"We didn't mind his drinking and checking out the ladies," said a Galeria 409 patron. "But we drew the line at him singing Hank Williams. We had to escort him out the door."By Juan Montoya
First things first.
Last night, I attended the "Noche de Pena" shindig at Galeria 409.
While I was there, I ran into a lot of friends, including Laura and Adrian Foncerrada (la Mision), and other literary personages. We joshed it up remembering old friends and times. Did you know that La Mision was the name of a cafe/restaurant the Foncerradas opened in Southmost when they first got here? Adrian's Dad was also present and we spoke for a bit.
I was loud and jocular after three (or four?) glasses of vino tinto, a delightful concoction (two grapes, gently bruised) which the gracious (and vivacious) hostess filled to the brim. I had learned of the event through a friend (which shall remain unnamed for his safety), and after having watched the Cincinnati Bengals stage an unbelievable comeback against the Pittsburgh Steelers at the Palm Lounge, ambled over to the Sportsman Lounge to take in the soccer game between America and Atlante.
Can you believe that beers at the above-mentioned establishments still cost only $1.50? When you're short on coin, or haven't a farthing (as city spokesman Bill Young likes to tell people who want to borrow cash), you can't beat the deal with a stick.
After the American 1-0 win over the hapless Atlanteans, I was headed for another part of town when I called my friend to inquire of his whereabouts. He was with family and suggested I check out the wine and the music at said Galeria. Being only two blocks removed from there, I walked over and entered the restored building.
The owners have done a marvelous job on the old building. The original brick remains and the wooden floors and high ceilings convey a look of antiquity that serve the gallery/performance salon well.
The performances hadn’t started, which gave me an opportunity to mix and rub elbows with other visitors and assorted dignitaries. The owner (manager?) was friendly and Adrian introduced me to him. It's all a haze, but if I remember correctly, he has a pet dog with some type of issues, although it was hard to tell exactly what. Maybe it was just old age. Nonetheless, it was passive and non-aggressive. I, for one, am not overly friendly with strange dogs, or for that matter, horses. We keep a respectable distance from each other.
The salon was full as a group called “Long Time Coming” launched into what can only be described as sanitized country or folk, with Grateful Dead tunes and guitar duets. I am partial to hillbilly and bluegrass and the tunes were infectious so that (after four glasses – OK maybe it was five – of vino tinto) I was chumming it up with the hostess and singing Hank Williams songs by the entrance (and the wine).
“Why don't you love me like you used to do? What makes you treat me like a worn out shoe? My hair's still curly and my eyes are still blue. Why don't you love me like you used to do? Ain’t had no loving like a kissin’ and a huggin’ in a long, long while. You don’t get near’r of fur’r than a country mile…”
Well, you get the drift.
We were having a great old time until I moved my glass over to the lady who was about to pour me another (would that have made six?) and the owner (manager?) sauntered over and put an end to my bacchanal. The modern day Circe behind the table withdrew the cup, but alas, it was too late. The wine had had its effect and even Ulysses couldn’t prevent the conversion. I had become a pig.
Anyway, I do believe an apology is in order to the owner (manager), and to the Foncerradas. It really is a nice joint they have there. Next time they have an event, don’t miss it. But stay away from the vino tinto. Oink.
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