The Last Peep Post

So, I've ridden my Fifteen Minute Peep Fame Pony into the dust. That pony is TIRED, man, TIRED. Limping on three legs. Whinnying for water. Horseshoes loosing from their bolts. Mane in a mangle. (And with that, the analogy itself dies the same tired death.)



















Anyway, Saturday was Peepsomatic at Artomatic, a 10-story exhibit of DC artists' work. I started off the day by teaching 40 surprisingly well-behaved kids how to make a Peep diorama. My favorite kid made a diorama involving a guillotine and, um, a hangman's noose. He did it in red and white and black--like a deck of cards in design. It was really quite creative. I think he would have respected the fact that my diorama, too, was a little, well, dark. One family wrote on their blog about the experience. There's even a slide show. Here's what the public had to say: "The workshop was fabulous everyone had such a good time and all volunteers were so nice and helpful. I would definitely go to more kids workshops at artomatic." Awesome.

That evening was the party for Peeps artists. This is where I learned of the sincerity and talent of my co-competitors. You wouldn't believe how carefully crafted these things were. My friend Stacy suggested I sit by mine and sign autographs but a) mine wasn't exactly a Big Ticket Item. It wasn't generating a lot of audience ooh and aahs when sitting there in the sugary flesh being compared to stuff like Full Metal Peeps and Peepadeaus; and b) I wasn't about to sit there and do it by myself.


After an hour, I'd had about my fill of Peeps and Peeps tattoos and pizza (Peepza?) and art and dioramas and children and my little high heeled shoes which, after a day on my feet, were killing me. I was ready to leave. While I was taking a last look at the Nightmare in Peeps and planning my launch into my Happy Bunny Jammies, I heard a whistle. A distinctive whistle. The whistle my dad has used, for 40 some years, to call kids when we've strayed too far from the Family Farm.


"That's odd," I thought.


Really odd, actually.


So, I turned and looked around. And there, walking toward me, like that first scene in Reservoir Dogs, were my brothers Jim and Mikie and my brother's girfriend, Lissa.

Yes. My brother Mikie flew in from Buffalo. For me. For the gosh darned Peeps. The weekend before his big event for his REAL art-- the Artie awards in Buffalo--he flew to Washington, D.C., to go to Peepsomatic.

That's love, my friends.


True love.


And a fine end (yes, END) to the Peeps.


Until next year's contest at least.