Jazz Bar

After much wheedling, I agreed to take some of my students to a "jazz bar". By some of them, I mean 8 promised to be there and only one showed up, the ringleader of this little shindig. Fortunately, she dragged along 2 of her friends as well. One of them couldn't speak a lick of English. My roommate deigned to meet us at the club as well, mostly because begged.

I took them to a place called the Cornelia Street Cafe, just off Bleecker Street in the West Village. I had been there for brunch before, but things looked a bit different by nightfall. I dragged them around a few block pretending I knew where I was going, until we hit Gay Street, right next to Stonewall.

The students found this quite hilarious. I should mention, by the by, that the majority of my students from this class are Korean, and found out about the school from their church, and evangelical Korean church, to be exact.

I chuckled nervously and led them on. We passed a sign for karaoke, and my student asked if we could go there later. I told them it probably wouldn't be a good idea without explaining the term "drag queen" to them.

The club, however, was surprisingly a blast. I didn't expect too much from it, but it ended up being a nice spot with decent drinks, and the music was good. Really good, in fact.

After the set, I led the students down to a restaurant that had some more music. I wasn't up to eating though, so I let them be. Turns out that venerable George Garzone, who had regaled us with tales of his learning sax from his Uncle in a pizza kitchen, had a similar idea. I haven't seen the pictures yet, but apparently he was mobbed by Koreans at that very same restaurant. What a coincidence.