The award show will be topped off with a contest to select your favorite Gold Manatee awarded yard for this glorious prize:
(I blame Craig for my addiction to Blingee)Now onto the show......
Favorite Commentary (Always the best part of the game)
Best Story in Loitering at the Local Watering Hole as told by redgirl (we miss you, hurry up and finish school!)
"Tra la tra la....oh! A smudge of dirt on my lily-white arm! I must wash that unsightly color off in that sweet little pond"(removes every stitch of clothing to check for other possible smudges) "Nature just feels so CLOSE out here"
Edwin the egg boy always had problems feeling like a man. His mother, Mrs. Brown was the omelet maker extraordinaire, and it fell to Edwin to bring her back the immense quantities of eggs she would need. Somehow, the fact that he had carried more eggs in the last 4 years than most women end up carrying in their life (if you know what I mean..*salacious wink*) made him feel less manly. He yearned to be a duck hunter, *mallards* in specific. He took a route home that Monday that cut through duck country and caught sight of something pale through the trees and bogs. Could it be a swan? Swans were tasty--so he had heard. He crept closer.
And there she was. The epitome of female loveliness. The robe in her lap perilously close to revealing that which he had only heard about but never seen. She was tra-la-ing to insects and small birds. Edwin had never seen anything so beautiful. He wanted to speak up; to say something...ANYthing. But the eggs were too heavy (connotatively speaking, they ranked up with the heavy metals on the period table) But she was too beautiful to leave...and the towel too low.
So he stayed.
And Mrs. Brown went out of business after failing to make the 107 deluxe omelets for a prominent banker's 58th birthday and he blacklisted her.
Mom L: He's not heavy, he's my other
Best string of consciousness in commentary:
For one brief shiny moment we had Specialguest98: A Whole New Can of Worms
Ahhhh! that still gets me
I suggest you pop over to the link and read the entire comment string. It will be worth your while."evidently as a newbie there is some history i need to catch up on -- the shell argument and the great rock controversy most notably. after doing my homework, i'll respond more fully to the larger issue at hand.
regarding "pebbles and bam-bam" ... that was what came to me when i was going about making my art: primitive, temporal and playful.
stream of consciousness: primitive children playing, a culture no longer existing, cartoons are playful, cartoons are temporal, the playful dedication as a gift to the wee people everywhere (little people in cherokee and native american legend, wee folk in celtic tradition, and where-ever else), primitive children playing and using the natural objects about them to create childhood toys, children everywhere using imagination and what's at-hand for their toys
maybe the anthropologists need to look at the "fun & playing" side of things more. what to our modern eyes might look scary or of an ancient religion, might really be just a bunch of tree branch shoots and moss that some kids gathered up because it was a fun thing to do at the tie ... this said quite tongue-in-cheek.
no deep meanings, it was just fun to do."
And The Higher Power submits an editorial:
"I believe the driving aspect of the Yard Art Game is often overlooked on this blog. It’s understandable as the at-home version translates much better to an online format but there’s nothing quite as satisfying as hitting a mega-load family of mis-matched deer and hearing Player 1’s whine of dismay. So I think it’s due time to give the driving game a little love, in return for all the joy it’s given me during road trips..." (and I still insist that I DO NOT WHINE) (more)
Tomorrow: Third Place - The Texan Titan