKS-uh-HATCH-ee."  Beware Waxahacie.  It's a lovely town.  But I-35 running thru there is a killer.  

Reason 5:  Ft. Worth.  Pronounced Fote Worth.  If you take I-35W thru that town, God Bless you.  The construction is nuts and the opportunity for a wreck is over the top.  Last year during a light ice-storm, 6 people were killed and there were over 130 related wrecks.  

Reason 6:  Idiots. Pickup trucks the size of a large earth-moving machine driven by 16 year old lucky sperm club wanna be cowboys.  Mexican tourist buses.  Pickup trucks with a slew of ladders and pvc pipe in the back.  Hoop-dees.    

Here's a link to previous insight on this issue: http://burkslaw.blogspot.com/2015/08/the-roads-of-madness.html

In summary, be careful on I-35.  And, don't worry about Texas.  It might thin the herd, but we will survive the widowmaker. 

We always do.  We survived Santa Anna.  We survived Bonnie and Clyde.  Heck, we even survived Janet Reno.

 

Brian Main

 As I write this, Brian is heading home to Toronto.  After his last official trip to Haggar.  

When I had the blessing of being the CMO of Haggar Clothing Co., Brian was our man in Canada.  

Who knows why, but Brian and I met and immediately became friends.  And that friendship grew and developed into a great business relationship and a friendship.

Brian got me.  And I got Brian. 

Brian knows me as well as any male human.  Lea knows me better, but Brian was there for me before Lea.  

We did great business together.  

But, more importantly, we became very close friends.  

Me, a redneck.  He, a hockey-playing hardass.

We've been thru all types of business issues. Sometimes on opposite sides.  

We've been thru family struggles.  We were always open and honest.

O, the good times we've had.  Bistro 999.  Playing golf and George Chee sliding down the fairway doing unintentional 360 slides.  

This man, Brian Main, is the only guy that ever "got me".  Not that I was in charge.  Just that I had a point of view.  

He is a married man with two kids who have been thru the challenges of growing up.  

Brian has been there at every challenge of my life.  

I love Brian Main.  

I am looking forward to seeing what he does in the next chapter of life.  (There is more to life than selling pants.)

Brian, I am so lucky to know you.  I am so proud of how you have managed your life,  

I doubt you know how much you mean to me.  

I would die on a stake for you.  

I love you Brian Main.  

I'll see you on the lake sometime soon.

ab