Thursday, May 17, 2007
I would like to officially announce the re-release of Last Call. A second edition of 25 pieces will be released June 18. Last Call stands 9 inches tall, cast in Resin, is fully hand painted and Fairly priced at $150.00 (trust me people I'm not making much profit) you can pre-order thru paypal starting may 22nd. e-mail xRedRoosterx@gmail.com for details
The Idea for this sculpture came to me on one of those countless nights of drinking at a fine cultural establishment in Hollywood known as The Frolic Room.
Last call in Los Angeles/ California, is 1:45am and alcohol is no longer sold past 2am. I think that's to damn early. The amount of Vodka it takes to drown out my worries, sorrows, and nightmares is too much to consume by 2 am. Shoot, it takes me 2 hrs of straight drinking to muster up the courage to talk to a pretty doll and 3 hrs to drown off the pain of her rejection. Their just ain't enough drinking time in LA.
It was 1 am this particular evening and I had dropped far to much money on alcohol. I was a little bummed, I didn't get as far as I would have like to with a girl whose face resembled 2 miles of bad road. I had bought her 23 dollars worth of drinks and all I got was a senseless conversation, about paper cuts and ball bearings, and a, "Thanks for the drinks (sucker)". I started to worry about my overdrawn bank account and how I was going to make ends meet again, being that payday was 2 more weeks away. I slouched over the wood laminate bar of the Frolic room and ordered another Vodka tonic. While I waited for my drink I gazed around the bar and looked for another girl who was more far gone than I. It was then that I directed my attention to this old limey looking English fellow sitting at the end of the bar, drunk off his ass, and mumbling some shit to himself. He was probably trying to figure out how he was going to slash all our throats. Nonetheless, I almost felt pity for the guy. Sitting there, with his dress shirt buttoned down and looking like he just crawled out of the sewer. Probably anguishing over bigger problems than I. Then I realized he was wearing a pretty nice suit, a nice watch, and shiny shoes. So I figured, he probably made more money than I did and that he could actually afford to get drunk, so my pity quickly faded. It was 1:42am when I took a quick glance around for any action left unnoticed. The security guard made his rounds around the bar picking up half empty bottles of beer, stray empty glasses and abandoned spirits. I then looked back at the old limey and found his face expressing what I was feeling inside and probably what most of us at that bar where feeling inside come 1:42am; the dreaded, fast approach of Last Call.