pianogonzology

Saturday, July 29, 2017

The Wheel . . .

(from http://www.nbcnews.com/politics/white-house/bipartisan-group-shares-voter-data-shames-trump-panel-n783206)
". . . “There’s no reason to re-invent the wheel when we’re already here…and we do it very well,” said Shane Hamlin, executive director of the Election Registration Information Center, also known as . . . ERIC is a non-profit group currently made up of 20 states — both red and blue — and the District of Columbia that shares large amounts of sensitive voter data to root out possible fraud, ensure more accurate voter rolls and encourage registration. . . Hamlin, a former election official in Washington State, said he was stunned when he read the letter from Trump's commission seeking voter information from all 50 states. . . "It wasn’t clear how they were going to protect the data and generate results that were actually going to be usable,” he said. “If you have garbage in, you’re going to get garbage out.". . ."

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Friday, July 28, 2017

Striving . . .

In a pocket-neighborhood sandwiched between the rolling hills of a 100 acre cemetery and a can manufacturing factory stood the rows upon rows of little brick houses joined at the hip, providing shelter for a multitude of lower, middle-class and mostly blue-collar families, straddling the border of the 'big' city to the west. It was here that our protagonist lived the initial twenty-two years of his life learning about the world, in general, and learning about music. It's only now, after the passing of an additional thirty-eight, and additional learning about the world, in general, and about music, that he speaks through the music, as if it were second nature or even purely instinctual, about events, observations, people, places, emotions, wants, needs, pleasures and pains that have transpired throughout the entire period. Only now, the process of codifying, recording or documenting, if you will, the vignettes of music and lyrics, has somehow become more difficult whether due to a dearth of uncommitted hours or simply an impediment brought about by advancing years or even waning talent. It's not that a desire does not lie beneath the surface of a, what some may label, mundane existence, because surely he does not view his presence on this orb mundane by any means. It seems that the entire process is interrupted, more often than not, by other things and that although the intent is to return to that divine pass-time to complete individual, pre-meditated works, the reality is that only on rare occasions is completion now actually accomplished. He does, however, spontaneously create constantly and prolifically, telling tales of bold, juvenile adventures, characters of shady as well as honorable reputations, encounters with wonders of nature, lessons culled from a multitude of days now spent an memories which elicit a gamut of emotions both mature and not.

Way It Is

©2016 Raymond M. Jozwiak

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Thursday, July 27, 2017

Complexity . . .

Childhood is so gloriously simple, for those fortunate enough to have caring, loving and providing parent(s). I was fortunate. I can still recapture, or should I say remember, that carefree feeling that was my life for, what now in reality was, a few short years. There is no deep-seated desire to return to those times. They were wonderful for what they were. . . a beginning. An introduction. A primer. I recall a time when I perceived all adults to be 'wise' (for lack of a better word) simply by virtue of their years. And rightly, thanks to Mom and Dad, accorded them the proper respect that adults were due as a result. I'm not certain when, but at one point, most probably shortly after entering school, I realized that things would not remain as easy going as in the past. The status quo was about to be shaken. There would soon be additional responsibilities, or complications, in my simple, carefree life. Again, rightly so. Now, in addition to having to decide in which direction I would ride my bike, whether I wanted grape or cherry-flavored bubblegum and what television program I would watch upon my arrival home, I had to integrate several hours of school, some homework, new friends and a social component to which I was quite simply not accustomed.

It's Complicated
©2017 Raymond M. Jozwiak

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Wednesday, July 26, 2017

Best . . .

(https://www.washingtonpost.com/blogs/plum-line/wp/2017/07/17/trumps-made-in-america-week-is-a-hypocritical-joke/?utm_term=.8f4fae4be0d0)
". . . “Made in America” week, a new Washington ritual during which a president who routinely boasts of being the best at everything admits that he is not the best after all. Because if American-made products are the best, then products made abroad, such as many of Trump’s own branded products, are by definition not the best. . . But because the Trump Organization and related companies haven’t seen fit to produce their own goods in the United States, that means either their products aren’t the best or Trump is engaged in a craven manipulation of his fans. Or both. . . Trump’s own clothing and home accessories are produced overseas in countries including China, Bangladesh and Mexico. When he excoriates American companies for moving manufacturing jobs overseas, then, he is including himself in his own criticism — but of course would never admit that. Instead, when questioned about why he manufactures items overseas, his answer was, essentially, everyone else does it.". . ."

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Tuesday, July 25, 2017

The World . . .

. . . was my oyster . . .

. . . as full of wonder and joy; as carefree; as full of potential but more importantly, full of fun. With a bicycle practically a permanent part of my anatomy, the neighborhood provided (what seemed like) endless miles to explore, numerous friends with whom many adventures were undertaken. Safe, secure, content and not a care in the world. . . except for possibly 'in which direction do I ride today?' One day, with some friends (who sometimes possessed less-than-noble motives), my bike and I ventured to the property of a nearby box-manufacturing facility. In the yard of the property, which was not secured by fence, wall or canine representatives, were stored rolls of paper (a necessary component of cardboard boxes) of all sizes and weights. For some reason which does not readily or otherwise come to mind mind now, we dismounted our vehicles and came in personal contact to a relatively small roll which was probably about four and a half feet tall, not very big in diameter, yet quite heavy; a fact which I was later to discover first-hand. Our close contact with the object eventually involved changing its position from vertical to horizontal. As we proceeded in our endeavor, the roll of paper somehow managed to attain its horizontal orientation upon the tip of the big toe on my right foot. Upon my return home and my walk through the living room where my parents were watching their evening television, I resorted to limping somewhat to relieve the pain of the injury I had sustained. When questioned about my unusual method of walking, I assured Mom and Dad that nothing was wrong. This for two reasons: 1. I was hoping the injury was minor and would not require any significant attention; 2. House rules said that my wanderings were to be confined to our neighborhood and I was NOT to cross the major thoroughfare to where the box company was located. Eventually I 'fessed-up.' The nail of my big toe on the injured foot was severely bruised (nothing broken, thank goodness). It eventually fell off being replaced by a brand new one.

My Oyster
©2017 Raymond M. Jozwiak

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Monday, July 24, 2017

43,351 . . .

. . . numbers. . .

What can I say? Listen to some MORE at
YouTube

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Sunday, July 23, 2017

Remixed . . .

. . . Ocean City Ditty . . .

Ocean City Ditty
Remix, July 2017 by OHO (Jay Graboski, David Reeve & Ray Jozwiak)

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