Walking to my car in Eugene, OR after lunch at an anarchist vegetarian cafe -- where the metal on/in the wait-staff outweighed the flatware on the table -- I heard the familiar sounds of a Brazilian percussion band: the deep "Surdo" (Portuguese for "deaf") bass drums that anchor the rhythm, the snares and cow-bells, triangles and tambourines, and the whistle of the master signalling the changes. (The "Surdo" is my favorite to play in the Brazilian percussion workshop in Phila that I attend occasionally.) I ran around the corner and there they were, a local group of Eugenians? Eugenores? Eugeniacs? bringing a tropical sound to complement the tropical-like precipitation (but not temperatures) of the area. I stayed there grinning and swaying for long minutes.