It ain’t a gansta party til we go and dig ‘Pac up

Way back in grade 10 or 11 French with Mme. Dube, between failing verb tests and laughing at something retarded, Charles Lowry lent me a few comic books, a few of which were the graphic novel 300 by Frank Miller (the dude who did Sin City). I would probably put 300 in the top 10 comics I have ever read (and I’ve read a ton of them). So now I find out that they are making a movie based on the comics, which normally would likely suck, but after Sin City was so goddamned awesome, I think this will be equally awesome.

Then I saw the trailer for it. Now I know it’s going to be fucking awesome. This link is definitely worth checking out.

So maybe this has been out for a long time, I dunno. I kinda live under a rock (on a barstool).

That's it.

Peace.

For all the fights, for all the songs, all we said

This is my favourite picture ever. I recently found out that Peter Norman had passed away. Here's an article about that I poached from Edge of Sports.

Brother of the Fist: The Passing of Peter Norman
By Dave Zirin

Almost four decades later, the image can still make hairs rise on unsuspecting necks. It's 1968, and 200 meter gold medalist Tommie Smith stands next to bronze winner John Carlos, their raised black gloved fists smashing the sky on the medal stand in Mexico City. They were Trojan Horses of Rage -- bringing the Black revolution into that citadel of propriety and hypocrisy: the Olympic games.

When people see that image, their eyes are drawn like magnets toward Smith and Carlos, standing in black socks, their heads bowed in controlled concentration.

Less noticed is the silver medalist. He is hardly mentioned in official retrospectives, and people assume him to be a Forrest Gump-type figure, just another of those unwitting witnesses to history who always end up in the back of famous frames. Only the perceptive notice that this seemingly anonymous individual is wearing a rather large button emblazoned with the letters O-P-H-R, standing for the Olympic Project for Human Rights.

Only those who see the film footage notice that he never throws a furtive glance back at fellow medal winners as they raise their fists. He never registers surprise or alarm. At a moment that epitomized the electric shock of rebellion, his gaze is cool, implacable, his back ramrod straight, a fellow soldier proud to stand with his brothers.

Only those who go beyond official history will learn about the true motivations of all three of these men. They wanted the apartheid countries of South African and Rhodesia to be disallowed from the Olympics. They wanted more coaches of African descent. They wanted the world to know that their success did not mean racism was now a relic of history. The silver medalist with the white skin stood with Smith and Carlos on every question and it was agreed before the race, that if the three, as expected, were the ones on the dais, they would stand together: three young anti-racists standing together in struggle.

That silver medalist with the nerves of steel and thirst for justice was Australian runner Peter Norman. Norman died of a heart attack last week at the age of 64 and Monday was put to rest.
Two people who knew the depth and conviction of Norman's solidarity were the two who acted as lead pallbearers at his funeral: Tommie Smith and John Carlos. Over the years the three men had stayed connected, welded together by history and the firestorm they all faced when the cameras were turned off.

The backlash endured by Smith and Carlos is well documented. Less known are Norman's own travails. He was a pariah in the Australian Olympic world, despite being a five-time national champion in the 200 meters. He desired to coach the highest levels, yet worked as a Physical Education teacher, the victim of a down under blacklist.

As John Carlos said, "At least me and Tommie had each other when we came home. When Peter went home, he had to deal with a nation by himself. He never wavered, never denied that he was up there with us for a purpose and he never said 'I'm sorry' for his involvement. That's indicative of who the man was." "

When the 2000 Olympics came to Sydney, Norman was outrageously outcast from the festivities, still the invisible man. In a conversation at that time with sportswriter Mike Wise, Norman was absent of bitterness and wore his ostracism as proudly as that solidarity button from 1968. "I did the only thing I believed was right," he said to Wise. "I asked what they wanted me to do to help. I couldn't see why a black man wasn't allowed to drink out of the same water fountain or sit in the same bus or go to the same schools as a white guy. That was just social injustice that I couldn't do anything about from where I was, but I certainly abhorred it."
Norman never strayed from a life of humility. When a sculpture was unveiled of Smith and Carlos last year in California, Norman was left off, the silver medal platform purposely vacant so others could stand in his place. Smith and Carlos protested it, feeling it fed the false idea of Norman as political bystander. But Norman himself who traveled from Australia to California for the unveiling said, "I love that idea. Anybody can get up there and stand up for something they believe in. I guess that just about says it all."

Norman didn't define himself by self-promotion, book deals, or the lecture circuit -- only by the quiet pride that he was a part of a movement much bigger than himself. By happily surrendering his personal glory to the greater good, Norman earned the love and respect of his peers.

As Carlos said about sudden passing of the man his children called Uncle Pete, "Peter was a piece of my life. When I got the call, it knocked the wind out of me. I was his brother. He was my brother. That's all you have to know."

Peace.

Gonna walk around, gonna walk around, gonna walk around and drink

Everyone should listen to The Hold Steady’s new album. Vagrant has the whole thing available to stream here (because it is hard to find free music on the internet). I would classify this as feel good music, like Samiam, but the songs aren’t about friends committing suicide.

I get to see Thunderbirds Are Now! tomorrow. I am currently more excited than I have been for any show since I saw Leo burn down Lydia’s. This show is going to slit throats.

And another awesome music video:



Peace.

I feel more like a stranger each time I come home

I’m back in Saskatoon this weekend if anyone who reads this will be around. It is likely that I will arrive in some fashion on Saturday afternoon, and will then leave on the Monday at some point after lunch. That is the extent of my visiting to Saskatoon until Christmas. This isn’t because I don’t like Saskatoon, although it does feel strange to return there, it’s mostly because I still don’t have a car to drive myself back. Depending on others for things like this is becoming ridiculous. Brian is being cool enough to not leave until Saturday morning because I want to stay and see Thunderbirds Are Now! play at Broken City. I’m lucky I have people who will do that shit for me.

I’m hoping I can find some fun shit to do while I’m in town, like wander through a punk show, or something. Actually, after a little internet researching I see that Magnolia Electric Co. will be playing Amigos on the Sunday, so yeah, I’m gonna go do that. Now I just need to rope people into coming with me. Who still lives in Saskatoon? I will have to determine this and track people down.

I had a bunch of stuff to write about again, but I’m undecided about what may or may not be important, which is actually kind of my main issue in life. While I figure this out check out this delightful TAN! video.



Peace.