Remember Me Well

It was a night to celebrate the Day of the Dead. Gallery 5 was hosting an opening of their two week-long series of festivities to celebrate life after death, which was also an occasion to reflect on those no longer with us.

Co-sponsored by the Hispanic Chamber of Commerce, I arrived to a sea of new faces and, naturally, some very familiar ones. An extensive spread of Mexican food had been provided by Moe's Southwestern Grill in Mechanicsville (definitely outside my little city world) and I was happy to partake of a tasty array of corn salsa, black beans, chili con queso and any number of other nacho/taco/burrito accouterments. Faces were being stuffed.

All at once there was a note, next a voice and then members of the Latin Ballet, elaborately costumed, (bride, skeleton, warrior) began a slow descent from the upstairs gallery.

Their parade through the crowd culminated in a series of dances onstage, some to traditional-sounding Latin music and others to cha-cha and even that Cuban classic, "Babalu." Their slow and rhythmic movements were positively mesmerizing.

Spoken word poet Daniel Jose Custodio did a piece about cemeteries and his mother's life; his impassioned delivery silenced the crowd and got an ovation afterwards.

Upstairs, the new exhibit "Memento Mori" had the appropriate dark and death-influenced feel to it, some pieces striking for their gruesome nature and others only hinting at the life beyond. There were several video installations, as well as sculpture and two-dimensional works.

I heard one first-timer say to his date, "Are you going to interpret this for me?" She declined, but this is definitely a show where interpretation is in the eye of the beholder. Death becomes some more than others.

Best line of the evening came from musician Prabir, who stated as fact, "I'm good at stealing people's wives." Fact. When I raised an eyebrow to that comment, he smiled and said, "What? I am." A nearby stolen wife concurred, so I had no choice but to believe him.

One of my favorite couple dates was in attendance and afterwards suggested we transport ourselves over to Balliceaux for a cocktail. They're the ones with day jobs and early mornings, so if they were up for it, I certainly was, despite there being no music on tap tonight.

My friends took their time about ordering Moscow Mules and when bartender Austin finally looked at me for my order, I looked right back and asked if he thought I was going to order anything other than straight tequila on ice.

"No, if you came in again on a night without music and then ordered a cocktail, I'd be seriously worried." As in, "Who-are-you-and-what-have-you-done-with-Karen?" worried?

"Exactly," he laughed, handing me my non-cocktail.

When I'm dead, and gone, I have no doubt that what friends will lay on a community altar to remember me by (and deliver to the afterlife) will be my trademarks: tights and tequila. As my former boss was fond of saying, it is what it is.

In life or death, I'm okay with that.