Tonight was a CD/DVD release party for a jazz duet—guitar and voice. It was an earlier starting time and The Doorman was there to provide a stately appearance. The duet had an entourage of friends who collected the door, sold their CDs, and watched over a table filled with snacks. My professional presence was helpful. At one point, the lady collecting the cover sighed, “I’ve mentioned it twice but that guy has ignored paying.” I said, “I AM The Doorman, I shall take care of it, m’am.” I caught up with the scoundrel at the food table and said: “Excuse me sir, there’s a five dollar cover which goes directly to the musicians who provided you with the complimentary food you’re eating.” I returned with his fiver in time to welcome an older relative of the club’s owner. The oldster and her crew didn’t last very long, leaving after a 45-minute visit. As she was leaving, I joked, “Excuse me young lady are YOU old enough to be in this establishment?” She snapped back, “I am 94 and can go anywhere I want!” The guitarist pulled out a custom guitar of his design. It was a three-fret contraption—mandolin on top, guitar, and bass on the bottom. The guitarist played it expertly and there were only moments when a third human arm could have come in handy. Between each of their sets, we were treated to a jazz harpist. We’re not talking harmonica harp but rather a full size welcome-to-heaven harp. The harpist hobbled on stage with crutches, since she’s recovering from a broken leg. She played beautifully and it was only later I learned that she had modified her play list because there are certain songs requiring the foot at the end of her cast leg to depress a foot pedal. Interesting night corralling the scamp, the feisty nonagenarian, the Dr. Seuss style guitar, and the broken-leg jazz harpist.