Category Archives: Sports

Inappropriate Walk Up Music: Windigo

For an intro to this series, click here. For the original series way back in 2009, click here.

My post yesterday, which referenced a collegiate memory, prompted another, which I have not ever written about on this site, a fact I find very difficult to believe. Because it is legend among me and a small group of friends.

My junior year of college, I lived in a five-guy suite. This was definitely my favoritest time at college, since me and my roommates would often engage in goofy shenanigans and goings-on. One of my roommates this year worked at the radio station and would often book bands to play there. Not necessarily bands he dug, but work is work, and experience is experience. As such, he came home with armloads of demo CDs he had no intention of ever listening to, nor did the rest of us.

However, for reasons that have been lost to the mists of time, one day we decided to pop one of these CDs in the stereo. It was by a band called Windigo. The first track was called “C and M (Confident and Militant).” It started with the lead “singer” intoning this manifesto, spoken:

I’m confident
I’m militant
I’m a living, breathing accident.

He then began rapping, over no music, the following lyrics:

Ain’t never ever been to South Central
But the pain in my brain still makes me go mental!

Followed by some lyrics about “the power of one,” after which he literally said BREAK-DOWN! And the music kicked in. Rap-rock was still in its infancy as a genre at the time, so none of us were really prepared for what we were hearing. It sounded like outtakes from a session for background music from a Navy commercial.

Even if the style was new to us, we did know funny when we heard it, and this was hilarious. We rewound the BREAK-DOWN! part and replayed it a good 10 times before proceeding. The rest of the song was basically an extended jam of Nutritional Supplement Rock, with the repeated refrain I’M CONFIDENT! I’M MILITANT!

We became obsessed with this song, to the point where we had Windigo Parties. We’d put on “C and M” to get psyched up to go out, or when we woke up in the morning, or just on a lazy afternoon. But we wouldn’t just listen to it. We’d do a full-on hardcore version of a Soul Train line dance, where we’d all take turns doing ridiculous slamdance-type moves, or whatever dumb gyrations came to mind.

Me, I used to alternate between The Lawnmower and The Charleston. There was also a move we all did that had no real name. Let’s call it The Orb. You pretended to roll/shine an imaginary glowing sphere in your hands, then pass it along to someone else. Why? Why not?

Did I mention that we would do this with girls in our suite? What’s more amazing is that guys whose idea of good time was having Windigo Parties would ever have girls in their suite. I didn’t say they were there for long, just that they entered the premises at some point.

Sadly, that demo CD was lost in the shuffle and mishegoss of college life. Amazingly, considering the role it played in our lives, no one seems to know what happened to it. Windigo put out a full length in 1998 that did NOT include “C and M.” And since that demo predated the explosion of online file sharing, all of my efforts to find it online have been fruitless.

If you happen to have access to a copy of this song, you do not know what I would pay to own it. No price is too high. I may even regale you with my rendition of The Orb.

Hot Dog! We Have a Wiener!

Amazin Avenue CoverI am pleased to announce that the winner of the first ever Scratchbomb trivia contest, and the recipient of a copy of the brand new Amazin’ Avenue Annual, is WFMU’s own Evan “Funk” Davies. He correctly guessed that the first ever batter I saw step up to the plate in a major league game was the immortal Keith Miller.

As I implied in the initial post, the answer was hinted at deep within the Scratchbomb archives. In this post from way back in 2007, I revealed not only the date of the game (June 20, 1987), but also the detail that my family was unable to sit in our seats until the fourth inning. Miller came to bat with Mookie Wilson on first and nobody out. He promptly lined into a double play. That pretty much encapsulates my baseball-viewing life ever since.

I will give away another copy of the Amazin’ Avenue Annual as soon as I can think of a trivia question that is just as dumb.

The Internet Redeems Itself Again

Sometimes I think we should blow up the internet and just become hermits. In this case, sometimes = when I am baselessly criticized on it.

I don’t mean when someone merely disagrees with me, because I enjoy debating people. But debate does not happen as often as it probably should. This is mostly because the vast majority of what I write falls into black hole, never to be read again. But it’s also in part because the internet does something to people’s brains, where it turns off the filter in their mind and causes them to spew the first dumb reaction that crosses a synapse.

Just within the past week, here’s what I’ve had flung my way:

  • A snotty comment on this site about the Inappropriate Walk Up Music series, which didn’t let the fact that s/he entirely missed the point keep them from leaving completely unconstructive criticism
  • A response tweet from someone bothered by the amount of “pimping” I’m doing for The Amazin Avenue Annual, because I guess I’m the only person who uses Twitter to promote his work
  • Two “dislikes” on a YouTube video I posted from last year’s WFMU Pledge Marathon

That last one really bothered me, because said video features a live Nerd-Off between Patton Oswalt and John Hodgman. Seriously, internet? This video is the kind of thing the internet was created for (well, that and to speed up military communication). If you can’t get down with that, you just hate life.

This is typical of the Internet Bully, who lives to shit all over everything, contribute nothing positive or constructive, and never have to receive reciprocal treatment because they’ve never made anything in their lives.

It’s enough to make you give up on silicon, I tells ya. But just when thought I’d lost faith in the internet altogether, it redeems itself. What could pull me back from the brink of asceticism?

This site, dedicated to the collection of ice cream sundae baseball helmets. At least one example from every team in the majors, plus quite a few minor league squads, with examples going back as far as the early 1970s. Amidst a sea of fetid, rotting cynicism and ignorance, an island of hope and purity.

I am firmly of the belief that ice cream of any make, flavor, or consistency is enhanced by being placed in a miniature plastic baseball helmet. My mom had a collection of such helmets–mostly Mets but some Red Sox from a trip to Boston–and I did not eat ice cream out of any other receptacle until I was in college. Seriously.

We have one in my house now, from a trip to CitiField on a hot summer day last year, when The Baby insisted on getting some Carvel (which promptly turned into sprinkle soup). I have seriously curtailed my ice cream intake lately, because I like seeing my own feet, but when I do eat it, I must do so out of this helmet. To keep the tradition alive, if The Baby gets ice cream, she also gets The Helmet.

Bless you, sir. The internet was never meant for one as beautiful as you.