"Sweet" Sue Terry: BLOG THAT ATE BKLYN

Going to Ecuador tomorrow, kids. Don't call me. Don't e mail me. If you think about me, think in Spanish.

I will try to Twitter (are you signed up to follow me? Go to www.twitter.com/SueTerry).

If you're within reach of the Poconos, show up at the Deer Head Inn on May 8, where "Battle of the Saxes--Or The Sexes?" will take place featuring myself with the great alto player Nelson Hill. Our stellar rhythm section will be Jesse Green, Evan Gregor and Bill Goodwin.

I had a gig with Scot at the Lincoln Center Barnes & Noble today. Took the subway for the first time in weeks. There's a new ad down there, put out by one of the organizations that is protesting fare hikes. The headline is: "At $103 a month, you'd expect they'd have a sauna, a pool and Pilates classes down there."

Well, I hate to ruin a great ad campaign for a worthy cause, but whoever came up with this one obviously hasn't ridden the subway for quite a while.

The fact is, that the MTA does indeed sport saunas on its platforms. They are seasonal, and run from June through August and sometimes into September. Moreover, the price is included in your subway fare!

As far as a pool, why, just head down to the tracks during any downpour--you will find an intricately-designed system of wading pools for your tired, aching feet. The only drawback is that you will have to share them with the rats.

It is true that there are no Pilates classes in the subway, however you will find a wide variety of aerobic activities, including Stairmasters (these are the original, manual style); Yoga and stretching classes (especially during rush hour); and plenty of puzzles and games (particularly when navigating the Times Square station) that will surely keep you occupied.

Now that you mention it, why not cancel that gym membership--it's SO redundant.

Call me ignorant--(go ahead, make my day) but I learned something today.

I know that George Sand was a woman, and Evelyn Waugh was a man.

I know that Charles & Ray Eames were not brothers, but husband and wife. (Ray was Mrs. Eames.)

But I did not know that Flannery O'Connor was a woman!

According to Wikipedia, O'Connor's passion was ornithology, though not in the key of G. She once said: "When I was six I had a chicken that walked backward and was in the Pathe News. I was in it too with the chicken. I was just there to assist the chicken but it was the high point in my life. Everything since has been anticlimax.”

I kinda felt the same way after teaching myself how to whistle with my hands. It took me hours of practicing on the bus after school. To my ten-year-old self, It felt really good to have accomplished such a difficult, completely unmarketable skill.

It will be fun to add another smart ass chick to my literary stockpile, besides Dorothy Parker. I can't wait to read O'Connor, too bad I have zero time right now. I'd probably have more time if I didn't spend it writing free blogs for my readers who, though wonderful people I'm sure, rarely buy any of my recordings to show their support of, well, of me. (Do I know how to lay a guilt trip, or what? Thanks, Mom.)

http://www.cdbaby.com/all/qinote

Being a girl, I tend to blame myself. Maybe there's something wrong with my location, location, location. Or locution. Or locomotion. Or maybe I'm just plain loco.

You can read more about Ms. O'Connor here:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Flannery_O'Connor

Travis was a chimpanzee who basically lived life as a human being: feeding, bathing & dressing himself, surfing cable channels and quaffing down a glass of wine with his steak dinner. He lived with a widow named Sandra Herold, who said the chimp "couldn't have been more my son than if I gave birth to him." http://tinyurl.com/cc4hno [check out the hilarious illustration by Peter Arkle--note the bottle of Nair behind the Neanderthal's chair!]

One day, Travis became highly agitated for no apparent reason. Mrs. Herold made him a cup of tea laced with Xanax to calm him down, but it only made him worse. When a friend came over to help, Travis severely mauled him. The police came and shot Travis dead.

The pundits started saying: Chimps are wild animals. They are dangerous and shouldn't live with humans.

Like humans don't ever go berserk?

It's now thought that Travis might have had an illness, and that the Xanax induced a psychotic state (as it can do to humans as well.)

Goodness knows there are all manner of emotionally-based or illness-based reasons for aggression and even temporary insanity, in any animal species including homo sapiens. Why, not long ago, my car mechanic was practically taken away in a straight jacket when a virus he had contracted made its way into his brain.

He's fine now. Still overcharging.

In a perfect world, maybe Travis could have gotten the benefit of the doubt. But if this world is about anything, it's The Luck of the Draw.

Sorry, Travis--you drew the Chimp Card.

Some interesting articles in the Sunday Times "Week in Review" section. John Markoff writes about the New Internet (http://tinyurl.com/agsyba): "The Internet's original designers never foresaw that the academic and military research network they created would one day bear the burden of carrying all the world's communications and commerce . . . little attention was given to security."

Markoff suggests that a re-designed Internet would require its users to prove their identity, rather than surf anonymously as we do now. So, just as one needs a passport to cross international borders, similar indemnity will be required to travel through cyber space. And if you are a web addict, as many of us now are, then you will go for it. But let us note that as long as individuals have control over anything, there will always be crime. Crime cannot be erased until every individual freedom is revoked. And who will be doing the revoking, I wonder. Surely that task will fall to our Big Brother, 'cause he's so good at it.

Lest anyone wonder where all these security measures are heading--in the inexorable march toward a compulsory national (and eventually global) identity chip implementation program, that's where I get off the bus.

Don't be dismayed. Even Pandora's Box carried a tiny creature called Hope. In Thomas L. Friedman's article on the Opinion page (http://tinyurl.com/bug9es) he describes a recent tour of India undertaken by two young ladies in a partial-electric car with a solar roof. Driving down Panchsheel Marg, they point out the roof of the U.S. Embassy (covered with surveillance equipment), and that of the Chinese Embassy, covered with solar hot water heaters. Their tour became a consciousness-raising "climate caravan" complete with dancers, art, and a band with solar-powered amplifiers.

If the U.S. keeps tanking, I think I'll open a chain of American restaurants in China. Americans won't be able to afford to live here anymore, and there will be mass emigration. So there won't be any shortage of Americans to work in my restaurants, cheap. As far as benefits, they don't have health care here, so they certainly won't expect it there--another savings for management!

Following the current model of user-generated content ("screw the Writers Guild, we'll program more reality shows!") I'm now accepting menu suggestions. Forward your resume to me while you're at it--I'm looking for a Head Dishwasher.

I am very saddened to find out that my friend and colleague Gerry Niewood was on the plane that crashed in Buffalo. He was on his way to a gig with Chuck Mangione.

Gerry was a beautiful cat and a great player. He was a true gentle-man. I was always glad to be in a saxophone section with Gerry, whether a gig or a rehearsal. We played together most recently last year at a Lynn Welshman rehearsal at Local 802.

Gerry had many friends. I'm really feeling for his son Adam, also a fine saxophonist and friend of mine.

Since I'm right near St. Petersburg, Florida, an essential stop will be the Salvador Dali Museum. I've been there before but am really looking forward to visiting again.

Watch this very funny episode from the 50's TV show "What's My Line":
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iXT2E9Ccc8A

Being that I've been attending a lot of jam sessions lately, I thought I would give the younger players a crash course on how to make a good impression on your colleagues, as well as the audience.

Rule Number 1:
Don't play too long. As Art Blakey said to me once (after I played 3 choruses on Stella instead of 2, which would have been proper), "Don't play too long, or people will be applauding 'cause you're through!"

Rule Number 2:
If you don't know the tune that is called, and you don't hear the changes--don't sit in, sit out.

Rule Number 3:
Respect the style of the session. If the cats are playing tunes & bebop, don't come in squeaking and squawking with your avant-garde, conceptual vibe, ending in the middle of the chorus because you don't know the form. Don't go into a Jazz session and call "Funky Chicken." Don't go into a blues session and call "Giant Steps." Etc.

Rule Number 4:
Horn players--the rhythm section is not your personal Jamie Aebersold record. Try out all your licks in retrograde inversion at home. We're trying to make some music here.

Rule Number 5:
Buy something to drink. Support the place that's hosting the session, especially if the only people in the audience are the musicians.

Follow these simple guidelines, and your jam session experience will be greatly enhanced, guaranteed! See you at the session. Seven Steps to Heaven in 7, anyone?

My dear friend trumpeter/composer Tom Goehring was playing last weekend at the Deer Head, so I went. No sooner had I sat down than I was invited up to play, and with the cast that was onstage, I did not hesitate!

Tom on trumpet, Vic Juris on guitar, Gene Perla on bass, Michael Stephans on drums. I played the rest of the night with them. At one point we were playing either What is This Thing Called Love or Confirmation, I forget which, and I ended my solo with some figure.

I stood offstage with Tom and listened as Vic began his solo. He took my ending lick and repeated and elaborated on it. "He liked my lick!" I said to Tom. "Yeah," he replied, "how does it feel to have a friggin' genius take your lick and make a whole chorus out of it!"

As the juggernaut of change (spare change, small change, loose change, every kind of change!) rolls toward us, some of us are adapting and others are gittin' fightin' mad.

Well, you can't stop a juggernaut, I always say. It's like that song: She'll be comin' 'round the mountain when she comes!

I'm planning a trip to Ecuador in the spring, where I'll meet with some like-minded individuals and hopefully learn some more about the so-called "new paradigm."

I saw that Dr. Brian O'Leary, the scientist and former astronaut, is currently living in Ecuador. Maybe I'll visit him too. In any case, my preliminary research uncovered a 1997 interview with him from New Frontier Magazine:
http://tinyurl.com/bjrsmd

In this interview, O'Leary discusses everything from crop circles to the sources of "free" energy that may be powering our machines in the fairly near future. Check it out!

As a youngster in the idealistic and turbulent 60's, I subscribed to the Weekly Reader. My mom paid.

Growing up in the Watergate 70's, I subscribed to Mad Magazine. My mom paid.

Coming of age in the 80's, an era that wanted to be the 60's but was too square, I subscribed to the Utne Reader with my own hard-earned cash.

Rebutting the excesses of the 80's were the postmodern and health-clubbed 90's, during which I subscribed to Wired.

And here we are in the 00's, seemingly quite far away from the Age of Aquarius, so I subscribe to American Rifleman.

After the second toilet stopped flushing, we knew it was a job for . . .

SUPER PLUMBER!

With shaking finger we perused the Brooklyn Yellow Book, searching desperately for help.

Seduced by a full-page ad promising quick rescue, and featuring a photo of a gleaming truck, we dialed the number.

Help would be on the way within the hour, we were promised. Gil went to use the bathroom at Dunkin Donuts. I manned the fort, mop and towels at the ready.

After an hour we got the call: "Where do you live again?"

Help was on the way.

I answered the door, expecting Super Plumber with--if not a cape--then holstered plunger, pipe wrench and superhero plumber aplomb.

I got two oafs in a white van who didn't wipe their feet when they came in.

Yes, perhaps it was naive of me, after reading the ad that boasted of conquests over sewer lines, leaky pipes, obstreperous boilers and Aegean Stables maintenance, to believe in chivalrous sewer saviors in shiny trucks--but I can dream, can't I?

And--gosh darn it--they did fix it.

As Nelson Hill said to me yesterday:

What's the difference between the Easter Bunny and a good reed?

Answer: The Easter Bunny might actually exist.

Yes, I am now an iPod convert, after having trashed the iPod both verbally and in print for many years.

And now that I am a devotee, I have acquired a bit of knowledge as to the care and feeding of this inorganic pet.

Recent problem: The "hold" switch was not working. This is a drag because the device needs only a light touch to turn on, so if something touches it while it is stored it may turn on and deplete the battery.

Solution: Reset the iPod. (This will not erase any files or settings.) Do this by powering on the device with the hold switch off, then pressing "Menu" and the middle "select" button simultaneously until you see the Apple logo appear.

The Apple logo will appear as a gigantic luminous holographic haze, taking up most of your field of vision. . .

OOPS no that was a dream I had last night--

Correction, the Apple logo will appear on the screen of the device.

Your iPod is now reset. There is one more thing you need to do: when powering off the device, wait ten seconds before putting the hold switch on.

The hold switch should now work.

The testing device was an iPod 8GB Nano. The old square one, not the new one.

If resetting your device does not solve your problem, you may have to return it to Apple for repair. I understand the turnaround time is short. In the meantime I guess you'll have to amuse yourself by playing with the ringtones on your cell.

Tra la la!

I've written on the Zeitgeist before, but I wanted to share with my readers this movie of the same name:
http://tinyurl.com/2aleau

A lot of you have seen the 9-11 films, the Federal Reserve films, and so forth. The Zeitgest Movie (I can't wait to watch the sequel--also free!) ties it all together.

The ending really kills me--The Chip. Scroll down to my blog entry for 1/8/06 to read my mention on The Chip from two years ago.

I try to say things in a funny way because I think it's more effective, or maybe it's just my style.

The Zeitgeist Movie is not funny. But you should see it. It starts off slowly; give it a few minutes & you'll be riveted like I was.

Last night was Pamela's annual Christmas party, and the usual suspects were there: me, Gil, James, Rick, Ulli, Fran, Nina, Paul, Andy, Meredith, Raheb, Alan, Robin, Halpern, Paula, plus lots more.

I started talking to this woman named Anice, and in the context of something, I forget what, she mentioned Terence McKenna. I said, "You knew Terence McKenna?" She said yes, she was his neighbor in CA, and she collaborated on a project with him also.

I said, my dear, let's go over to the couch and have a nice long chat! And we did.

Look him up on YouTube, or on the Internet. Interestingly, I just found his daughter's site, where she is promoting the artist's book she made based on his butterfly collection:
http://tinyurl.com/5uo7r2

And speaking of obscure figures in esoteric philosophy--Joel brings this Swedish chick to the party. She's talking with Gil and somehow the name Maurice Nicoll pops up. She is amazed, because she has never, ever, met anyone else who has even HEARD of Maurice Nicoll (including Joel), much less read his books. And we were like, girlfriend, EVERYONE here knows Maurice Nicoll.

So there you have it, another harbinger of the Aquarian Age-- where synchronicities abound, and we all read each others' minds, all the time!

I know it used to be Life is a Cabaret, but we've had to downsize, you know?

When I'm in Brooklyn, I traverse the main drag (5th Ave.) on foot, between my place and the post office, or even further in nice weather. Good pit stops are Cafe Sutra, which has a tiny outdoor space in back that's straight out of the French West Indies, if you can imagine that. Order the cappuccino. Clientele: laptop users.

Daisy's Diner (named for a dog) is a classic with 18 foot ceilings. Clientele: same as line in post office.

Has Beans has great coffee and you can use their computer for a small fee. Clientele: future soccer moms with baby carriages clogging aisle, & the occasional derelict.

So when Tom Glusac told me about the little place on 11th St. between 5th & 4th, I checked it out. It's a total European cafe vibe. With this coffee, who needs espresso? Roberta Piket & Billy Mintz were in there when I stopped by, and later Lu Evers dropped in. Clientele: Jazz Musicians.

Eddie Caccavale told me a humorous story about road chops. We were doing a cabaret gig in Midtown, and he had just come from a rehearsal with Lanie Kazan, with no time to eat. He parked on Ninth Ave. at 6 p.m., but had to wait in his car till 7, when it would be legal to leave it. Our call was at 7.

Starving, Eddie gazed longingly at the Thai place that was right beside his parking spot. But he didn't dare leave his vehicle, even for an instant, because the traffic cops have iRadar.

He noticed that the restaurant had their phone number displayed on the door. He took out his cell phone and dialed it.

He ordered a Pad Thai. "Pick up or delivery," they asked.

"Delivery."

"Where are you located?"

"Right outside, in the gray van."

Once again, you can learn a lot from Eddie!

Okay, so Yves Rossy's got a jet pack:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ME8RjQEuL7Q&feature=related
and he flew over the Alps, the English Channel, and a bunch of other places.

Big deal.

He still had to go up in a plane to start out. What good is that? Listen, Yves: I need a jet pack where, like, I can take off from my driveway! Do you think you could work that one up?

But I guess if you could'a, you would'a.

I'll bet it has something to do with the amount of thrust required to become airborne, if I'm not mistaken. I'll bet you need a whole lotta thrust, which would make the proposition much more dangerous than it is.

Hey you, put out that cigarette!

The fact of the matter is, if I can't keep the thing in my trunk and use it during traffic jams, then it's practically useless. Because if I want to fly around over fields and whatnot, I can do that while astral traveling, and I don't have to spend for the jet fuel.

Years ago a guitarist named Stanley Jordan pioneered a way of playing guitar using a "touch" system instead of a strumming or picking system. He probably wasn't the first guy to ever do it, but he definitely made it into an art form. If you've never heard or seen him:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=baDM3_6w8-E

But now I notice there's a bunch of young guys who are doing variations of this technique:
http://www.collegehumor.com/video:1765232
http://video.stumbleupon.com/#p=26npxrmt61
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N6NA9nd4Fgs