"How's Alex enjoying Kindergarten?" many of you have asked. I believe I can sum it up very simply for you. On Monday, the bus driver had to pull over and stop the vehicle in order to get Alex to cease running up and down the ailse with his Spiderman underwear on his head. He had extra clothes packed in his backpack and thought it would be funny to put on a show for his new friends on the bus. He said the kids thought it was funny. I bet they did.
Less than a week into school and he's already figured out how to work a crowd for laughs. I guess he's not the milkman's kid afterall.
You can imagine how proud I am.
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Tailgate Update
I called the owner of the 1966 Chevy that I hoped would be the new tailgate truck and he said that he bought it from a friend a year ago to help his buddy raise some funds for an extended trip to Florida to take care of his sick mother. The buddy made him promise to never sell it since it had been in his family since it was new. Now the guy is moving back to Missouri (his mother died) and he wants his old truck back. Have you ever heard a more pathetic story? Doesn't he realize that we needed that truck?! He couldn't love it as much as we would have. It will probably rot in his yard, never knowing the joy of providing a party spot for dozens of college football fans.
So now I must look elsewhere for the next party wagon. The stock options deal still stands- should I ever find a suitable truck. I just can't tailgate out of the back of a minivan. It wouldn't be right. I think its against the law. At least it should be.
Help me find a truck. Keep your eyes, minds, and wallets open. It takes more than a fleeting glimpse to see the beauty within something over thirty years old. (I'm referring to trucks, not myself.)
The picture is another '66 Chevy after a little sprucing up. That's the beauty that I saw in the rust bucket.
Sunday, August 20, 2006
Deal Sweetener
In addition to receiving a valuable and beautiful certificate of ownership of the Tailgatin' Truck on which a watermark depicting a scene from a tailgate party that took place a few years ago attended by Grant Barnes, John Briscoe, Bill Herrin, a couple of State Troopers, and many others, I will provide at no cost to the shareholders ice cold beer at every home football game that I am able to attend. (Shareholders with battle tested livers are encouraged to bring a buffer.)
Partial ownership of a bitchin' tailgatin' truck AND frothy beverages all for $25?! That's too good to pass up.
Saturday, August 19, 2006
Tailgating Incorporated
$2500. That is how much the guy who currently owns what will soon be the newest tailgting truck wants for his vehicle. It is a 1966 Chevrolet half-ton, four wheel drive. It is a little rusty and still sports its original orange paint, but it has potential. He's asking about twice what the truck's worth, so I need to talk him down a little before I can drive it home. I might get him to sell it for $1800 or so. It needs a new set of tires. Plus the truck will need to have some body work done and be painted black in order to measure up to my tailgating standards. So here's the breakdown:
Sale price- $1800
Tires- $400
Paint & putty- $500
Tax & license- $100
Grand total- $2800
I think I can come with about $1500 or so. (I just sold "Old '76" at the auction yesterday for a whopping $500! Of course a digit was wrong on the VIN # on the title, so until it can be straightend out by the highway patrol and the state, I'll see none of the money.) This brings me to my plan. My mama inspired me when she asked everyone who's ever tailgated with us to chip in to buy a new truck. I thought, "Why not issue stock and have shareholders in the new truck?" So here it is. I will issue you one stock certificate for every $25 you contribute. There will only be 100 shares of stock issued worth a total of $2500. I will be the majority owner with 51 shares while issuing 49 shares to the public. 49 shares @ $25 each will raise $1225 for the purchase and partial restoration of the truck. In the unlikely event that the truck is ever sold, the proceeds will be divided among the shareholders in direct proportion to the amount of shares each person owns. (I will receive 51% of the money for my 51 shares, etc.)
This is my plan. There are 49 opportunities available to you to own a part of Travis's Tailgating Truck #4, Inc. You may purchase as many shares as you like until they are gone. So act now. Supplies are limited. Please email me : dacoynol@yahoo.com to order your shares. They will be issued on a first come-first serve basis, so don't delay.
Sale price- $1800
Tires- $400
Paint & putty- $500
Tax & license- $100
Grand total- $2800
I think I can come with about $1500 or so. (I just sold "Old '76" at the auction yesterday for a whopping $500! Of course a digit was wrong on the VIN # on the title, so until it can be straightend out by the highway patrol and the state, I'll see none of the money.) This brings me to my plan. My mama inspired me when she asked everyone who's ever tailgated with us to chip in to buy a new truck. I thought, "Why not issue stock and have shareholders in the new truck?" So here it is. I will issue you one stock certificate for every $25 you contribute. There will only be 100 shares of stock issued worth a total of $2500. I will be the majority owner with 51 shares while issuing 49 shares to the public. 49 shares @ $25 each will raise $1225 for the purchase and partial restoration of the truck. In the unlikely event that the truck is ever sold, the proceeds will be divided among the shareholders in direct proportion to the amount of shares each person owns. (I will receive 51% of the money for my 51 shares, etc.)
This is my plan. There are 49 opportunities available to you to own a part of Travis's Tailgating Truck #4, Inc. You may purchase as many shares as you like until they are gone. So act now. Supplies are limited. Please email me : dacoynol@yahoo.com to order your shares. They will be issued on a first come-first serve basis, so don't delay.
Tuesday, August 15, 2006
Tailgating Truck # 4?
I've thrown enough money at my present Tiger Truck. After investing nearly $3000 over the year and a half I've owned it, the transmission is going out, the rebuilt brakes are failing, it won't stay in park, and only 4 of the 6 tires hold air. I have decided that artificially prolonging the life of this once proud truck is no longer in anyone's best interests. I hope to sell the truck for someone's project in order to acquire some seed money for a new tailgatin' truck project. But first, a brief history of my former trucks.
I have owned three tailgaters so far and I have fond memories of each. The first was a red and white 1978 Chevy 4x4 that pulled a trailor with a Chevy Corsica on it from here to Muncie, Indiana after Bethany and I graduated. After pulling two tons for over 1000 miles, I checked the truck out. No oil registered on the dipstick. No coolant was visible in the radiator. A bird's nest completely blocked the air intake hose. This glorious machine pulled a car cross-country with no oil, water, or air. Wow. And it made the move back to Missouri and served admirably at a few tailgate parties before I foolishly traded it away for a Pontiac Sunturd convertable. I miss that truck.
The next beauty was a former hog-haulling 1966 Chevy 1-ton dually. When Bethany first saw it she said, "Well, as long as you like it..." It had a flat bed complete with a set of steel stock panels that weighed well over 1000 pounds. Grant accompanied me when I bought it and he rightfully questioned my choice. It was only when I painted the beast black and gold (and with Grant's help removed the stock panels) that he realized the true tailgating potential the old sow had in her. Many of you remember the numerous tailgate parties that were hosted by that antique beauty. After a guy did some work on my '57 Chevy Bel Air, I traded the truck to him in exchange for his services. As I delivered it to the drop point, the engine blew, and oil rained down from under the hood. I am sure she was mad that I was parting ways with her. I miss that truck.
The third tailgater is a 1976 Chevy 1- ton dually. The truck was red when I bought it at an auction during my unsuccessful stint as a used car dealer. The initial $1300 was a fair price. Too bad I spent another $1300 fixing the brakes (which later failed), electrical, suspension, etc. But my flat-black paint job gave it an air of toughness that parallelled that of the Football Tigers in their home uniforms. I limped the slipping tranny through most of the past football season, only to be sidelined by two flat tires on the morning of the last game. It has sat in my driveway ever since. It makes me sad. I won't miss that truck.
Facing the prospect of not having a tailgatin' truck for the coming football season, I inquired today about a mid 1960's Chevy that was for sale a while ago. It didn't sell and the owner has continued to drive it regularly. I left him a note expressing my interest in his vehicle. The truck is very original, has four wheel drive, a step side bed, and is begging for a black and gold paint job and an opportunity to prove itself as the next and hopefully best tailgating truck of them all. I hope that selling "Old '76" will help fund the purchase of this new prospect and ensure that the Naughtons and their damned old trucks will continue to host tailgating parties at Ol' Mizzou for years to come.
Wish me luck.
Send money.
And black spray paint.
I have owned three tailgaters so far and I have fond memories of each. The first was a red and white 1978 Chevy 4x4 that pulled a trailor with a Chevy Corsica on it from here to Muncie, Indiana after Bethany and I graduated. After pulling two tons for over 1000 miles, I checked the truck out. No oil registered on the dipstick. No coolant was visible in the radiator. A bird's nest completely blocked the air intake hose. This glorious machine pulled a car cross-country with no oil, water, or air. Wow. And it made the move back to Missouri and served admirably at a few tailgate parties before I foolishly traded it away for a Pontiac Sunturd convertable. I miss that truck.
The next beauty was a former hog-haulling 1966 Chevy 1-ton dually. When Bethany first saw it she said, "Well, as long as you like it..." It had a flat bed complete with a set of steel stock panels that weighed well over 1000 pounds. Grant accompanied me when I bought it and he rightfully questioned my choice. It was only when I painted the beast black and gold (and with Grant's help removed the stock panels) that he realized the true tailgating potential the old sow had in her. Many of you remember the numerous tailgate parties that were hosted by that antique beauty. After a guy did some work on my '57 Chevy Bel Air, I traded the truck to him in exchange for his services. As I delivered it to the drop point, the engine blew, and oil rained down from under the hood. I am sure she was mad that I was parting ways with her. I miss that truck.
The third tailgater is a 1976 Chevy 1- ton dually. The truck was red when I bought it at an auction during my unsuccessful stint as a used car dealer. The initial $1300 was a fair price. Too bad I spent another $1300 fixing the brakes (which later failed), electrical, suspension, etc. But my flat-black paint job gave it an air of toughness that parallelled that of the Football Tigers in their home uniforms. I limped the slipping tranny through most of the past football season, only to be sidelined by two flat tires on the morning of the last game. It has sat in my driveway ever since. It makes me sad. I won't miss that truck.
Facing the prospect of not having a tailgatin' truck for the coming football season, I inquired today about a mid 1960's Chevy that was for sale a while ago. It didn't sell and the owner has continued to drive it regularly. I left him a note expressing my interest in his vehicle. The truck is very original, has four wheel drive, a step side bed, and is begging for a black and gold paint job and an opportunity to prove itself as the next and hopefully best tailgating truck of them all. I hope that selling "Old '76" will help fund the purchase of this new prospect and ensure that the Naughtons and their damned old trucks will continue to host tailgating parties at Ol' Mizzou for years to come.
Wish me luck.
Send money.
And black spray paint.
Friday, August 11, 2006
Done with Disney
I have decided not to divulge every last detail about the last three days of the Disney trip. Suffice it to say that we went back to the Magic Kingdom for a second day, went to Epcot on Friday, and then drove 19 hours straight to get home. The drive was the most exciting part of those three days. Bethany "Mrs. Magoo" couldn't drive at night because her glasses were now a part of the Atlantic Ocean ecosystem. That forced me to drive from 8:00pm to 5:00 am. When I became delirious from sleep deprivation at about 2:00, Bethany took over for a short while. Within 15 seconds of her getting behind the wheel, Magoo (wearing her prescription sunglasses) nearly drove down a 30 foot earthen embankment instead of the on-ramp to the highway. Ater Jessica and I stopped crying, I got a little shut-eye. I was jolted from my slumber in East St. Louis when my dear wife began to freak out trying to read street signs while attemting re-entry into Missouri. I guided her to a place to pull over so that I could take over again. The gas station we pulled into was occupied by four police cars, one K-9 unit barking loudly, and several "cuffed and stuffed" suspects. We opted to get gas later. At 5:00 am, we finally arrived at home. I felt as though I had been in a 15 round heavyweight bout. I was sore, exhausted, and punch-drunk. Our Disney Odyssey had concluded. What a long, strange trip it had been.
I swore off driving vacations for a while. Bethany however, got a new pair of glasses and said, "Tennessee sure was pretty. I wouldn't mind going back there next year." Of course she was admiring the Volunteer State through sunglasses at night.
"That sounds nice, dear."
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Happy Anniversary, Baby
On Saturday, with a little help from friends and family, I hosted a surprise 10th anniversary party for Bethany. Despite a few close-calls, she never suspected a thing. After working Saturday, Bethany pulled into our driveway where 39 people were eagerly awaiting her arrival. (Most of you reading this now were probably there.) Her smile was so big and bright that it was clearly visible thru the tinted windows of her van. I am a joker sometimes (okay, a lot of the time), but all kidding aside, it was incredibly satisfying to see her that happy. The majority of our family and friends were able to attend, and we missed those who couldn't make it. Thank you to everyone who attended or sent along best wishes. You helped the luckiest husband alive make his wife the happiest woman alive.
Friday, August 04, 2006
Non-Disney Day
After being innundated with Disney propaganda for three straight days, we decided to take a day off from the House of Mouse and take in the local culture. Nothing says Florida like alligators, so off we went to "Gatorland". If my stupid computer would let me post pictures you could see Alex and Olivia sitting on the back of a real, live alligator. After a gator wrestling demonstration by the trained pros, kids were given their chance to tame the beasts with the help of a little duct tape (one million uses and counting.) We also saw plenty of birds, snakes, and crocodiles while we were there.
After the novelty wore off, we loaded up the vans and headed to Cocoa Beach. All Alex could talk about while at Gatorland was wanting to find shells in the ocean. Well, he found a ton of shells. He couldn't have cared less about the view, the dolphins swimming near us, or the water itself. He had shells, and he was happy. His mommy helped him find the discarded mollusk exoskeletons at the expense of her corrective eyewear. Moments after I reminded her to take her prescription sunglasses off before entering the water, she was blindsided by a wave as she was bent over combing the surf for treasures. She heeded my warning about removeing her shades (much to my surprise). However at some point she switched to her regular eyeglasses and promptly lost them in the great blue sea. We searched in vain for them for about 14 hours to no avail. Had she been wearing her shades instead of her clear (and nearly invisible while underwater) regular glasses, we probably would have found them. So you see, it was all my fault that they were lost. Had I just kept my mouth shut she would have been wearing the darker sunglasses which would have been easy to find in the shallow surf.
It had to be my fault. I am the husband. I would pay for my mistake days later during the 19 hour drive home. Details in a future posting...
After the novelty wore off, we loaded up the vans and headed to Cocoa Beach. All Alex could talk about while at Gatorland was wanting to find shells in the ocean. Well, he found a ton of shells. He couldn't have cared less about the view, the dolphins swimming near us, or the water itself. He had shells, and he was happy. His mommy helped him find the discarded mollusk exoskeletons at the expense of her corrective eyewear. Moments after I reminded her to take her prescription sunglasses off before entering the water, she was blindsided by a wave as she was bent over combing the surf for treasures. She heeded my warning about removeing her shades (much to my surprise). However at some point she switched to her regular eyeglasses and promptly lost them in the great blue sea. We searched in vain for them for about 14 hours to no avail. Had she been wearing her shades instead of her clear (and nearly invisible while underwater) regular glasses, we probably would have found them. So you see, it was all my fault that they were lost. Had I just kept my mouth shut she would have been wearing the darker sunglasses which would have been easy to find in the shallow surf.
It had to be my fault. I am the husband. I would pay for my mistake days later during the 19 hour drive home. Details in a future posting...
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Disney Day 5
With a clean pair of underwear and some new found confidence after having survived The Tower of Terror (and two days at Disney world with four kids under the age of 6), we made the first of two forays into The Magic Kingdom. For the first time since we arrived in Florida, it felt really hot. As we wandered about exploring the park, I became lightheaded and woozy. Exhaustion from the car ride and the 16 hours spent in the Happiest Place in the World added to my condition. Luckily we sat down to eat lunch at what appeared to be a pirate-themed restaurant near the Pirates of the Caribbean ride. The cuisine was decidedly un-pirate however. But the tacos and Diet Coke restored my health well enough.
After lunch we went on the Pirates ride which of course had no chance of living up to the hype that was created by the new movie. Captain Jack Sparrow was a novel addition to the crew of pirates in the ride and Alex seemed to enjoy it. After that, we walked past the Hannibal/Tom Sawyer attraction (it really is a "small world after all!") and headed toward the roller coasters. We got fast passes for the runaway train ride and headed over to a kiddie coaster to get ourselves ready for the good one. We waited in line for 20 minutes only to be on Goofy's Barnstormer for all of 15 seconds. It only fueled my new found lust for thrills and adreneline that the "am I going to die" rides provide.
Using our fastpasses, we slipped right up to the front of the line for the Runaway Train. Alex and I sat in the front row. We were both nervous and excited. Within seconds of the ride starting, Alex slid down in his seat so he wouldn't have to see what was coming. I explained to him that he had to sit up lest he slide under the restraint bar and out of the train. He complied and realized at once how much fun roller coasters can be. As we descended the biggest hill at top speed, Alex yelled at the top of his lungs, "I was born for this!!!" This time when he asked if he could do it again I said yes and he rode with Mommy a second time.
After six or seven hours, the Magic Kingdom began to lose some magic, so we headed home. It was decided that we would take a day off from Disney and then return to the Kingdom on Thursday to see everything we ran out of time and energy for. Wednesday would be our chance to "go native" while in Florida. We would be visiting Gatorland and Cocoa Beach. Let's just say, kids and alligators mix a lot better than ocean waves and eyeglasses...
After lunch we went on the Pirates ride which of course had no chance of living up to the hype that was created by the new movie. Captain Jack Sparrow was a novel addition to the crew of pirates in the ride and Alex seemed to enjoy it. After that, we walked past the Hannibal/Tom Sawyer attraction (it really is a "small world after all!") and headed toward the roller coasters. We got fast passes for the runaway train ride and headed over to a kiddie coaster to get ourselves ready for the good one. We waited in line for 20 minutes only to be on Goofy's Barnstormer for all of 15 seconds. It only fueled my new found lust for thrills and adreneline that the "am I going to die" rides provide.
Using our fastpasses, we slipped right up to the front of the line for the Runaway Train. Alex and I sat in the front row. We were both nervous and excited. Within seconds of the ride starting, Alex slid down in his seat so he wouldn't have to see what was coming. I explained to him that he had to sit up lest he slide under the restraint bar and out of the train. He complied and realized at once how much fun roller coasters can be. As we descended the biggest hill at top speed, Alex yelled at the top of his lungs, "I was born for this!!!" This time when he asked if he could do it again I said yes and he rode with Mommy a second time.
After six or seven hours, the Magic Kingdom began to lose some magic, so we headed home. It was decided that we would take a day off from Disney and then return to the Kingdom on Thursday to see everything we ran out of time and energy for. Wednesday would be our chance to "go native" while in Florida. We would be visiting Gatorland and Cocoa Beach. Let's just say, kids and alligators mix a lot better than ocean waves and eyeglasses...
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Disney Day 4
Our second day at Disney World and fourth day of vacation was spent at Disney/MGM Studios. Everyone remembered their tickets this time and a light rain kept us cool most of the day. We saw the Muppet Show in 3-D, took pictures with Sheriff Woody from "Toy Story" and toured The Haunted Mansion. Everything was going really well until I lost my mind and agreed to ride the "Tower of Terror!"
Those who know me are aware of my crippling fear of heights. Bethany had to clean our gutters this spring because in the 8 years we have lived in our house, I have never made it high enough on a ladder to complete the task myself. So agreeing to go on a ride with an advertised 13 story free-fall was one of the bravest things I have ever volunteered to do. The inspiration for this ride was derived from an old episode of the Twilight Zone in which a family meets their doom in the bottom of an elevator shaft in a creepy, old hotel. Heights and ghosts- great! 4 year old Morgan and 5 year old Alex were brave enough to not let the spooky setting deter them from their quest to ride, so I felt compelled to put on a brave face.
Shortly after entering the elevator, the lights went out. I could feel Alex squirming in his seat. I assured him that everything was fine. No one was reassuring me, however. We then moved to a floor where the doors opened up to reveal an image of the doomed family of ghosts. Everyone in the elevator became nervous. Then, the lights went out and we starting ascending rapidly. We paused just long enough to ponder what would happen next when we dropped like a bag of hammers. Screams pierced my eardrums as we plummeted to our demise. When we stopped, I realized that it was me, not Morgan, who was screaming like a little girl. Relieved to be alive, I relaxed the death grip I had on Alex's arm just before the elevator rocketed to the top of the building. I screamed bloody murder until we peaked at the top of the tower. For a split second we were weightless and elated to be alive. Just then, the doors opened in front of us to reveal a view from 130 feet above the park. It was both beautiful and terrifying. We were in that position long enough to realize just how high 130 feet is when all of the sudden we dropped again. I am fairly certain that I was crying. I prayed for the ride to stop. I told God that from now on I would be a good boy. I would do my homework every day. I would stop picking on my brother. I would stop picking my nose. I would stop hanging out with the bad kids. I would save myself for marriage. Anything- just make it stop! And it did stop. And I was so happy. My prayers had been answered! What a relief! I didn't die. It wasn't so bad. I guess I didn't need Divine intervention afterall. I didn't really mean any of that stuff I said anyway. I was just scared. God would understand. Then we dropped again. And stopped. And dropped again. And stopped. And then we went all the way to the top fast enough make my eye balls melt into the back of my skull. At the top the doors flew open again to reveal our mind-numbingly high altitude. "Mommy." And then we really dropped. 130 feet straight down. (We found out later that we were dropping at twice the rate of gravity due to Disney engineering!) As we neared rock bottom, so did my spirit. I decided to accept my fate that my life was now over. I would no longer fight it. As I prepared to be launched into the hereafter again and again I realized that we were finally stopped for good and that the rest of the people on the ride were leaving. Miraculously I had survived! Shaking like a Chihuahua in a Pit Bull's food bowl, I exited the compartment. I leaned over and asked Alex if he was alright.
"Let's do that again, Dad!"
Maybe some other lifetime, Son. Daddy needs a new pair of shorts.
Those who know me are aware of my crippling fear of heights. Bethany had to clean our gutters this spring because in the 8 years we have lived in our house, I have never made it high enough on a ladder to complete the task myself. So agreeing to go on a ride with an advertised 13 story free-fall was one of the bravest things I have ever volunteered to do. The inspiration for this ride was derived from an old episode of the Twilight Zone in which a family meets their doom in the bottom of an elevator shaft in a creepy, old hotel. Heights and ghosts- great! 4 year old Morgan and 5 year old Alex were brave enough to not let the spooky setting deter them from their quest to ride, so I felt compelled to put on a brave face.
Shortly after entering the elevator, the lights went out. I could feel Alex squirming in his seat. I assured him that everything was fine. No one was reassuring me, however. We then moved to a floor where the doors opened up to reveal an image of the doomed family of ghosts. Everyone in the elevator became nervous. Then, the lights went out and we starting ascending rapidly. We paused just long enough to ponder what would happen next when we dropped like a bag of hammers. Screams pierced my eardrums as we plummeted to our demise. When we stopped, I realized that it was me, not Morgan, who was screaming like a little girl. Relieved to be alive, I relaxed the death grip I had on Alex's arm just before the elevator rocketed to the top of the building. I screamed bloody murder until we peaked at the top of the tower. For a split second we were weightless and elated to be alive. Just then, the doors opened in front of us to reveal a view from 130 feet above the park. It was both beautiful and terrifying. We were in that position long enough to realize just how high 130 feet is when all of the sudden we dropped again. I am fairly certain that I was crying. I prayed for the ride to stop. I told God that from now on I would be a good boy. I would do my homework every day. I would stop picking on my brother. I would stop picking my nose. I would stop hanging out with the bad kids. I would save myself for marriage. Anything- just make it stop! And it did stop. And I was so happy. My prayers had been answered! What a relief! I didn't die. It wasn't so bad. I guess I didn't need Divine intervention afterall. I didn't really mean any of that stuff I said anyway. I was just scared. God would understand. Then we dropped again. And stopped. And dropped again. And stopped. And then we went all the way to the top fast enough make my eye balls melt into the back of my skull. At the top the doors flew open again to reveal our mind-numbingly high altitude. "Mommy." And then we really dropped. 130 feet straight down. (We found out later that we were dropping at twice the rate of gravity due to Disney engineering!) As we neared rock bottom, so did my spirit. I decided to accept my fate that my life was now over. I would no longer fight it. As I prepared to be launched into the hereafter again and again I realized that we were finally stopped for good and that the rest of the people on the ride were leaving. Miraculously I had survived! Shaking like a Chihuahua in a Pit Bull's food bowl, I exited the compartment. I leaned over and asked Alex if he was alright.
"Let's do that again, Dad!"
Maybe some other lifetime, Son. Daddy needs a new pair of shorts.
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