Who AM I? I don’t know anymore. Ann of San Diego never, NEVER, listened to jazz. Ann of San Diego had never, ever, been to a dance club. But, Ann of Sao Paulo has been to Bourbon Street Jazz Club and has also danced the night away at the History dance club. Who IS this woman?

The night at Bourbon Street was actually very entertaining (as you can see from my smile above).

One Friday night, we went to hear a cover band of the Beatles and the Stones. At least that was the plan. I was actually looking forward to it.

We arrived at about 9:30 and were among the first to enter the venue, with one of our friends from the Consulate. We spent the next two and half hours chatting, drinking, and listening to a live jazz band.

Tom says he watched my face to see my reaction when the saxophone started playing, but I didn’t react. (Turns out, I’d tuned out the sax…self preservation.) I thoroughly enjoyed myself and was ready for the headliner when our friend declared herself exhausted and ready to head home (midnight). So we left. Next time, I’ll make her stay. She admitted on the way home that she knew the Best of the Beatles but didn’t know any of the Stones music. (Either she is very young or…) It is now our mission to introduce her to all of the Beatles music and to the Stones.

Last night saw us getting our groove on at the History dance club. We’d been told they played music “from the 40s, 50s, and 60s.” Cool. We were up for that! Only, it wasn’t quite as advertized. It was DISCO! Really, the 40s?

But we happily stood in line with the 20- and 30-somethings, waded through the pulsating, gyrating crowds, and claimed our (pre-paid) table. I was especially impressed with the bouncers, who wore dark suits, fedoras, and sunglasses (at midnight).

For the next couple of hours, we drank Johnny Walker Red Label and danced in place while watching video of Soul Train and long-forgotten music videos. My personal favorite was Gloria Gaynor singing “You’re Just Too Good to Be True,” with her two white, male backup dancers, clad in black jeans and leather vests, sans shirts, and sporting enormous 80s mustaches. Good God. My sides ached from laughing. The piece de resistance was when the video switched to Charo bumping and grinding. “Cootchey-cootchey-koo!”

So, you see why I’m not exactly sure who I am anymore. Jazz club, dance club…what’s next? Stay tuned. Rumor has it that we might try a samba school (begins at midnight and goes until 6 am).