Flickr Pro Account Giveaway

April 19, 2005

Flickr ChihuahuaSince I’ve never held a con­test of sorts I fig­ured now is the time, and not only that, I feel some­one will ben­e­fit from the prize. Who­ever wins this con­test will be rewarded with a 1-year Flickr Pro account cour­tesy of Ludi­corp Research & Devel­op­ment.

Con­test Rules

It’s pretty easy, all you have to do is leave a com­ment with your favorite mem­ory from child­hood. That’s it! I’m a nos­tal­gic kind of per­son and so are you, so this should be rel­a­tively easy.

On Fri­day, April 22nd at 5pm (EST) I will choose and announce a win­ner and that per­son will receive an email for a free 1-year Flickr Pro account. All sub­mis­sions (or com­ments in this case) will be accepted until 12am Thurs­day, at which point the con­test will be closed to remain fair to everyone.

Eli­gi­bil­ity

Only those with­out Flickr Pro accounts are eli­gi­ble. If you’re han­ker­ing to upgrade your free account to Pro now is your chance.

Good luck to everyone!

If you don’t win this time around I will be hold­ing a few con­tests through­out the year for more oppor­tu­ni­ties to win prizes, so keep your eyes peeled. 

15 comments

I remem­ber this one time at band camp.

by Gerry on April 19, 2005 at 8:42 am. #

Not a lot of com­pe­ti­tion. :) If it stays that way, I’ll get back here and give it a try, I’d love to have a Pro account. :)

by Manuzhai on April 19, 2005 at 11:22 am. #

I think I’d have to say one of my best mem­o­ries is when my dad real­ized that I was really inter­ested in draw­ing and thought i’d like to do it as job, he went out and got me a copy of ‘How To Draw Comics the Mar­vel Way’.

That one present made me feel like he was really accept­ing of what I thought I wanted to do and made me go at it that much harder.

by Stephen on April 19, 2005 at 12:47 pm. #

I remem­ber as a child see­ing a kid in Big Bear hav­ing to use the bath­room. Need­less to say, there wasn’t one around so he decided to go any­ways. To make a long story short, Im sure some where in big bear theres a brown stained shoe lay­ing among the trees.

HAHAHAHA.

by Matt (brother) on April 19, 2005 at 12:59 pm. #

Oh ya.. Ben and Jer­rys is giv­ing free ice cream cones away too.. Go here for more details:

http://www.benjerry.com/

Check it out!

by Matt (brother) on April 19, 2005 at 4:15 pm. #

We were just talk­ing about this tonight. My parent’s are up vis­it­ing us, stay­ing in their RV at a near-by camp­ground and my mom made hot dogs tonight, had chili to go with it of course.

Reminded me of one vaca­tion we took. Went to a lit­tle town in Arkansas, Eureka Springs, and we were eat­ing lunch at a café on the main walk. I was a strange eater at that age and I wanted a chili bun. Not a chili DOG, mind you, a BUN. We had to explain to the waiter and the cook what one was.

You’d think a piece of bread with chili and cheese on it would be a pretty sim­ple order.

by Kenneth on April 19, 2005 at 11:04 pm. #

hit­ting a home run in a lit­tle league world series base­ball game when i was 12.

by kris on April 20, 2005 at 1:05 am. #

My favorite mem­ory could have been an eas­ily for­get­table one. I climed my back­yard tree as high as I could go, past my nor­mal fear point, until I was about 40 feet up and could see the entire neighborhood.

I remem­ber telling myself to never for­get this feel­ing, and when I got old (I thought 18 was old) I needed to go back and climb that tree again to remem­ber how good it felt.

by Bryan Peters on April 20, 2005 at 10:03 am. #

My favourite mem­ory was when I umm.. uhhhh.… I can’t remem­ber. I’m still a kid. Goog goo ga ga. :)

by Indranil on April 20, 2005 at 12:54 pm. #

Funny how easy it is to for­get about happy moments that seem to be a life­time away…even though I am only 23 today… I say only 23 because I just realised that I must be cre­at­ing mem­o­ries right now that I could nar­rate in a sim­i­lar con­test about my favorite mem­ory from my youth another 23 years from now…so the 23 seems like a rather small num­ber when put in this con­text even if it felt like “way too old” just a few moments ago…

Mov­ing on to my favorite mem­ory… I remem­ber when I was about 2 or 3 years old I used to love play­ing with my grandfather…I remem­ber sit­ting on his shoul­ders and pulling his hair when he used to watch the News nag­ging him to play house with me…I remem­ber hold­ing onto his fin­ger and walking…i remem­ber he held a pic­nic bas­ket in one hand…we walked a very long way through a lush green and over­grown path to a struc­ture that seemed to look like a cas­tle sit­u­ated on top of a hill sur­rounded by a forest…

it is most prob­a­bly just an old with­ered tower in the mid­dle of a reserve park which is cer­tainly not as high as I had imag­ined then or as far… but I dare not visit that place again…my grand­fa­ther passed away when I was about 9 and I want to hold on to the magic, the dreami­ness of those beau­ti­ful moments that I spent with him in that enchat­ing place which is etched in my mem­ory forever…

by henna on April 20, 2005 at 1:47 pm. #

My par­ents divorced when I was pretty young and my father moved to the far north­ern part of Michi­gan (I grew up in the Metro Detroit area). From around 712 years old I would visit my father for a few weeks or month dur­ing the sum­mer. He moved around a lot and every sum­mer it was a new place. The only thing they had in com­mon was the rural atmosphere.

Barns, ponds, and woods made up the back­drop of these sum­mers. The funny thing is it isn’t the mem­ory of my father that I remem­ber. The truth is that he spent very lit­tle time with me while I vis­ited. What I enjoyed was the free­dom that my father’s lack of inter­est afforded me. That com­bined with the end­less pos­si­bil­i­ties of explo­ration is what I remem­ber most from my sum­mers as a child. Explor­ing an old dilap­i­dated barn, shoot­ing out the win­dows of an aban­doned car with my bb gun. I wan­dered around aim­lessly and nobody ques­tioned it.

I guess that’s what some peo­ple do when they grad­u­ate from high school and spend a year abroad. I used to think I had a crappy dad. I didn’t real­ize then that his lack of par­ent­ing skills allowed me to sat­isfy my wan­der­lust at an ear­lier age than most.

by N8 G on April 20, 2005 at 2:32 pm. #

It should be who — not whom:

Whomever wins this con­test will be rewarded with a 1-year Flickr Pro account cour­tesy of Ludi­corp Research & Development.”

by Yoko on April 20, 2005 at 9:18 pm. #

When I was quite small, small enough to be car­ried on my father’s shoul­ders in a crowd of peo­ple, he took me to an Oak­land A’s game. We went to other A’s games, cer­tainly after this one and maybe before also, but this one is the only one I remem­ber in par­tic­u­lar. One of the A’s made a spec­tac­u­lar catch dur­ing this game but I was too young to rec­og­nize a spec­tac­u­lar catch when I saw one, and I only knew it was spec­tac­u­lar by my dad’s reac­tion to it. I guess I wanted to share in what my dad was hav­ing, and to show him how much I shared it, because I became excited at the spec­tac­u­lar­ness of the catch and exclaimed that the A’s should be given a point for that, it was so great. My dad thought this was hilar­i­ous, and explained to me that you only get points for cross­ing home base, but I already knew that, and I told him I already knew that, and explained that the catch was just THAT good. They should just give him a point any­way. They should change the game and give him a point because that was such a great catch.

The A’s won the game even with­out my spe­cial point, and my dad car­ried me on his shoul­ders out of the ball­park, for a while chant­ing along with a large crowed “We Won the Game, We Won the Game.” I was sur­prised that it was us who had won, and not just the A’s (THAT was a part of base­ball I did NOT know), but went along with it anyway.

My dad died a few years after that and I don’t fol­low base­ball at all any­more, but once in a while I’ll still go to an A’s game, and when­ever I over­hear some­where that the A’s won, I still think, Great, We Won!

–Rob­bie

by Robert Pollack on April 21, 2005 at 3:00 am. #

We had lived through some tur­bu­lent times by the time I was nine. A lot of moves, two bad health scares for my dad, a mis­car­riage, a hor­rific gun acci­dent at our neigh­bours’ house a few months before. So when my dad landed a job with the fed­eral gov­ern­ment — one that would see us move a few hun­dred miles away — it must have seemed to my par­ents like a chance for a new start. They’d shielded us kids from the worst of it, but look­ing back, I think we must have sensed a lit­tle of the tension.

It was our last night in our lit­tle town. Our pos­ses­sions were in a mov­ing van some­where between this house and our new home — one that hadn’t been built yet. It could have been a ter­ri­fy­ing, uncer­tain time.

Instead, my par­ents made an adven­ture of it. That night, we piled onto a big foam mat­tress in what had been my bed­room. A big bowl of pop­corn appeared… and so did a brand. New. Colour television.

This was 1973. Most of the peo­ple we knew still had black and white. Our much wealth­ier neigh­bours had one of the only colour TVs I’d ever seen. I can still remem­ber press­ing my face to the screen, see­ing those red, green and blue dots and real­iz­ing… this is what makes pic­tures.

Now I was look­ing at those same dots on our very own tele­vi­sion. I can’t remem­ber what we watched that night. I do remem­ber the excite­ment, and yet also a pro­found feel­ing of peace, safety and close­ness to my mom and dad, and to my broth­ers and sis­ter. Not because of a new tele­vi­sion, but because they could cre­ate an oasis of peace and won­der in the midst of chaos.

The next morn­ing, we left that lit­tle town and drove off to our future. The trip was night­mar­ish — the car engine over­heated con­stantly, we were all car­sick, and we arrived many hours later than expected. It was weeks before we actu­ally moved in to our new house. But it really was the end of the con­stant mov­ing, and the start of a new, bet­ter life for our family.

My par­ents had pulled it off. And we caught our first glimpse of that new life in my old bed­room, lit by the glow of our first colour television.

by Rob Cottingham on April 21, 2005 at 11:50 pm. #

[…] If you want a pro account, check out Erik’s con­test and try to win won. […]

by 2005 April on TheUberGeeks.net on September 28, 2005 at 6:39 am. #