i’m having some technical inadequacies this week, should be
back in regular posting form next monday.

since last week i was consumed with a volunteer project for the local firehouse
(scroll down to last posting), here are some lovely images my good friend,
miguel luciano, took during a statue delivery two weeks ago.

we’ve restored just about all the statues in this chapel this summer. for these
pieces, miguel did the gorgeously luminescent and lifelike color and i did the
repairs and gold work.

st. joachim and ann roman catholic church, queens village

the last few weeks have been given over to finishing a long overdue project:

this is the underpainting of a mural on the dinner table top of the local firehouse.
their lieutenant built the table for them as a parting gift when he was promoted
to captain. my friend, dave herman, a firefighter in that house, planned and researched
all the symbolism and the glorious retro-propaganda approach to the table, and i’m
executing the image.

this is how things were looking yesterday morning. by last night, i’d finished the other side of
the cityscape, including the very dramatic sun setting behind the ghosts of the twin towers.
obviously, there is still a lot of work to do, but it’s coming along. today i make one of
the angel-ladies look a little less irish, work on the crest in the center, and turn the lights
on in the windows of the buildings. most of the bridge and my favorite parts (some moody,
smoky clouds) are cropped out of this picture, but i’ll post some overall views later this weekend.

Dear Beth Moyers, Ed Ramsey, Percy K. Doyle, and Isabel J. Tipton:

I apologize for writing you all at once, but this is a particular situation where I believe there is strength in numbers…

First, let me just say how touched and honored I am that you wrote me – that you felt strongly enough to break the silence that surrounds each and separates all of us is to be acknowledged and commended. Moreover, to approach me with such trust and openness – to confide in me regarding such delicate matters when we’ve never spoken or even corresponded before – I find it humbling. Maybe it’s from living in New York for the last few years, but I’m just not used to that kind of unguarded engagement.

Secondly, allow me to express my condolences. I’m not really sure the best way to articulate them, so perhaps I should just keep it simple, as you have in your telling of your misfortune, and say: I’m sorry to hear that your boyfriend’s penis keeps slipping out. But you each must find some solace in knowing you are not alone in your situation – all of you contacted me with the exact same concern! And if each of you is suffering from this unfortunate situation, there must be hundreds of others with the same complaint. Perhaps you could start a support group? The acronymic possibilities alone would be fascinating.

I hope I’m not being presumptuous or breaching anyone’s trust when I tell you there are people out there who might be able to help you. Call it kismet, but just the other day, a generous stranger named Dale Leal wrote me suggesting that I learn how to be a bigger man Thursday. (This sort of confusion happens to me with some frequency since most people think “George” is a man’s name.) I’m sure if you contacted Mr. Leal on your boyfriend’s behalf, he might be able to assist you and possibly even recommend someone to help with Friday through Wednesday. Or perhaps you could get in touch with Alicia K. Downing, who also wrote me – I swear to God- without me telling her anything of your letter. Apparently she has information that could significantly increase penis length, which, while it is not an exact fit (as it were) to your situation, it is in the same, er… ballpark, no? I would also, with some trepidation, refer you to Theodore G. Ford, whose new guy’s shaft is enormous. I just don’t know him well enough to be able to determine if he has advice to share, or if he’s just bragging. Nor do I know whether his good fortune is genetic, which might just be depressing for you, but perhaps a conversation with him might prove beneficial.

Judging by your pull-no-punches approach to this subject, each of you appears to be a very straightforward person, so you may be impatient with the indirectness of these other folks who wrote me – again out of the blue – with what appears to be a thinly veiled solution to your concern. (I could be wrong, but I’m generally pretty savvy about this type of thing, if you don’t mind a little horn tooting, as it were.) Alexis Ayala has or knows of a very very magic stick, and Yesenia Hawk possesses information regarding a super stick. Marquita Stapleton (isn’t Marquita a lovely name?) is probably an English as a second language speaker, for there’s some lack of clarity in her suggestion to Enjoy with you hard stick, but I think her intentions are pure. Even more subtley, John T. Owens promises no more embarassment, which could refer to anything, but again, maybe he knows someone who knows someone…

And finally, I don’t know if Poly Dimaio has a solution for you, or just a curious distraction, but she assures that fire shall devour the hot seat. Maybe not so relevant, but she obviously knows something I don’t.

Best of luck and thanks again for writing,

George
georgeferrandi#hotmail.com

…from the journal i started 6 years ago this month,
when i was visiting new york, finalizing the details for my move here:

it’s cool today, so you wear your hair down. the men at
the grocery store say “que linda” when you’ve passed them.
kayleenda…

a starbucks couple across the street, both talking on their
cellphones. it would be so new-millenium-beautiful if they were talking
to each other on their phones as they walked, side by side. but you
know they aren’t. she’s talking to her friend about last night.
he’s talking to his about tomorrow…

some drawings done with robot nick. his show is coming up later this summer…

…from the journal i started 6 years ago this month,
when i was first organizing my move to new york:

day three:
-you will pass a small black dog in the door. she is a poodle and
she wants to come out, but she is not allowed and anyway she
is very afraid, a little mangy and her underbite reminds you of
some relatives.

-and a mom sits on the step behind her daughter and her daughter
bends her head forward so her mom can softly scratch her neck.

lunch with an old circus friend.
talk of experimental drugs and edamame.
the cornflower blue of his shirt so close to the blue of the plastic chair behind him,
but only when light was passing through it… and me without my camera…

walking east on south second street,
we pass a tv and vcr set up on the sidewalk. (it makes me crazy now that
i can’t remember what was playing. something from public tv…)
then we pass four ladies playing dominoes around a table.
each white domino says “puerto rico” in a black, cursive font on the back.
their table is set up in front of a chain link fence.
hanging on the fence is a mounted black and white image of guernica.
we head north on roebling and make our way to the basement recording studio
where taigaa! is mixing their new album
and keeping their feet off the floor for fear of waterbugs.
their songs are beyond beautiful. i tell them sultry .
what is sultry?
like sexy in hot weather.

they tell me the drums are the rain… the violin is the desert.

and that

…the tiger and the shark want to walk together but the shark has to swim in the salty water.

i think maybe i knew this, but forgot.

1. wake up early to remake jesus’ halo. his old one is around here somewhere, but
you can’t find it and it’s a little worse for wear anyway. aluminum flashing and spray
paint should do the trick. (it’ll look better than it sounds.)
2. go to the farmer’s market to get milk, fruit and veggies. the last round of
blueberries went into cobbler, so these are just for eating raw.
3. pick up your pound of worms from the vermiculture-queen-master-composter,
kate.
4. photograph saints catherine and francis, then wrap them snuggly in bed sheets and
quilts for their ride on the expressway.
5. pick up your dear friend and talk about love all the way to the church.

6. unveil the veins in their hands, the repaired skull, the lilly, the beads, the wound in
his chest.
7. get lifted off your feet by a powerful brown lady who’s built her church on her heart
from her gut. be moved to tears and “overwarmed” along with everyone else in the
room.
8. get invited behind the altar to another set of rooms – one with a bed for tending the
sick. one, painted aqua, with just a ladder near the window (for getting closer…?)
the last one with sandy white floors and sky blue walls and ceiling.
9. sit on wooden chairs in the skyblue room with the dark brown ladies and your dear
(bronzey-orange, i guess?) friend. surrounded by saints in stone grottoes, hear
stories of bulls with broken legs, bowing their heads to the miracle of their situation.

10. spot a creepy-beautiful kangaroo in the fireplace/altar hidden behind a saint (jude,
wasn’t it?) and be told you cannot refuse it and that don’t worry, you will find out
what it’s for later.
11. carry the kangaroo that you cannot refuse and the second jesus, with his eyes
rolling upward, under the ship’s wheel in the ceiling and back to williamsburg.
12. with your bronzey-orange-i-guess friend, eat curling squid strips in the tiny thai
restaurant.
13. count the morning glories lining up for service tomorrow while playing a song
about soldiers on your mandolin.
14. try to pinch the cellphone between your shoulder and your chin so you can talk to
your mom while you shred the voice for the worms.
15. wash the soy-based ink off your hands, curl your eyelashes and put on lipstick.
16. meet your friends for a little ladies’ night with margaritas in the dark and a mound
of jalapenos. talk of french love, friend love and wishes for world travels.
17. walk home, walk the dog, tuck the worms in (but leave the light on for them) and
go to bed, bowing your head to the miracle of your situation.

another excerpt from the journal i started 6 years ago this month,
when i first moved to new york:

day two:
-chicken foot prints in cement around the corner from my house.
i told my dad and he said, “stupid chicken.”

-i sat on the step and looked at the sky down the street. a huge flock
of birds flew in tight formation – circling, diving, rising , circling.
figure eights and fireworks – all within my range of vision. it was
beyond my comprehension – they weren’t swifts- what were they
doing? it went on for minutes – optical complexities and busby berkeley
maneuvers. miguel came just then and told me they were homing
pigeons. even more amazing – now i picture the salsa-ing old lady
in her dusty loafers on the roof waving her pr flag with the cartoon
frog on it (coqui! coqui!) and *conducting the pigeons.

i’ve been here almost 6 years. keeping this online journal
has put me in mind of the journal i started when i was
first settling in here from florida. right around this time,
i came for a few weeks to bring some belongings (i love
that word… belongings) and to paint what would be my room,
then left for about a month to wrap up loose ends before i
officially moved to new york for good on sept. 10, 2001.

over the next few weeks, i’ll be posting excerpts from the
journal i started that august…

august 2001
red letter day
new york city
arrived in dad’s fruit truck.
a lady in the grocery store held her arm straight to drop
the second red pepper into the plastic. it went straight
through to the ground. she closed her eyes and muttered
in spanish before she bent to pick it up. somehow this made
me giddy with new york city.

aside from sugar snap peas, this was the first real
harvest from the container garden on our roof.

also noted on this day:
i heard very recently, and i can’t for the life of me
remember where, something along the lines of:
if you can’t find what is special and beautiful in
the world around you, when it is laid out before
your eyes, how can you possibly expect to find
what is special and beautiful within you, when it
is often hidden?

both of these images were taken on the way home from no-gos;
the job i’d been called to look at was completed when i got there…

Avenue U

and the car repair place had no record of my appointment.

Metropolitan Avenue

also noted on this day: an asian man chanted
loudly as he jaywalked across 14th street. the rhythm stayed in
my head on the L train as the latino man standing across from
me hummed salsa sounds over his ipod.

yes – a cake – from the essex street market… i think that’s real hair.

and i think that’s intended as a bonus.

also noted on this day: leaving the subway station at union square,
a lady’s beige, not-so-high heeled shoe slipped off her right foot
on the top stair. she giggled like a much younger girl as she
back-tracked against the crowd to pick it up.

why have i never heard of economy candy?!? good lord. floor-to-ceiling,
wall-to-wall treats. more pez than i’ve ever seen in one place…
including this- my personal holy grail:

plus old style nostalgic stuff, high-end chocolate, penny candy…
exactly what one would expect a new york cand store to be…

also noted on this day: on the sidewalk of 19th street, two men
stood facing each other. one looked straight up, tilting his head
way back so the other could shave his adam’s apple with an electric
razor.

nick draws robots. obssessively. compulsively. continuously. effortlessly.
it is quite a thing to watch. …and he makes some real nice sounds on
the mandolin, too. he’s getting ready for his show next month.