Wednesday Night A Go Go

The Rapper we call Scott D at the Whisky

Here's a shocker.  The SJG has never been to the famous Whisky on the Sunset Strip.  Not once have I set foot into the grungy mecca of rock n' roll.  Not till last night, when I submitted to an airport-style pat down  -- "Oh, that tickles!" -- and a search for weaponry -- I was packing an inhaler and lip gloss.  The bouncer let me in anyway.  I was there to see a young man I gave birth to, many years a go go.  When he popped out, I don't recall the OB saying, "He's a 10 on the Apgar chart for rapping."  But that's where I'm at these days.  At the Whisky on a Wednesday night, with hubby, and the eldest and his roomie, and Tim, my brother's longtime beau, cheering on Scott D.  John was stuck on a set somewhere, texting his dismay that he couldn't make it in time.  But he was there in spirit.  The performance was a thrill and a half.  A bounty of kvelling. "Look at him up there on stage, doing his thing."  Scott D at the mic, backed by his good buddy Charlie Fenning and his jazz band.  The musicians and the rapper, they all  kicked ass, fo sheezy.  And now it's on to the next gig:  A new college.  A better place to shine.