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I got back from New York on Sunday with a U-haul truck full of stuff from my storage unit. Tym Cornell and C.E. Nelson kindly dropped by to help me unload it (C.E. just happened to be passing through town on his way from Arkansas to Florida), and I took them both over to Rojo for a beer afterward.

When I came back upstairs, a couple across the hall was fighting loudly, and their door was open. A black cat was wandering the hallway. I shrugged and figured one of them would soon notice the cat was missing and take it back in. I spent a couple of hours catching up on email and work, and then I went out again for a little while.

The cat was still in the hallway. I knocked on the door where I’d seen the people fighting earlier, and there was no answer. So I put the cat in my apartment and gave it a bowl of water. And then I wrote a note for the owners, which I stuck under their door. “Black cat is in apartment #[redacted]. I’m not home, but the door is unlocked if you want to come get him.”

I came home, and to my surprise, the cat was still in my apartment. Even more surprising, the cat had not trashed my apartment or peed all over the carpet.

The cat seemed hungry, and I didn’t have anything at all to give him because I’d been out of town for a week. So I called a friend and asked her to bring over a can of cat food.  She brought two. Then I wrote another note for the cat’s owners, giving them my phone number to call when they are ready to get the cat. The cat seemed malnourished and blazed through an entire large can of food in no time. I had nothing for the cat to poop or pee in, but I was just hoping he’d use the tub if necessary. But he never did either while he was there.

All night, he kept talking to me, jumping up on the bed and asking to be pet. I sort of hoped they wouldn’t call me. The cat reminded me a lot of Frankie, my cat in New York. My ex got custody of Frankie, which is in his best interest, but I miss that cat. By the time I went to sleep, I was thinking of names and figuring I’d go to Target in the morning to get a litter box.

But at about 6:45 the next morning, my phone rang. “Is this David? You have a black cat?” The guy came over. He claimed that he didn’t know how the cat got out because he was “declawed and not an outdoor cat,” which made no sense of course. The cat was wandering around in the hallway on the tenth floor of an apartment building, not running around the woods. I didn’t tell him that it happened because they were fighting with the door wide open, and the cat just walked right out. I just gave the cat back. But that guy is an idiot, and that cat would be better off with me.

Elephants sometimes trample people,

And then they freak out

And act like they were the ones that were trampled.

 

Letters to you, like cockroaches.
For each one you see hundreds
More hide in the walls.

Many of you know that I am somewhat internet-famous for my stupid song “Onion Man.” This song will not go away. I’ve recorded it on three separate albums (once solo, once with the Semantics aka PopCanon, and once with the Dixieland Space Orchestra), all of which sound better than the solo ukulele version that for some reason was a minor YouTube sensation a couple of years ago.

Anyway, every once in a while I get a letter like the following, which pleases me very much:

Good day to you sir,

I am a resident of North Carolina.  I play the banjo (3-finger/Scruggs, not claw-hammer which confuses me).  I very much like a song of yours, which I believe is titled “Onion Man.”  I would very much like to arrange the acquisition of the lyrics and some sort of chords and/or tabs for it.  It is one of the most wondrous little jingles I’ve heard in some time, and despite my status as a broke college student, I have decided it would be worthwhile to go through considerable lengths to find the song’s author (you?) and secure the chords for it.  If this can be arranged, I would hold you thrice-blessed and a champion asskicker among the savage and profane populous of common humans.  Do please let me know at your soonest convenience.

Cheers from Winston-Salem,

-Stamat

So to Mr. Stamat and others who would like to play this song:

Onion Man Chords

Verse:

A / / / G / D / (x3)

A / / / G D F / / /

Em / / / G / / /

D / Bm / G A E / / /

Chorus:

A / / / G / D /

A / / / G / D G

A / / / G / G# /

Onion Man Lyrics

I was broken down in Georgia, waving down a savior

When soon down the road came this girl named Vidalia

She fed me. She healed me. She fixed my carburetor.

She said “Goodbye,” and I said, “I’ll see you later.”

She said, “Now don’t hold your sweet baby breath.”

Come on now, Vidalia, you’re scaring me to death.

Vidalia, Vidalia, be my onion woman.

Vidalia, Vidalia, I want to be your onion man.

Your onion man, your onion man.

I’ve been looking up, looking down, looking low and high.

I guess I should have known a girl like you would make me cry.

I want to get you in my pickup truck and make you understand

That I want to take you home tonight and be your onion man.

I want to inhale your sweet baby breath

And peel off your layers, until there’s nothing left.

Vidalia, Vidalia, be my onion woman.

Vidalia, Vidalia, I want to be your onion man.

Your onion man, your onion man.

Vidalia, Vidalia, mmm mmmm

Vidalia, Vidalia, mmm mmmm

Vidalia, Vidalia, I want to be your onion man.

Your onion man, your onion man.

Onion Man Videos

I spent Labor Day Weekend with old and new friends in the Florida panhandle. I’m happy to report that I didn’t see any black balls of oil. In fact the water was beautiful and calm and warm. Of course, that doesn’t mean the problem is solved by any means, but it’s a good idea to support the local businesses there while the cleanup is still underway. As for myself, I did my best to help out by patronizing a number of bars and restaurants in Pensacola, Fort Walton Beach, and Destin.

I did a little work while I was at the beach as well. I got started on a web site for Steel Toe Review with some design help from Mike Tesney. It’s coming along, but it’s still not perfect. I decided to try doing it via WordPress, but I’m not convinced that’s the best format. And the email address for submissions doesn’t work. So don’t send me anything yet.

The new band is also imminent. Rehearsals start a week from tomorrow. Still need a band name. George came up with The Featles, and I like that one, but I’m not sure it’s right for this particular band.

I got back in town late Sunday night. I spent the first part of Monday at a church fair/flea market/barbecue with Tia and Warren (and baby Walter). Then the four of us joined my parents, my brother, and my niece and nephew at the Birmingham Zoo, which I have not been to in I don’t know how many years. The kids all had an excellent time, and I had a pretty good time myself.

Do the things I write in this blog have anything at all to do with the book I wrote of the same name? I admit I have not really addressed that or even thought about it much, but I’m thinking about it now.

Brilliant observation #1: I don’t live in Mississippi. I live in Alabama.

Much of the novel (about 1/3 of it or so by page count) takes place in Mississippi. Much of it also takes place in Birmingham. In recent days, and for the foreseeable future, I am writing about being back in Birmingham after many years away.

Brilliant observation #2: The protagonist in my book and I have a few things in common.

The novel is also about a person that runs away from the place where he grew up, searches for meaning in his life, and then discovers that he has to return home and deal with issues there before he can really move on and try to be happy. I found in the past year or so that this was more than a mere metaphor. Writing this book, especially the last parts (which I wrote last, duh) uncovered things in my own subconscious mind that I never really came to terms with. I’m not going to get into that stuff here. That’s between me and my therapist (btw-anybody know a good psychotherapist in Birmingham?)

What else? Oh yeah, I want to keep reminding all you wonderful people out there to buy the damn book. It’s really good. Really.

Ever since I rolled into town a few days ago, I’ve been trying to meet up with various people to involve them in my nefarious art plans. One such person sent me a rather embittered email late last night that included this sentence: “there are some good folks around, but most of the bham writers that are worth anything stay hidden because of the lack of support for good work while mediocrity gets the highest of praises.”

Well, Birmingham writers. It’s time to come out of hiding. My initial plan for the Southside Fiction Writing Workshop was to be a traditional workshop where 4-8 beginner writers would come to me to help hone their craft. But it can also be a sort of roving salon where more established writers meet and talk about the things that are challenging them. It can be a way for creative people to exchange ideas and encourage one another to do awesome things.

Among a lot of the people I know, this is basically what happens by default when we just hang out. I was having dinner last night with a bass player I know, and we spent a couple of hours plotting out how we’re going to start three different bands with distinct agendas and take over the Birmingham music scene. And it ended with a lot of specific ideas about who to try and recruit and real logistics of how this thing is going to happen. What we need though is something that is more organized and has outreach, that goes beyond barroom talk.

I don’t think this person’s complaint is symptomatic of Birmingham writers in particular. Mediocrity wins out in almost every form of entertainment, everywhere. If you want to do something serious, you have to try harder and you have to expect to be ignored by most people. It’s the same way in Manhattan. It’s just that fraction of a percent of people that are interested amounts to a little more because it’s a bigger pool you are drawing from.

However, Birmingham’s smaller size can be a strength because the “scene” need not be splintered the way it is in New York and other large cities.  It can be more inclusive, and in fact, it has to be. Otherwise, as the person who wrote to me last night said, “get used to reading in front of a mirror and your dog.”

So this is a call to all serious writers and artists and performers who feel they are doing contemporary, cutting-edge work that challenges mediocrity and the mainstream. Take up your arms. We are going to make some shit happen around here.