This is the "yard art" my sister put up for the holidays that made me (once again) wonder if I was adopted.Don't get me wrong; I'm not the Queen of Class or anything. I love a good hoedown, pig roast, or flea market. My plates are Fiesta Ware, not Fine China. My dining table is a formica number from the 50s. I have a snowglobe collection. I had an Elvis clock before I broke it in 2001 in a fit of pique. I'm not opposed to front-yard flamingos (as long as one doesn't leave them up for 20-odd years, put little seasonal outfits on them, and refer to them as "the Altman children"). I even own a pair of cutoffs.
For the holidays, I love a bit of kitsch. Lots of outdoor lights, a few reindeer, even a wonderland critter or an Away in a Manger yard tableau. I personally own a festive pink aluminum tree that I decorate with mirrored disco balls and proudly display in my bay window. But I do think one must draw the line somewhere, and I think Santa on a motorcycle with Frosty in the sidecar slightly crosses the line. In case the photo doesn't do it justice, it is HUGE. Taller than I am. Taller than my sister's husband. And it's hooked up to some kind of air filter thingy that makes it MOVE, you know, like Santa is revving the engine. The neighborhood children are terrified, but it could be worse. At least it isn't a 12-foot Jesus high-fiving Santa inside of a snowglobe on their front lawn.
I'm totally getting them a leg lamp for their front window for Christmas this year.