Dersu Uzala

Sha, evo , potvrdicu i ja. Medjutim ni imaginos nema krivo, vizavi juzne ti Amerige (i srednje). Ako nisi bio 'gornji' najebase ti se ovi drugi dadaije. 'Donji' si. Iz tog razloga je armija srednje i juzno Amerigosa stala na spansku stranu (ali samo u pocetku jel'da) jer su kontali da ce se resiti ovih Maja , Inka i Azteka, napasti. Sjasi Kurta da uzjase Murta.

U kom ratu? Ameriga je i napravila ta ujedinjena juznoslovenska plemena, red je i da razbuca . Oduvek sigurno nije. Posto jos niko nije dole nasao ljucki les (fosil) stariji od par desetina tisuca godina. Za razliku od ostatka sveta gde imas fosile stare stotine tisuca godina. Ovih Homo Sapiensa. Mi mu dodjemo Homo Sapiens Sapiens, mi smo novi, svega par desetina tisuca.

Daleko od toga da je ocigledno. Kao sto neko rece, vise podseca na rune (a njih ima jedno 20-tak podvarijanti) i fenicansko pismo nego na grcko. Onda opet, fenicansko je osnova grckog. A ne vincansko. Drugo, vincansko pismo kao takvo i ne postoji. Jer nijedan tekst nije pronadjen pisan na istom. To su samo razliciti simboli sa kojekakvih upotrebnih predmeta, gde nikad nemas vise od 5-6-7 simbola na istom. Znaci, ne moze da se protumaci niti moze da se kvalifikuje kao pisana rec, jer izgleda nije za to ni namenjeno. Zajebana je rabota. Ne mozes za nesto da kazes da je 'pismo' tako sto si nasao sijaset predmeta sa urezanim nekakvim simbolima, i kad ih sve skupis na kamaru ima ih 20-30-40 nebitno. Ne postoji bre jedan jedini artefakt koji ima na sebi ikakvu pricu duzu od kazem 5-6 simbola. Znaci da to nije pismo.

J anisam nasao za 2007 katalog. Niti izadje Trigger kad pretrazujes sajt. Deder, daVaj taj link za 2007., nebilo ti zapovedjeno .

Malopre odoh na sajt PGP RTS, cisto da vidim da li imaju neke podatke o prodaji, tirazu, artistu tako te fore ko na zapadu. Oni bre od 2006. nisu izbacili taj 'katalog' a o vama ni pomena. Serem im se u firmu. Aj dobro, bar su vam plocu izdali. Kakve tu sve vucibatine rade po Srbiji.

Volis ti Umberta Eka, volis . Salu na stranu, nije problem sto je crkva spalila ista ako je nesto i spaljivala (nije da nije). Problem je sto smo izgubili biblioteke u Pergamonu (Pergamumu, tu gde je izmisljen pergament da ne kazem nasa verzija papira) i u Aleksandriji gde je bila zabelezena svekolika mudrost poznatog nam (belog ali i sire) covecanstva. Dan danas ljudi nagadjaju koliko je tamo raznoraznih naslova bilo, od 250,000 do milion okruglo naslova. Za to vreme (pre dve hiljade godina) to je neverovatna cifra. Neverovatna. Tamo su bili originali velikih antickih mislilaca iz celog sveta. Originali, eej jebote, Srbineeee. Platonovi, Sokratovi, Homerovi, Demosten, Ksenofan, Arhimed, Aristotel (njegov ucenik je oformio 'teku) i tako ta ekipa i sire. Politika Aleksandrije je bila sledeca: ko god ulazi u grad, mora da preda sav pisani materijal koji ima kod sebe, da se to uredno prekopira i metne u biblioteku. E, tek ondaK mos' se pojavis i trazis svoje oridjinale nazad. Nema zajebancije. To sto su pronasli cirka 600 i kusur belih leseva iz nekih pradavnih vremena ne znaci da su belci osnovali Kinu, ne preteruj. Istorija Kine je sjajno dokumentovana jerbo nema vecih frikova za cinovnicko/administrativne poslove of Kineza. Ako neko ode na zahod, oni uredno pribeleze i zavedu u biblioteku. Moguce da i o ovim belcima imaju stosta u tim bibliotekama ali su nas ostale tek pre 10-tak godina pustili u svoje biblioteke. Iskopacemo vec nesto. Kineska Nacionalna Biblioteka (a oni imaju jos pun kufer drugih biblioteka) je po broju knjiga druga (ili treca, zavisi od izvora) u svetu (iza Kongresne 'teke u Vasingtonu i Britanske teke ovih dana), ali ove dve skupljaju knjige iz celog sveta vec vekovima. U kineskoj 'teki, 99% materijala je kinesko...Apsolutno ludilo. Cirilicu su izmislili Cirilo i Metodije po nalogu Vizantijskog imperatora a na molbu slovackog (preciznije, moravskog) kralja, zaboravih mu ime sad, tamo negde u devetom veku. I nije se to desilo za dan ili nedelju, trajalo je 10-tak godina. Vec sam spominjao to negde, ima brate toliko knjiga na tu temu da nema mesta dilemi. Cirilo (a i Metodije) je proputovao Balkan i citavu juznu Evropu uzduz i popreko praveci tu Cirilicu (mada su je oni zvali glagoljica, skromni ljudi nisu naravno nazvali alfabet po sebi) i finalno je 'stelovao'. A koristio je grcki alfabet, hebrejsko pismo, samaricansko pismo i fenicansko pismo + sve moguce slovenske jezike u to vreme. Osluskivao je govor svih tih slovena koji nisu imali svoj alfabet, i stelovao ono sto su on i buraz vec odradili u Vizantiji.

Naravno. Crnacka krv je doduse ista kao i sva ostala krv. Geni su bitni a ne krv.

A, to. Ok. Onda recimo "Tako mi Admirala Zheng He, ovde Kinezi bili pre belih."

"Hiljadu mi bubnjeva Darkvuda, i ovde."

Evo jedna od tih emisija, ovu sam konkretno gledao na Nova televiziji, o tim mumijama. Ne mogu da nadjem na brzinu ovu spilju sa severozapada (Xinjiang region, koji spominje Prometheus gore) gde su te plave satro bizantijske freske. Mora da ima negde po netu. Elem, nadjoh sad, ova najstarija (ridjokosa) mumija se zove "Beauty of Loulan" i stara je oko 4000 godina. Urumchi se zove region u Xinjiang provinciji. Ili Tarim. Jebi ga, ovi za sve imaju milion imena. Rekonstruisali su joj facu, slatka zenica bese.

Evo ga ovaj revizionista . "It would have been a more amazing feat to amass so much accurate information about Asia without actually going there, than to have made the trip and write about it." "Marco Polo From Venice to Xanadu", Laurence Bergreen Kinezi su najmocnija, najkreativnija i najpametnija nacija koja je ikad okupirala zemlju. Znam ja za te likove, belce iz Kine. Nije u pitanju kraljevska grobnica, u pitanju je selo na severozapadu Kine, tako se valjda i pustinja zove (severozapadna) gde je i pocetak Puta Svile. U tom selu su pronasli grobnice sa jezivo starim mumijama medju kojima su i mumije belaca. Ridjokosih. Najstarija 'bela' mumija je valjda bese stara oko 4000 godina sto je potreslo sve naucnike. Ocigledno su neka stepska (bela) plemena zivela zajedno sa Kinezima, vekovima i hiljadama godina bas u tim krajevima i razvijala trgovinu, sta li. Neverovatno je da su bili tu nastanjeni pre Puta Svile. Migracije arijevskih naroda, smatra se, uvek su isle na zapad, ovo je prvi slucaj da su pronasli gde migracija pici na istok. Po okolnim planinama u toj pustahiji, gde danas niko skoro i ne zivi pa ni Kinezi), nalazi se vise pecina sa vrlo interesantnim pojavama. (Bar) jedna je bese prefarbana u plavo iznutra, i oslikana freskama. Koliko se secam, nisu hriscanske freske (nema krsta nigde) ali su u tom stilu ladno. Bizantijskom. Likovi na freskama su jopet beli, ali su kazem, ridjokosi i moze biti plavokosi likovi. Naucnici su u startu mislili da su Vikinzi dobacili dotle, ali kad su skontali starost nekih ot tih mumija i pronasli te freske odbacili su tu pomisao. Niko dakle jos nista ne zna o podrijetlu, istrazivanja traju as we speak. Siguran sam da ima toga po internetu.

Vidi ga, Petrucci-jevog ljubimca.

Argentina nikad nije imala neki znatan broj indijanaca, tojest lokalnog stanovnistva. To je malo parce zemlje, na dalekom jugu. Urugvaj recimo prakticno da i nema indijanere, bar ja u zivotu jednog nisam video. Sto se tice Brazila, ima ih puno ali ih nema vecina, u pravu si. Iz dva razloga. Portugalci (su od svih zemalja samo) okupirali Brazil, a Portugalci su bili zlikovci mnogo veci od Spanaca. Secas se filma Misija. Oni su otprilike radili sto i NDH, prekrstavali trecinu, trecinu pobili a trecinu preselili, da parafraziram. U stvari, ova poslednja trecina je verovatno utekla glavom bez obzira. Drugo, Portugalci su 'izmislili' dovodjenje africke populacije u Brazil (a kasnije i u Severnu Ameriku) i time resili problem nedostatka (indijanske) radne snage. Jako puno ima crnaca i mulata u Brazilu, ali zato nigde okolo u spanskoj juznoj Americi. Sem na karipskim ostrvima ali to je druga tema. Inace, nisam upoznao vece rasiste od belih juznoamerikanaca. P.S. Al' ako si beo, banja.

Demografija Meksika (CIA World Factbook) mestizo (Amerindian-Spanish) 60%, Amerindian or predominantly Amerindian 30%, white 9%, other 1% (stranci) Link Ako neki Mehos indijanac ima kap tudje (bele i druge) krvi, svrstava se odma' u mestizo (mesanca) zbog straha od progona. Starting with the first national census in 1885, the indigenous population was classified by a linguistic criterion. This indicator was misleading since many of the indigenous people refused to acknowledge their use of indigenous languages for fear of discrimination. The 1921 census included more direct questions as to racial origin and the results showed that 59 percent of the population (or a total of 8,504,561) considered themselves to be mixed mestizo while 29 percent (4,179,449) of the total national population self-described themselves as being indigenous. A further 10 percent were self-classified as "white" and 2 percent as foreigners. Izvor: Institut za ekologiju, UNAM, Mexico Link Znaci, 9%-10% oCto ljudi se izjasnjavaju kao beli, svi ostali su indijaneri. Poneki ima i kap bele krvi, jeej. Kako rekoh pre, i poneki beli imaju kap-dve indijanske krvi, nema bas 'cistih' belaca previse. Wikipedia: Ethnography -------------- Mexico is ethnically diverse. The second article of the Mexican Constitution defines the country to be a pluricultural nation originally founded upon the indigenous peoples . Even though there are no official statistics for ethnicity (other than those reported for indigenous peoples), it is estimated that around 70% of the population is ethnically mestizo, and 12%-30% is purely Amerindian. Whites or Europeans make up 1 to 9% of the population, mostly descendants of Spaniards, whereas other ethnic groups -namely Afro-Mexicans and Asians- make up less than 1% of the total population. Admixture levels in Mexico have been studied in multiple studies and have shown a strong presence of Amerindian and European genetic contributions with a significan African contribution as well. The constitution not only recognizes the 62 indigenous peoples living in Mexican territory but also grants them autonomy and protects their culture and languages. This protection and autonomy is extended to those Amerindian ethnic groups which have migrated from the United States—like the Cherokees and Kickapoos—and Guatemala during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Municipalities in which indigenous peoples are located can keep their normative traditional systems in relation to the election of their municipal authorities. This system is known as Usos y Costumbres, roughly translated as "customs and traditions". According to official statistics—as reported by the Commission for the Development of the Indigenous Peoples or CDI—Amerindians make up close to 30% (as of 2000) of the country's population, even though only a little more than half of them (15% of total population) still speak an indigenous language and a tenth (1.2% of total population) do not speak Spanish.[33][34] Official statistics of the CDI[35] report that the states with the greatest percentage of Amerindian population or individuals of Amerindian origin are Yucatán (59%), Oaxaca (48%), Quintana Roo (39%), Chiapas (28%), Campeche (27%), Hidalgo (24%), Puebla (19%), Guerrero (17%), San Luis Potosí (15%) and Veracruz (15%). Oaxaca is the state with the greatest number of distinct indigenous peoples and languages in the country. Europeans ------------ White Mexicans are among the three main groups in the country. Apart from the recognition of indigenous peoples, neither INEGI nor CONAPO classify the population according to ethnicity. International organizations usually report that between 9% and 15% of the country's population could be classified as European, Caucasian or White. Most of these are criollo, the relatively unmixed descendants of the Spanish colonists. However, many other immigrants arrived during the Second Mexican Empire (mostly French) and during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, mostly from Italy, the United Kingdom, Ireland and Germany. White Americans, Yugoslavians, Armenians, Greeks, Germans, Polish, Romanians, Russians and Ashkenazic Jews, along with many Spanish refugees fleeing the Spanish Civil War also immigrated. The European Jewish immigrants joined the Sephardic community that lived in Mexico since colonial times, though many lived as Crypto-Jews, mostly in the northern states of Nuevo León and Tamaulipas. Some communities of European immigrants have remained isolated from the rest of the population since their arrival, amongst them the Dutch Menonites of Chihuahua and Durango, the Venets of Chipilo, Puebla, which have retained their original languages. Other ethnic groups Other groups of immigrants include Arabs of Lebanese and Syrian origin present in significant numbers in Puebla, as well as Chinese, Japanese and Koreans. Mexicans of Filipino descent are estimated at 200,000, mostly located at Michoacán, Guerrero, and Colima. Afro-Mexicans, mostly of mixed ancestry, live in the coastal areas of Veracruz, Tabasco, Oaxaca and Guerrero.

Nisu imali Marka Pola koji bi skoknuo do Kine, doneo bambuse punjene barutom i kojekakvim zapaljivim samlevenim prahovima, gde bi posle kraceg vremena neko skontao da umesto da ih uperis u nebo, mos' nekom u facu uz napomenu da je stig'o novi sheriff u grad. Gotta love my white boys .

Decenijama nije bilo lovostaja onomad .

Severnoamerickih ima vrlo malo. Milion-dva, zavisi koga pitas.

Nije taj nista pokrenuo sem video rekordera. Ljudi oko njega koji su ga doveli na vlast su to smislili. Raja danas misli da je W mentol, W je za Ronija siva eminencija. I Cige volu da pikaju fudbal pa ih nema po nasim reprezentacijama. Proves shit (nista). To je operativni detalj, da ne kazem manevar.

Ne citam brate na preskoke, nisam nigde ni sugerisao da nijesi to kazao jadan. Moja recenica glasi " Oni su bili za Veliku (i mocnu jasta, saveznici smo) Srbiju, a Ameri su bili za Jugoslaviju." 'Oni' su prethodno referirani Velika Britanija, Italija, Francuska i Rosija. Na Trscanskom dogovoru. Ti si tvrdio da nijedna strana nacija nije za Veliku Srbiju nikad bila. Or something. S. Amerika kao Severna ili Sud Amerika? Anyway, u Meksiku pored spanskog postoji (sigurno, kaze i vikipedija) jos 62 zvanicna jezika. Pri tome nisu engleski i ruski i tako to, nego sve 'indigenous', meksicki indijanski. Mozes misliti koliko onda danas tamo plemena ima rodjace. Nije jedan jezik jedno pleme, kapiras. Brate, jutros u dva stojim u kraju sa 5-6 lokalnih Mehosa. Cirkamo na ulici ispred njihove kuce a neki i duvaju (strogo zabranjeno jelda, kurcimo se). Svi odreda iz drugog kraja i plemena iz Meksika. Znaes li ti jarane kolika je to zemlja. Pa tamo je daleeeeeeeeeko veci broj indijanaca nego belaca. Ne znam da li ti kapiras da je belaca (znaci u prevodu, Spanaca koji se nisu mesali PRETERANO sa lokalnim stanovnistvom) vrlo malo. Sacica, really. Ovih sto se nisu uopste mesali, mozda ima 27, zajebavam se, ali kapiras. Sta si ti mislio da je Mexico, keve ti? Za Ronija postoji medju novinarskim i politickim uskim krugovima (ovi sto su ga u stvari znali i iza zatvorenih vrata) opsteprihvacena teza da je verovatno najgluplji i najnesposobniji predsednik, neko kaze od WWII naovamo, neko u XX veku a neko 'period'. Tip sem tih govora koje je odglumeo perfektno nista pod milim Bogom nije radio kad se vrata zatvore i kamere iskljuce. GLedao je filmove i TV uglavnom, ono, kucni pritvor. Neverovatno, a? Kruze anegdote po svim tim sveckim krugovima, ko je imao gluplju (ne)zgodu sa Reganom ? Pazi, ovde su podaci za citavu Amerigu, od Severnog do Juznog Pola. Ja sam mislio na one epidemije tamo oko 1520-1540, kad su stigli ovi konkistadori jelda. U Meksiko, Panamu i Peru. Jedan je stigao preko Floride doduse, kopnom. Onaj cetvrti najnebitniji (najmanji zlikovac ), stalno mu zaboravljam ime. A to su sve boginje, mada razlicite...Priznajem, ne secam se ovo za tifoidnu zlezdu i onu neku trecu bolestinu. Fakat je sto kazes, na Severu su ih tamanili namerno, u Juznoj Americi kako stignu, uglavnom su korisceni kao radna snaga od pragmaticnih Spanaca. Nece sigurno oni da beru kokos i secernu trsku. Ne kapiras. 'da li ću u govno.' - to je strategija (kratkorocna ili dugorocna ili 'nesto izmedju - jablan'). 'hoću li desnom ili lijevom rukom u govno' - to je taktika.

Gledao sam 'Apocalypto', naravno. Prosle, pretprosle godine. Juznoamericku istoriju proucavam 30 godina pre toga, tako da what's your point? Nisu svi juznoamericki indijanci riknuli od bolestina (u stvari jedne jedine) koje su Evropljani doneli. Oko pola onovremene populacije i to u prvih 20-tak godina kolonizacije. Ko do tada nije riknuo od bolestine nije ni posle toga. Anyway, verovatno sam pogledao jedno 30-tak dokumentaraca i procitao jedno 4-5 knjiga na tu temu (prekolumbijska i prekonkistadorska Ameriga) samo u poslednjih 4-5 godina. Capisce. I ja bih snimio Apocalypto bas tako kako je snimljen. A snimljen je tip-top, bas onako kako jeBilo, kazu knjige. Strategija se, prikane, menja po potrebi. Moze dnevno a moze i decenijski. Zato se ova prva i zove kratkorocna a ona druga dugorocnija. 50 godina bi bila dugorocna strategija. Nego, nije problem u tome sto su Ameri promenili strategiju u roku od godin' dana, istorija svedoci momente kad su oni (i drugi) menjali strategiju iz dana u dan. Nebitno. Problem je u tome sto MI burazeru nemammo strategiju od kako je Ti-ta umro. Kad su nam Ameri nudili pomoc, preCednik je bio, ne lezi vraze, niko drugi do Bush stariji. Nije on (niti Republikanci) krenuo sa opkoljavanjem Rusije (tad je u stvari jos bila ona unija njihova). To su krenuli da rade Demokrate u skladu sa 'Karnegi Melon' poveljom (doktrinom) ciji su potpisnici sredinom osamdesetih godina bili apsolutno svi iz (kasnije) Klintonove administracije. Ta doktrina je nastala ili na Karnegi Melon univerzitetu ili na Georgetown univerzitetu, ne mogu da se setim, otuda znaci navoda gore. Olbrajtova je ordinirala na Georgetown-u, ali se ja tripujem nesto na Karnegi Melon (isto univerzitet). Ima negde online da se nadje, sigurno. To je doktrina, traktat od nekih skoro pedesetak stranica, o tome sta treba da se radi. Sta bi oni radili kad bi uzeli vlast. I uzeli su, i sve do jedne jote odradili. Stavise, Republikanci su maksimalno kocili stvar i dalje pogorsanje odnosa sa Rujama. Pre neki dan, kad je Obama dobio izbore, kompletan ruski vrh se usro. Oni imaju samo najzajebanija iskustva sa Demokratskim rukovodstvom, unazad 4-5 decenija. Sto se tice Velike Srbije, kad su sklapali Trscanski sporazum, bese valjda leto 1915. ako me secanje ne vara, pre nego je Italija usla u rat (tim povodom su se i okupili) i Rusija i Francuska i Britanija i ta ista Italija nisu imali nista protiv ideje o Velikoj Srbiji. Oni su je i kreirali za ime sveta. Oni su ti koji su ponudili Srbiji onolike teritorije po danasnjoj Sloveniji, Hrvatskoj, Bosni i Dalmaciji. Alo bre. Alo, ima li koga? Oni su bili za Veliku (i mocnu jasta, saveznici smo) Srbiju, a Ameri su bili za Jugoslaviju.

Sa Neil Peart-ovog bloga. NEWS, WEATHER, and SPORTS November, 2008 Final rehearsal, Buddy Rich tribute concert, Oct. 17, ’08 “Look ma—I’m smilin’!” (photo by Rebecca Truszkowski) The Drums of October In my time, I have climbed some serious mountains, from hiking to the top of Mount Kilimanjaro and bicycling over the Simplon Pass in the Alps, to facing down the uphill battles that life throws up in all our paths. However, one of the hardest climbs I ever had to make was just four steps—up to the stage of the Hammerstein Ballroom in New York City, on the night of October 18, 2008. In forty-three years of playing drums, I have walked onto thousands of stages, of course, and I am always tense and anxious—tense with determination to play well, and anxious about not playing well. But this stage, this performance, was, as my teacher Freddie Gruber would say, “a whole other thing.” Earlier that day, friends asked me how I was doing, and I shrugged and said, “Terrified!” They laughed, but that was a pretty accurate confession. I felt I had a lot to live up to on that stage—the weight of expectations, my own and the audience’s, and of course, the peerless drumming deity under whose name we were performing: Buddy Rich. I wanted to do my best—better than my best!—and I would only have one chance: right now. The house was full of great musicians, in the band and in the crowd, and, oh yes—the show was not only being recorded and filmed, it was streaming live on the Drum Channel Web site, all over the world . . . So as I stood at the bottom of those four little steps waiting for the stage manager’s cue, my “fight or flight” instincts were powerfully active. I must admit the “flight” option had its appeal: “Just run away, out that door over there and onto 34th Street, and don’t stop—they’ll never catch you.” But, with a supreme act of will, I decided to “fight”—go up there and . . . face the music. I could only hope all my preparation would carry me through. Final rehearsal (photo by Rebecca Truszkowski) The path that led me to those four little steps had been a long and tangled one, and like so many stories, it started when I was a child. The music my father played on his prized hi-fi was big-band records by Duke Ellington, Count Basie, Glenn Miller, Tommy Dorsey (I would have heard Buddy Rich with the Dorsey band, or Harry James, way back then, without knowing it), Nat “King” Cole, Frank Sinatra, and other greats of that era. At the age of eleven or twelve, my first inspiration to play drums came from the movie The Gene Krupa Story, so big-band music was deeply engrained in my memories, but, strangely, never in my drumming. In my teens I fell madly in love with rock music, and every day I practiced by playing along with the hits of the mid-’60s on the AM radio in my bedroom. When I started playing in local bands, together we discovered, and covered, the “underground” hits of the day: Jimi Hendrix, Cream, The Who, Moby Grape, King Crimson, Jethro Tull, Grateful Dead—all that adventurous, ambitious, and ardent rock music—and that became my music. That’s what I listened to, and that’s what I played, for the next—well, forty-three years and counting. In 1992, I had my first opportunity to play with a big band, when Cathy Rich, Buddy’s daughter, invited me to play at a Buddy Rich Memorial Scholarship Concert in New York City. Though powerfully intimidated by the challenge, and naturally inclined to avoid it, I forced myself to accept. The results were . . . let’s say, “mixed.” With too little time to actually rehearse with the band (a serious handicap!), it wasn’t until we were onstage playing the first tune, “Mexicali Nose,” that I discovered two things: I was too far away from the horns to hear them (as far as could be: they were upstage left; I was downstage right), and, second and far worse, the band was playing a different arrangement from the one I had learned! That situation is usually the stuff of a performer’s nightmares (musicians, stage actors, and professional athletes all seem to have them), but all of a sudden it was horribly real. Barely a minute into “Mexicali Nose,” I went into what I knew as the first four-bar drum break, only to hear that the rest of the band—what I could hear of them—was still playing! Pushing away the panic, I just played steady time, holding it together while I strained to hear something in the arrangement that I recognized. Though I survived that “train wreck,” it’s not the kind of psychic shock and trauma I am able to take lightly, or recover from easily. I played through the rest of the show, “Cotton Tail” and “One O’Clock Jump,” and a drum solo, but I was shaken, and—it has to be admitted—wretched. Later, I resolved that the only remedy for that bad feeling was to do it again, have another try, only this time under more controlled conditions: in the recording studio. In 1994, I produced and played on the Burning for Buddy tribute recordings, and that was a much more rewarding experience (as it remains—I still like listening to that music). And yet . . . I still had a nagging feeling that when I played in that style, I was just imitating it, not really feeling it properly. As the old Duke Ellington standard goes, “It don’t mean a thing, if it ain’t got that swing,” and I didn’t think I did. So, in early 2007, when Cathy Rich and I began discussing another Buddy tribute concert (agreeing, “It’s time”), I started thinking about trying to upgrade my “swing skills.” That notion was reinforced by my old friend Jeff Berlin, a virtuoso bass player (perhaps the virtuoso bass player), in the kind of brutally honest advice only a really good friend—a really outspoken good friend—would offer. Jeff and I, and my bandmates, have been friends for nearly thirty years, going back to Jeff’s days with Bill Bruford’s band. Since that time, Jeff and I have stayed in touch, however sporadically, and earlier this year, when Rush played in Orlando, Florida, near Jeff’s home, I arranged to get together with him in the afternoon. When I told him I was going to be playing at the Buddy Rich tribute in October, he immediately offered to be my bass player. (Maybe “demanded” is more accurate—Jeff’s the kind of guy who combines apparently boundless self-confidence with deep-seated neuroses and insecurity. I know many people like that—I see one in the mirror every day!) Jeff and me, final rehearsal (photo by Rebecca Truszkowski) Later, as Jeff and I exchanged e-mails about schedules and material, he offered a suggestion. Though phrased in more diplomatic language, the essence of what he said was, “Whyn’t ya get some lessons, kid?” And I said, “Oh yeah?” And he said, “Yeah!” And I said, “Oh yeah?” And he said, “Yeah!” So—it was on. But seriously, the only real question for me was who. Jeff mentioned a couple of drummers he had worked with who he thought would be suitable teachers for me in the particular discipline of swing drumming. I consulted with my longtime teacher, Freddie Gruber, now 82-years-young, but pretty much retired from the “game,” and another knowledgeable adviser, Don Lombardi, founder of Drum Workshop, and now spearheading an exciting online resource for drummers, Drum Channel (about which more later). Now, here’s a chain of happenstance that strains credibility. Back in the early ’80s, I played on a couple of songs for a Jeff Berlin album, and in the Bay Area studio where we recorded, I met Steve Smith for the first time, as he was playing most of the other tracks on Jeff’s album. A decade later, at that Buddy Rich tribute concert in ’92, Steve also performed, and we met again for the Burning for Buddy sessions in ’94. That’s when I met Steve’s teacher, Freddie Gruber, who became a hugely important musical influence and friend to me, and introduced me to the products of Drum Workshop (showing up at my house with one of their bass-drum pedals, to replace the antediluvian device he had frowned at on my practice kit—Freddie had also taught Don Lombardi, and been involved in the early years of DW). Earlier this year, at Freddie’s 82nd birthday party in a nightclub in the Valley, where our friend Joey Heredia was playing, I met another former student of Freddie’s, Peter Erskine. Peter had taught Steve Smith years ago, when they were both teenagers. What a web of connections. Freddie and me, watching Joey play (photo by Rebecca Truszkowski) Peter began his drumming career with the Stan Kenton big band, then went on to cement his reputation with perhaps the preeminent jazz group of the ’70s and ’80s, Weather Report. All along, Peter remained a teacher—for more than thirty years now, and he is currently Professor of Drumset Studies at the University of Southern California—and has continued to record and perform with a wide variety of artists, including Steely Dan, Chick Corea, Joni Mitchell, Diana Krall, various classical ensembles, and studio work ranging from big-band jazz to film scores. All that—and the guy lived fifteen minutes from my house! As the English would say, “S’obvious, innit?” During a break in this summer’s Snakes and Arrows tour, I scheduled a lesson with Peter. When I parked in front of his house in Santa Monica and walked up to the door, sticks in hand, I had to smile at myself. I was a thirteen-year-old beginner again, climbing the stairs to the Peninsula Conservatory of Music on St. Paul Street in St. Catharines, Ontario, for my Saturday morning lesson with my first teacher, Don George. And of course, that’s how I had to feel—there’s no point in taking lessons if you’re not going to surrender to the teacher. That’s what I had done with Freddie back in ’94—followed his guidance to the extent of changing just about everything I had done before, in thirty years of playing: the way I held the sticks, the way I moved my hands and feet, the way I set up my drums, the way I sat at them—everything. When Peter welcomed me into his backyard teaching studio, he told me he had watched my Anatomy of a Drum Solo DVD, and had appreciated it. I said, “Hey, as far as I’m concerned, I’m a butcher, and you’re a surgeon.” Peter laughed and spread his hands dismissively, “You’re not a butcher.” I raised a hand up high, palm out, and smiled, “Hey—I’m a good butcher; I’d just like to get a little more surgery into it!” So we began. The object of this course of study was to make me a better big-band drummer, but that proved to be a complicated assignment, and it started with the most basic element. Peter asked me to play slow quarter notes on the ride cymbal, just “ding, ding, ding,” and I did, with a kind of circular flick of the wrist between each beat. That was part of what I had learned with Freddie—to think about what happens between the beats, and make it part of the music, a kind of rotary motion that makes your playing a dance. But Peter pointed at that little flick of the wrist, and said, “What’s that?” Well, Peter had studied with Freddie too, so he knew what I was doing, and I was puzzled. I looked at him and said, “Um—timekeeping?” Peter shook his head and put his fist to his chest, “Timekeeping is here. It’s internal, and doesn’t come from waving your hands in the air!” He paused and raised a magisterial finger, “Own the time!” So we started with that, working on remaking my ride stroke—again, the most basic of drumming techniques—with Peter offering visual metaphors like, “Pretend you’re scolding your dog,” with his index finger extended. “Your stick tip is a laser,” with his fingers indicating the range of motion it should have—a thumb and forefinger apart. As I tried to replicate his instructions, I would slip into old habits, and Peter raised his finger in the dog-scolding gesture, and scolded me: “Quit waving!” I laughed and tried again. Thinking about it later, I came to understand that Peter’s method didn’t actually contradict Freddie’s at all—it was simply a “higher evolution.” Perhaps now I was ready to take that understanding of “the dance” and internalize it—make it part of my thinking, part of my feeling, part of my time-sense, but not part of my actual motion. After that first three-hour lesson, which seemed to fly by, Peter gave me a printed list of exercises to work on, and a CD of music to listen to and play along with—but, he stressed, on high-hat only. I drove home that day feeling dazed by this flood of information, and a little unsure. Could I do this? Devote myself to months of daily practice? Would it do me any good? But I resolved to try. Because that’s what I do—I’m a heck of a “tryer.” I had warned Peter right away, “I’m a slow learner—but I’m stubborn!” During the final run of the Snakes and Arrows tour in July, I started working on Peter’s exercises in my pre-show warmup. When the tour was (finally!) over, I retreated to my Quebec house, where I set up a little practice corner in a spare room—just a throne, a high-hat, and a metronome (a lot more neighbor-friendly than a whole drumset, especially if you live on a lake in the woods). Every day I made time (in both senses) to keep working on Peter’s economy-of-motion ride stroke, and exploring time and rhythm at different tempos. Then I would put on the headphones and tap along with one of Peter’s “playalong” selections. When I got back to California in early September, I scheduled another lesson with Peter, and the first thing he asked me to do was play a quarter-note ride on the high-hat. Peter watched me for a minute, then nodded and said, “Perfect.” What a glow of satisfaction (and surprise!) I felt at that moment. As an adolescent, when I worked Saturdays and holidays at my dad’s farm equipment dealership, he would send me off to do something—polish a tractor, clean out parts bins—and when I finished, I would say, “Is that good enough?” Without even looking at what I had done, Dad would say, “If it’s perfect, it’s good enough.” So in my father’s scale of values, my ride stroke was “good enough.” It’s nice when hard work pays off. Peter gave me some more exercises to work on, and I continued practicing every day. By then I had played nothing but high-hat for over two months (though I must say it never became tedious), and one day I sent Peter an e-mail, titled “Epiphany.” Today, September 24, 2008, at precisely 4:32 p.m. Pacific Standard Time, for the first time in recorded history, I commenced to SWING! It was as if I was looking down from a great height, for I watched my right hand ticking away on that high-hat, and it was OWNING THE TIME! You know what I'm talkin' about! At my next lesson, Peter said he wanted me to play along with “Love for Sale,” one of the Buddy Rich arrangements I would be performing at the upcoming tribute concert, on his drums—right now. ¡Jesu Christo! It would be the first time I had played an actual drumset in two months, and the first time I had ever played that song on a drumset. And not only was it in front of my master teacher, but he was going to record and film it (“for reference,” he said). I struggled through it as best I could (at least I knew the arrangement, if only on high-hat!), then had to stand aside and watch ruefully while Peter sat down and played it—properly. (I thought that was really unfair!) His playing was delicate, eloquent, and economical—a kind of artful, effortless surgery that expressed supreme musicality. I have written before that I believe the first deadly sin for humans might be envy, but right then it was hard not to feel a little of that poison. But fortunately, Peter teaches drumming with the same attitude my editor, Paul McCarthy, brings to my prose—an attitude I have described as “critical enthusiasm.” Rather than telling you what you’re doing wrong, they tell you what you’re doing right—then suggest how you might do it better. That works for me. Professor Erskine expounds for the cameras (photo by Lorne Wheaton) The lesson pictured here was conducted for the cameras of Drum Channel, in their state-of-the-art multimedia studio in Oxnard, California. For nearly two years now, Don Lombardi has been developing and nurturing his “baby,” building a team to create an online resource for drummers with unlimited horizons—a teaching forum, an archive of drumming history, a faculty of instructors impossible to match in any other medium, and an online “community center” for all those who worship at the Altar of the Drum. Earlier this year, while I was preparing for the summer 2008 part of the Snakes and Arrows tour, I rehearsed in Drum Channel’s studio for a couple of weeks, and in return for that opportunity to do my preparation at home instead of in Toronto, I filmed some instructional material for Don. Drum Channel is a separate enterprise from the Drum Workshop factory, but is adjacent to it, so the number of prominent drummers who come through there is staggering—and exciting. Just while I was working there in April, and again for ten days in October before the Buddy Rich show, I encountered such an inspiring variety of great drummers, from artist-in-residence Terry Bozzio to old friends and new who were also contributing material for the Drum Channel: Gregg Bissonnette, Doane Perry, Joey Heredia, Chad Smith, Danny Seraphine, Alex Acuña (Peter’s predecessor in Weather Report), Ralph Humphrey, and Steven Perkins. I saw bits of footage Don’s team has shot of other drummers, and I can tell you, it’s wonderful stuff—of the moment, and for the ages. In early October, once again I traded some instructional filming for the use of Drum Channel’s studio as a rehearsal space, the presence of my master drum tech, Lorne Wheaton, and the world’s best commute—up the Pacific Coast Highway through Malibu to the farmlands of Ventura County, one day smelling of onions, another of cilantro. Don and I thought it would be worthwhile to film a session of Peter teaching me—not only instructive in its substance, but also in its spirit, its message: after forty-three years of playing the drums, a guy like me could still try to learn something. (Jeff Berlin’s advice to me applies to all musicians, really: “Whyn’t ya get some lessons, kid!”) I also spent a day hanging and playing with my young friend Nick Rich, Buddy’s grandson. I have known Nick since he was six, when we were both nervously awaiting the start of our first Buddy Rich Memorial Scholarship concert (that year, Nick’s contribution was break dancing to Michael Jackson!). We “bonded” then, and kept that bond as he was growing up. Twenty-four now, decorated with all kinds of skin ink, body ornaments, and striped hair (I call him El Tejón, “The Badger”—he calls me “Uncle Noyle,” after my grandfather’s nickname for me, or—ha ha—“Grandpa”), Nick has become a fine drummer. He studied with the great Dave Weckl (another student of Freddie’s), and has integrated some of Dave’s fluid, intricate funk style with his own natural exuberance. Nick and I played “drum duets” for a while, and it was great to discover that our drumming interlocked as tightly as our characters always have. (I love that crazy mixed-up kid.) Jamming with “El Tejón” (photo by Lorne Wheaton) This time Nick would be playing drums at his grandfather’s tribute, and it meant a lot to him (he was only two-and-a-half when Buddy passed, in 1987). Nick was going to perform two of Buddy’s more rock-oriented charts, “Beulah Witch” and, “Mercy, Mercy, Mercy” (originally a pop song by the Buckinghams, written by Joe Zawinul, founder of Weather Report—Peter told me that when he joined Weather Report, Joe gave him some “homework”: the works of Nietzsche). That weekend Nick and I had a chance to rehearse our material with a real, live band, along with the other West Coast drummers in the show: Terry Bozzio and Chad Smith. Don had suggested bringing in some music students from the nearby California State University at Northridge, where our bandleader, Matt Harris (Buddy’s last keyboard player), taught. Matt had also written some special arrangements for Terry and Chad, while I had commissioned a big-band treatment of Rush’s “YYZ” from one of Buddy’s other longtime musicians and arrangers, John La Barbera. That arrangement had never been played before, so it would be a good opportunity to check it out, along with the chance to play through my other selections: Buddy’s trademark arrangement of “Love for Sale” (a supreme challenge, but it was probably my favorite of all Buddy’s vast repertoire, and I just had to try it—never mind that it had already been played so superbly not only by Buddy, but by Steve Gadd and Dave Weckl), “Time Will Tell,” which had a good bass showcase for Jeff Berlin, and the traditional swing numbers, Duke Ellington’s “Cotton Tail” and Count Basie’s “One O’Clock Jump” (both of which had featured in my drum solos with Rush in past years). For two days in mid-October, the Drum Channel studio was crammed with four drumsets and drummers, fifteen other musicians, an arsenal of video cameras, and a platoon of operators and engineers. It was a surreal scene, really, that perfectly exemplifies my title, “The Drums of October.” Drums have never been a bigger part of my life than they were that month. And the actual drums I played in October were pretty special, too. DW’s restlessly innovative drum designer, John Good, imbued them with all his “Wood-Whisperer” magic, and they glittered in classic white marine pearl, like Buddy’s, with gold-plated hardware for a little modern bling. My cymbal array was also completely redesigned for the performance—different ride, high-hats, and lighter Paragon crashes—with help from Chris Stankee in onsite testing, and, in the Sabian factory in New Brunswick, Mark Love, the cymbal alchemist (“literally,” I told him, “turning base metals into gold”). Even the sticks I held in my trembling hands at the bottom of those four little steps were different. For this music, Peter had recommended something with a narrower shoulder and smaller bead than my usual “rock knockers,” and out of a huge selection sent to me by Kevin Radomski at ProMark, I immediately gravitated to a pair of Joe Morello’s signature models. They just felt “right” in my hands, and when striking and rebounding off the high-hat. (Coincidentally, that very day, in the car, I had listened to Joe’s lovely playing on “Drumorello,” on the first Burning for Buddy volume—and it had been sitting beside Joe in the studio while we recorded that, hearing him make those DW drums sing, that inspired me to try out their drums myself.) Now, back to those four fateful steps. Short version: I climbed them. As quite a few of us in the show seemed to agree later, “It could have been better; it could have been worse.” That, of course, is because we all apply my father’s values: “If it’s perfect, it’s good enough.” For myself, once I was on that stage and behind the drums, I felt like I was in a kind of kinetic trance, my mind spinning in frantic orbits. At one point I remember watching my hands and feet play a certain figure correctly­—all by themselves! That was proof enough that the hours of rehearsal and preparation had paid off. Generally, I just tried to play it safe and straight, not taking too many chances, and in the end . . . it could have been worse. Though I had watched all the rehearsals at Drum Channel and in New York, I didn’t watch the actual show. I shut myself away in my dressing room and tried to escape the tension by reading a book (I know, weird, but it works for me, and I had chosen a perfect book—Case Histories, a gripping mystery by Kate Atkinson, whose genre is referred to as “literary thriller,” which apparently doesn’t have to be an oxymoron). But my dressing room was right beside the stage, so of course I could hear every note of the show, and it clearly offered such a wonderful range of styles, in the drummers and the material—largely from Buddy’s catalogue, plus some music specially commissioned for the event. As onstage host, it was Cathy’s job to stitch the whole evening together (as she realized suddenly, with a little trepidation, just before the show), along with video clips of Buddy and us performers (as I stood twitching beside the stage while my long-winded video introduction played, I called over to the headsetted stage manager, Don Sidney, “Tell that guy to shut up!”). The audience was treated to a fantastic band, assembled by one of the featured drummers, Tommy Igoe (in a single word which I mean to convey much, Tommy’s playing is “accomplished”), along with John Blackwell (“prodigious”—after watching John play at rehearsal, and talking with him a little about our lives—he told me Ghost Rider had helped him through a similar tragedy of his own, and the way he said it made my eyes prickle—I told him, describing his playing and his nature: “You’re a monster—with a beautiful spirit,” then added with a laugh, “and you can put that in your bio!”), Terry Bozzio (“inimitable”—the more time I spend in his company, the more I am inspired by his example of total creative dedication; and he was joined onstage by percussionist Efrain Toro, who can only be described as “delightful”—such a warm spirit in his playing and his demeanor), Chad Smith (“effervescent”), Nick (El Tejón) Rich (“formidable”), Donnie Marple (“promising”—the young winner of a drum solo contest), and a last-minute guest appearance by Peter Erskine (“masterly”). Peter happened to be in town recording, and when he told me he was going to be at the Buddy show, I made a wide-eyed grimace and said, “It’s a good thing I work well under pressure!” But Peter was very kind, and sought me out after the show to offer some encouraging words. While watching Peter play at rehearsal the day before, I had turned to a friend and said proudly, “That’s my teacher!” When I told Peter about that, he aimed a thumb at me and said, “That’s my student!” I gave him a big hug and said, “I’m not finished with you yet!” I already had the notion that I would want to continue studying with Peter, for I had learned one very big lesson: understanding more about jazz drumming is simply understanding more about drumming. That’s got to be good—even in the “October” of my own years. “Facing the Music,” onstage October 18, 2008 (photo by R. Andrew Lepley) So, as Freddie would say at the end of telling a long story, “That’s the way it went.” I warned at the outset that this tale would be “long and tangled,” but there was so much to tell. In such cases, I often think of the title of a novel by the Senegalese writer, Miriam Bâ, So Long a Letter, because it carried the same meaning. Sure, it might have been better if I had taken time to write some of this between my previous report in August and now, but . . . I was busy doing all that. It always seems that the more I have to write about, the less time I have to write it. But I’m not complaining. My life is not perfect, but it’s good enough.

Odakle? Moguce da ima tak'a neka cifra, samo zavisi odakle i u kojoj sezoni. I'am ja tu neke poznanike Arhentince, ali dzaba, oni pice odavde. Verovatno znaju razne sheme, pitacu kad stignem. Mada, daleko je to kako god okrenes.

Evo gledam Expedia-u, oko 1600$ Beograd - Buenos Aires. Nije strasno uopste...Toliko je i odavle, give or take a few bucks.

Kolima, naravno.

Secam se leta gospodnjeg devedes' i neke, izasao Load bese od Talike. Odosmo mi na neku svirku, vizavi turneje, dvorana bese ona stara, prva dvorana Lejkersa (ovih jedinih, Vladinih). Sedimo mi tu negde ni na nebu ni na zemlji, daleeeeeeeko od bine, prakticno u vr' dvorane. Tu su oni imali onu foru da kao posle jedno sat i po' kao rikne sve, lik padne sa rasvete, pozar na bini, Neretva, ludilo, skupljaj ranjenike (ovo je, skapiras, zezanje, ali ljudi se prime). I sad tu kao Talika da zavrsi show, a ima mrtvih...Raja odlepi....Ono kao yeah, za pokoj dusi...Tu oni iznesu svako po jedno pojacalo i Lars akusticne bubnjeve. Cca 500-600 'vata snage. Ubise Boga u dvorani od 17 'iljada dusa. Ono preko razglasa je bilo zaglusujuce. Ali kad su se ovog primili, zaplakao sam skoro. Ljudi preteruju sa volumom na svirkama. Ne treba brate 100,000 vati, prekrstite se ljudi. Par 'iljada maksimalno, kolka god da je dvorana, samo ako nije 'Open Air' (na otvorenom). Ondaq, drugi padez. Razglas je ogromna boljka velike vecine tih mesta koja cak vaze za super mega kewl sale za sviranje. Prosto je neverovatno kolika je razlika izmedju studijskih inzenjera i tonaca po terenu. Jebiga, ovi drugi su dzaba u odnosu na one prve. No, odlazim u offtopic.