Elton John Best Concert Tickets at Covelli Centre in Youngstown, OH in Youngstown, Ohio For Sale

Elton John Tickets
Elton John
Covelli Centre
Youngstown, OH
Saturday
2/1/xxxx
8:00 PM
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Elton John
Caesars Palace - Colosseum
Las Vegas, NV
Saturday
4/26/xxxx
7:30 PM
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Elton John
Caesars Palace - Colosseum
Las Vegas, NV
Friday
4/25/xxxx
7:30 PM
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Beast everywhere, it haunts him and blocks up every avenue for him, so that he cannot see the sublime beauties of the creation nor the splendour of human intelligence.In reply to all his wild harangues, George Sand gives wise answers, smiling as she gives them, and using her common sense with which to protect herself against the trickery of words. What has he to complain of, this grown-up child who is too naive and who expects too much? By what extraordinary misfortune has he such an exceptionally unhappy lot? He is fairly well off and he has great talent. How many people would envy him! He complains of life, such as it is for every one, and of the present conditions of life, which had never been better for any one at any epoch. What is the use of getting irritated with life, since we do not wish to die? Humanity seemed despicable to him, and he hated it. Was he not a part of this humanity himself? Instead of cursing our fellow-men for a whole crowd of imperfections inherent to their nature, would it not be more just to pity them for such imperfections? As to stupidity and nonsense, if he objected to them, it would be better to pay no attention to them, instead of watching out for them all the time. Beside all this, is there not more reason than we imagine for every one of us to be indulgent towards the stupidity of other people?"That poor stupidity of which we hear so much," exclaimed George Sand. "I do not dislike it, as I look on it with maternal eyes." The human race is absurd, undoubtedly, but we must own that we contribute ourselves to this absurdity.There is something morbid in Flaubert's case, and with equal clearness of vision George Sand points out to him the cause of it and the remedy. The morbidness is caused in the first place by his loneliness, and by the fact that he has severed all bonds which united him to the rest of the universe. Woe be to those who are alone! The remedy is the next consideration. Is there not, somewhere in the world, a woman whom he could love and who would make him suffer? Is there not a child somewhere whose father he could imagine himself to be, and to whom he could devote himself? Such is the law of life. Existence is intolerable to us as long as we only ask for our own personal satisfaction, but it becomes dear to us from the day when we make a present of it to another human being.There was the same antagonism in their literary opinions. Flaubert was an artist, the theorist of the doctrine of art for art, such as Theophile Gautier, the Goncourt brothers and the Parnassians comprehended it, at about the same epoch. It is singularly interesting to hear him formulate each article of this doctrine, and to hear George Sand's fervent protestations in reply. Flaubert considers that an author should not put himself into his work, that he should not write his books with his heart, and George Sand answers:With what was an author to write his books, if not with his own sentiments and emotions? Was he to write them with the hearts of other people? Flaubert maintained that an author should only write for about twenty persons, unless he simply wrote for himself, "like a bourgeois turning his serviette-rings round in his attic." George Sand was of opinion that an author should write "for all those who can profit by good reading." Flaubert confesses that if attention be paid to the old distinction between matter and form, he should give the greater importance to form, in which he had a religious belief. He considered that in the correctness of the putting together, in the rarity of the elements, the polish of the surface and the perfect harmony of the whole there was an intrinsic virtue, a kind of divine force. In conclusion, he adds:"I endeavour to think well always, in order to write well, but I do not conceal the fact that my object is to write well."This, then, was the secret of that working up of the style, until it became a mania with him and developed into a torture. We all know of the days of anguish which Flaubert spent in searching for a word that escaped him, and the weeks that he devoted to rounding off one of his periods. He would never write these down until he had said them to himself, or, as he put it himself, until "they had gone through his jaw." He would not allow two complements in the same phrase, and we are told that he was ill after reading in one of his own books the following words: "Une couronne de fleurs _d_'oranger.""You do not know what it is," he wrote, "to spend a whole day holding one's head and squeezing one's brains to find a word. Ideas flow with you freely and continually, like a stream. With me they come like trickling water, and it is only by a huge work of art that I can get a waterfall. Ah, I have had some experience of the terrible torture of style!" No, George Sand certainly had no experience of this kind, and she could not even conceive of such torture. It amazed her to hear of such painful labour, for, personally, she let the wind play on her "old harp" just as it listed.Briefly, she considered that her friend was the victim of a hopeless error. He took literature for the essential thing, but there was something before all literature, and that something was life. "The Holy of Holies, as you call literature, is only secondary to me in life. I have always loved some one better than it, and my family better than that some one."This, then, was the keynote of the argument. George Sand considered that life is not only a pretext for literature, but that literature should always refer to life and should be regulated by life, as by a model which takes the precedence of it and goes far beyond it. This, too, is our opinion.The state of mind which can be read between the lines in George Sand's letters to Flaubert is serenity, and this is also the characteristic of her work during the last period of her life. Her "last style" is that of Jean de la Rocke, published in xxxx. A young nobleman, Jean de la Roche, loses his heart to the exquisite Love Butler. She returns his affection, but the jealousy of a young brother obliges them to separate. In order to be near the woman he loves, Jean de la Roche disguises himself as a guide, and accompanies the whole family in an excursion through the Auvergne mountains. A young nobleman as a guide is by no means an ordinary thing, but in love affairs such disguises are admitted. Lovers in the writings of Marivaux took the parts of servants, and in former days no one was surprised to meet with princes in disguise on the high-roads.George Sand's masterpiece of this kind is undoubtedly Le Marquis de Villemer, published in xxxx. A provincial chateau, an old aristocratic woman, sceptical and indulgent, two brothers capable of being rivals without ceasing to be friends, a young girl of noble birth, but poor, calumny being spread abroad, but quickly repudiated, some wonderful pages of description, and some elegant, sinuous conversations. All this has a certain charm. The poor girl marries the Marquis in the end. This, too, is a return to former days, to the days when kings married shepherdesses. The pleasure that we have in reading such novels is very much like that which we used to feel on hearing fairy-stories."If some one were to tell me the story of Peau d'Ane, I should be delighted," confessed La Fontaine, and surely it would be bad form to be more difficult and over-nice than he was. Big children as we are, we need stories which give food to our imagination, after being disappointed by the realities of life. This is perhaps the very object of the novel. Romance is not necessarily an exaggerated aspiration towards imaginary things. It is something else too. It is the revolt of the soul which is oppressed by the yoke of Nature. It is the expression of that tendency within us towards a freedom which is impossible, but of which we nevertheless dream. An iron law presides over our destiny. Around us and within us, the series of causes and effects continues to unwind its hard chain. Every single one of our deeds bears its consequence, and this goes on to eternity. Every fault of ours will bring its chastisement. Every weakness will have to be made good. There is not a moment of oblivion, not an instant when we may cease to be on our guard. Romantic illusion is, then, just an attempt to escape, at least in imagination, from the tyranny of universal order.It is impossible, in this volume, to consider all George Sand's works. Some of her others are charming, but the whole series would perhaps appear somewhat monotonous. There is, however, one novel of this epoch to which we must call attention, as it is like a burst of thunder during calm weather. It also reveals an aspect of George Sand's ideas which should not be passed over lightly. This book was perhaps the only one George Sand wrote under the influence of anger. We refer to Mademoiselle La Quintinie. Octave Feuillet had just published his Histoire de Sibylle, and this book made George Sand furiously angry. We are at a loss to comprehend her indignation. Feuillet's novel is very graceful and quite inoffensive. Sibylle is a fanciful young person, who from her earliest childhood dreams of impossible things. She wants her grandfather to get a star for her, and another time she wants to ride on the swan's back as it swims in the pool. When she is being prepared for her first communion, she has doubts about the truth of the Christian religion, but one night, during a storm, the priest of the place springs into a boat and goes to the rescue of some sailors in peril. All the difficulties of theological interpretations are at once dispelled for her. A young man falls in love with her, but on discovering that he is not a believer she endeavours to convert him, and goes moonlight walks with him. Moonlight is sometimes dangerous for young girls, and, after one of these sentimental and theological strolls, she has a mysterious ailment. . . .In order to understand George Sand's anger on reading this novel, which was both religious and social, and at the same time very harmless, we must know what her state of mind was on the essential question of religion.In the first place, George Sand was not hostile to religious ideas. She had a religion. There is a George Sand religion. There are not many dogmas, and the creed is simple. George Sand believed firmly in the existence of God. Without the notion of God, nothing can be explained and no problem solved. This God is not merely the "first cause." It is a personal and conscious God, whose essential, if not sole, function is to forgive--every one."The dogma of hell," she writes, "is a monstrosity, an imposture, a barbarism. . . . It is impious to doubt God's infinite pity, and to think that He does not always pardon, even the most guilty of men." This is certainly the most complete application that has ever been made of the law of pardon. This God is not the God of Jacob, nor of Pascal, nor even of Voltaire. He is not an unknown God either. He is the God of Beranger and of all good people. George Sand believed also, very firmly, in the immortality of the soul. On losing any of her family, the certainty of going to them some day was her great consolation."I see future and eternal life before me as a certainty," she said; "it is like a light, and, thanks to its brilliancy, other things cannot be seen; but the light is there, and that is all I need." Her belief was, then, in the existence of God, the goodness of Providence and the immortality of the soul. George Sand was an adept in natural religion.She did not accept the idea of any revealed religion, and there was one of these revealed religions that she execrated. This was the Catholic religion. Her correspondence on this subject during the period of the Second Empire is most significant. She was a personal enemy of the Church, and spoke of the Jesuits as a subscriber to the Siecle might do to-day. She feared the dagger of the Jesuits for Napoleon III, but at the same time she hoped there might be a frustrated attempt at murder, so that his eyes might be opened. The great danger of modern times, according to her, was the development of the clerical spirit. She was not an advocate for liberty of education either. "The priestly spirit has been encouraged," she wrote.[53] "France is overrun with convents, and wretched friars have been allowed to take possession of education." She considered that wherever the Church was mistress, it left its marks, which were unmistakable: stupidity and brutishness. She gave Brittany as an example."There is nothing left," she writes, "when the priest and Catholic vandalism have passed by, destroying the monuments of the old world and leaving their lice for the future."[54]It is no use attempting to ignore the fact. This is anti-clericalism in all its violence. Is it not curious that this passion, when once it takes possession of even the most distinguished minds, causes them to lose all sentiment of measure, of propriety and of dignity.Mademoiselle La Quintinie is the result of a fit of anti-clerical mania. George Sand gives, in this novel, the counterpart of Sibylle. Emile Lemontier, a free-thinker, is in love with the daughter of General La Quintinie. Emile is troubled in his mind because, as his fiancee is a Catholic, he knows she will have to have a confessor. The idea is intolerable to him, as, like Monsieur Homais, he considers that a husband could not endure the idea of his wife having private conversations with one of those individuals. Mademoiselle La Quintinie's confessor is a certain Moreali, a near relative of Eugene Sue's Rodin. The whole novel turns on the struggle between Emile and Moreali, which ends in the final discomfiture of Moreali. Mademoiselle La Quintinie is to marry Emile, who will teach her to be a free-thinker. Emile is proud of his work of drawing a soul away from Christian communion. He considers that the light of reason is always sufficient for illuminating the path in a woman's life. He thinks that her natural rectitude will prove sufficient for making a good woman of her. I do not wish to call this into question, but even if she should not err, is it not possible that she may suffer? This free-thinker imagines that it is possible to tear belief from a heart without rending it and causing an incurable wound. Oh, what a poor psychologist! He forgets that beliefis the summing up and the continuation of the belief of a whole series of generations. He does not hear the distant murmur of the prayers of by-gone years. It is in vain to endeavour to stifle those prayers; they will be heard for ever within the crushed and desolate soul.Mademoiselle La Quintinie is a work of hatred. George Sand was not successful with it. She had no vocation for writing such books, and she was not accustomed to writing them. It is a novel full of tiresome dissertations, and it is extremely dull.From that date, though, George Sand experienced the joy of a certain popularity. At theatrical performances and at funerals the students manifested in her honour. It was the same for Sainte-Beuve, but this does not seem to have made either of them any greater.We will pass over all this, and turn to something that we can admire. The robust and triumphant old age of George Sand was admirable. Nearly every year she went to some fresh place in France to find a setting for her stories. She had to earn her living to the very last, and was doomed to write novels for ever. "I shall be turning my wheel when I die," she used to say, and, after all, this is the proper ending for a literary worker.In xxxx and xxxx, she suffered all the anguish of the "Terrible Year." When once the nightmare was over, she set to work once more like a true daughter of courageous France, unwilling to give in. She was as hardy as iron as she grew old. "I walk to the river," she wrote in xxxx, "and bathe in the cold water, warm as I am. . . . I am of the same nature as the grass in the field. Sunshine and water are all I need."For a woman of sixty-eight to be able to bathe every day in the cold water of the Indre is a great deal. In May, xxxx, she was not well, and had to stay in bed. She was ill for ten days, and died without suffering much. She is buried at Nohant, according to her wishes, so that her last sleep is in her beloved Berry.On comparing George Sand with the novelists of her time, what strikes us most is how different she was from them. She is neither like Balzac, Stendhal, nor Merimee, nor any story-teller of our thoughtful, clever and refined epoch. She reminds us more of the "old novelists," of those who told stories of chivalrous deeds and of old legends, or, to go still further back, she reminds us of the aedes of old Greece. In the early days of a nation there were always men who went to the crowd and charmed them with the stories they told in a wordy way. They scarcely knew whether they invented these stories as they told them, or whether they had heard them somewhere. They could not tell either which was fiction and which reality, for all reality seemed wonderful to them. All the people about whom they told were great, all objects were good and everything beautiful. They mingled nursery-tales with myths that were quite sensible, and the history of nations with children's stories. They were called poets.George Sand did not employ a versified form for her stories, but she belonged to the family of these poets. She was a poet herself who had lost her way and come into our century of prose, and she continued her singing.This was merely her charity, for she never understood that there could be any effort in writing. Consequently she could not understand that it should cause suffering. For her, writing was a pleasure, as it was the satisfaction of a need. As her works were no effort to her, they left no trace in her memory. She had not intended to write them, and, when once written, she forgot them.Her novels were like fruit, which, when ripe, fell away from her. George Sand always returned to the celebration of certain great themes which are the eternal subjects of all poetry, subjects such as love and nature, and sentiments like enthusiasm and pity. The very language completes the illusion. The choice of words was often far from perfect, as George Sand's vocabulary was often uncertain, and her expression lacked precision and relief. But she had the gift of imagery, and her images were always delightfully fresh. She never lost that rare faculty which she possessed of being surprised at things, so that she looked at everything with youthful eyes. There is a certain movement which carries the reader on, and a rhythm that is soothing. She develops the French phrase slowly perhaps, but without any confusion. Her language is like those rivers which flow along full and limpid, between flowery banks and oases of verdure, rivers by the side of which the traveller loves to linger and to lose himself in dreams.The share which belongs to George Sand in the history of the French novel is that of having impregnated the novel with the poetry in her own soul. She gave to the novel a breadth and a range which it had never hitherto had. She celebrated the hymn of Nature, of love and of goodness in it. She revealed to us the country and the peasants of France. She gave satisfaction to the romantic tendency which is in every one of us, to a more or less degree.All this is more even than is needed to ensure her fame. She denied ever having written for posterity, and she predicted that in fifty years she would be forgotten. It may be that there has been for her, as there is for every illustrious author who dies, a time of test and a period of neglect. The triumph of naturalism, by influencing taste for a time, may have stopped our reading George Sand. At present we are just as tired of documentary literature as we are disgusted with brutal literature. We are gradually coming back to a better comprehension of what there is of "truth" in George Sand's conception of the novel. This may be summed up in a few words-- to charm, to touch and to console. Those of us who know something of life may perhaps wonder whether to console may not be the final aim of literature. George Sand's literary ideal may be read in the following words, which she wrote to Flaubert:"You make the people who read your books still sadder than they were before. I want to make them less unhappy." She tried to do this, and she often succeeded in her attempt. What greater praise can we give to her than that? And how can we help adding a little gratitude and affection to our admiration for the woman who was the good fairy of the contemporary novel.Tuesday.After not quite taking the wheel, CEO Ghosn spoke to the Global Media Center, reaffirming plans to introduce self-driving cars.to the E-SIGN Act."Affiliate Advertising" means any online paid advertisement that is posted on any Backpage Site(s) within two years of a new user's initial posting of any advertisement on any Backpage Site(s) as a result of your referral link which uses the same email address, and which is tagged for purposes of this Affiliate Program. To be tagged, a user must place an advertisement within thirty (30) days from the time you refer the user as the cookie expires after (30) days. You acknowledge and agree that if a user that is referred by you has disabled its cookies or other links in a manner that prevents us from tracking the referral, we have no liability for unearned commissions to you as a result. the conditions of the Open Source Definition.Text is available under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike License; additional terms may apply. By using this site, you agree to the Terms of Use and Privacy Policywho led George Sand on to Socialism. She had been on the way to it by herself. For a long time she had been raising an altar in her heart to that entity called the People, and she had been adorning it with all the virtues. The future belonged to the people, the whole of the future, and first of all that of literature.Poetry was getting a little worn out, but to restore its freshness there were the poets of the people. Charles Poncy, of Toulon, a bricklayer, published a volume of poetry, in xxxx, entitled Marines. George Sand adopted him. He was the demonstration of her theory, the example which illustrated her dream. She congratulated him and encouraged him. "You are a great poet,".are now developed and released together from a single source repository. MAMEDEV member David Haywood maintains and distributes UME (Universal Machine Emulator) which combines much of the functionality of MAME and MESS in a single application. Anyone who downloads the complete source package from MAMEDEV.ORG can compile the parent project MAME (make), MESS (make TARGET=mess) or, of course, UME (make TARGET=ume). This UME build options allows users more for what would be less space than MAME and MESS would occupy alone due to shared core components.MAME (an acronym of Multiple Arcade Machine Emulator) is an emulator application designed to recreate the hardware of arcade game systems in software on modern personal computers and other platforms. The intention is to preserve gaming history by preventing vintage games from being lost or forgotten. The aim of MAME is to be a reference to the inner workings of the emulated arcade machines; the ability to actually play the games is considered "a nice side effect".During street protests after the U.S. government's invasion of Iraq in March xxxx, police in Portland, Oregon, became brutal in their treatment of activists on the street. Furious about the unfair, pro-cop, pro-violence coverage of these events by the local corporate media, media activists put together a video showing the real story and gave it to the corporate media. Corporate media was very selective in what it chose to air, however, and this video exposes how they still told lies even when gi...Glass Bead Collective, Twin Cities Indymedia, and other independent media activists have released a new film, 'Terrorizing Dissent', an expose of events at the xxxx Republican National Convention in St. Paul, Minnesota. Featuring first-person accounts and footage from more than forty cameras on the streets, 'Terrorizing Dissent' focuses on the story of dissent suppressed. People charged with "conspiracy to riot in furtherance of terrorism" speak out against the government's campaign to manipulat... Based on the Novel by Patrick Dennis, and the play "AUNTIE MAME" by Lawrence and Lee Who is MAME? Some of Mame's wild, adventurous spirit is inside everyone who lives for the moment and believes that "life is a banquet!" It's the height of the xxxx's and Auntie Mame becomes the guardian for her ten-year-old nephew, Patrick. Special songs include Mame, It's Today, Open a New Window, If He Walked into My Life, We Need a Little Christmas, Bosom Buddies and That's How Young I Feel. Her life is turned up-side-down, many of her priorities change, but she still lives life to the fullest. MAME played originally for xxxx performances on Broadway at the Winter Garden and Broadway Theatres starring Angela Lansbury, Beatrice Arthur and Frankie Michaels. It played for 443 performances in London at the Drury Lane Theatre. It was revived on Broadway in xxxx, again with Angela Lansbury starring as Mame Dennis. Mame is a happy happening. She is well-to-do, lives in New York at the peak of the Twenties, and is surprised by a "wonderful present": an orphan nephew named Patrick. Now, ten-year-old Patrick needs his aunt, and this is something new for Mame-to be needed. It changes her life. It brings her into sharp conflict with her best friend, Vera Charles, a multi-martini grande dame of the legitimate theatre-for Vera can't stand children. The man Mame is about to marry is perfectly willing to take on the boy as a bonus, but Mame doesn't think she'll have time for marriage-"I'll be too busy being a mother!" The boy's nanny, Agnes Gooch, doesn't approve of those irrepressible things which go on in Mame's Beekman Place apartment, and yet she inevitably falls under her spell.Eye to eye, toe to toe, Mame battles Babcock, the Babbitt-ish banker who wants to make young Patrick the prisoner of the Establishment and put the chains of conformity around him. With the balloon burst of the Depression, it looks as if Babcock is going to have his way. Mame loses all her money, and she loses jobs as quickly as she finds them. (Mame's gift is giving, not working for hire!) In a brief adventure as a manicurist, she meets Beau-a wealthy scion of the South. He takes Mame to his plantation for the begrudging approval of his family. They are astounded at her exploits on horseback (so is she)! Of course, Beau proposes-in the bouncing title song which sings the praises of Mame! There's only one problem as the curtain falls on the first act-young Patrick, who has given her such joy and provided a purpose in her life, smiles bravely. But he's afraid he has lost his Best Girl. Act Two rushes headlong into the Thirties. Vera stands by her Bosom Buddy when Mame returns to Beekman Place after Beau's sudden death. Patrick, now in college, and Mame's former suitor, Lindsay Woolsey, prompt Mame into writing her memoirs. Gooch has been primed in secretarial school to type up Mame's pearls of wisdom-but an experiment in a liberated life has a transforming influence on Patrick's nanny. And the maturing Patrick seems to be slipping away from Mame's ideal of freedom. When he declares his engagement to a fatuous blonde "with the IQ of a dead flashlight battery," Mame is in despair. What did she do wrong? What would she do differently, "If he walked into my life today?" But the lady's resources are endless. Just as young Patrick rescued her from the shallow trap of the Twenties, she helps the boy to save himself from a life of Darien drabness and snobbery. Ingeniously, she foils the Establishment and life goes on, not with Auntie Mame but with Grand Auntie Mame rescuing another youngster from the toils of conformity. Mame is Eve, St. Joan, Lady Godiva, Susan B. Anthony, Clara Bow and Florence Nightingale. She dances, too, and defies all generation gaps! We have seen hundreds of Auntie Mames and Mames: in each one there seemed to be a flash of something a bit different, a new discovery in the way this remarkable lady thinks, feels, moves. We've had ten plays on Broadway-but somehow MAME is the show we've always looked forward to seeing again! MAME4droid is a version of iMAME4all (Jailbroken iPhone, iPad) for Android, all of them developed by David Valdeita (Seleuco), port of MAME 0.37b5 emulator by Nicola Salmoria and TEAM, and it is based on GP2X, WIZ MAME4ALL 2.5 by Franxis. MAME4droid emulates arcade games supported by original MAME 0.37b5 plus some additional games from newer MAME versions.This version emulates over xxxx different romsets. Please, try to understand that that with that amount of games, some will run better than others and some might not even run with MAME4droid. Owners of older devices should not expect good performance. Tips to help performance: use lower quality sound or switch it off, use 8 bit depth, underclock the CPU and Sound CPUs. Disable stick and buttons animations and disable smooth scaling also.After installing, place your MAME-titled zipped roms in /sdcard/ROMs/MAME4all/roms folder.MAME4droid uses only MAME4droid & iMAME4all uses only '0.37b5', 'GP2X, WIZ 0.37b11 mame romset'. Use "clrmame.dat" file included in /sdcard/ROMs/MAME4all/ to convert romsets from other MAME versions to the ones used by this version, using ClrMAME Pro utility, available in this URL:MAME4droid will never have "save states" since it is based on a MAME version that does not support it. Great This app is bloody amazing. I never expected to be able to play proper games like KOF '98 on my tablet and even use my arcade stick with it! I hope it will support better romsets in the future though, this one doesn't support many fighting games. Keep up the great work dev! Implement MAME4droid as a "foreground service" to avoid auto-close The emulator us very good but if you want to take a break by minimizing it, accessing other features on your phone, etc, it might get killed by Android's processes nature, so you lose all the progress you made in the game. If implemented as foreground service it'd be perfect. IV/Play (pronounced ?Four Play?) is a desktop oriented GUI front-end for MAME?. It was designed and commissioned by John IV as a familiar feeling alternative to MAMEUI. It has a narrow and particular feature-set, is keyboard driven, and utilises many of the navigation short cuts of MAMEUI. It is available as a combo x64/x86 app and can run on XP and Vista; though it is designed for Windows 7/8 with leveraged features like Jump List support. IV/Play is decoupled from setting MAME options directly in an effort to future proof against the continual core changes that impact MAMEUI. IV/Play requires .NET 4.0. Click the image above to see the user guide PDF. Future Pinball is the premier 3D pinball simulator for Windows, re-creating ~300 tables from the xxxxs to xxxx. Since its original release, Future Pinball has had multiple external physics upgrades which greatly enhance gameplay. Use the BAM download package and run 2.7 Physics or ZED Physics tables from PinSim DB.
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7:30 PM
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Elton John
Caesars Palace - Colosseum
Las Vegas, NV
Thursday
4/3/xxxx
7:30 PM
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Elton John
Caesars Palace - Colosseum
Las Vegas, NV
Tuesday
4/1/xxxx
7:30 PM
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Elton John
Caesars Palace - Colosseum
Las Vegas, NV
Sunday
3/30/xxxx
7:30 PM
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Elton John
Caesars Palace - Colosseum
Las Vegas, NV
Saturday
3/29/xxxx
7:30 PM
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Elton John
Canadian Tire Centre (formerly Scotiabank Place)
Ottawa, Canada
Thursday
2/13/xxxx
8:00 PM
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Elton John
General Motors Centre
Oshawa, Canada
Wednesday
2/12/xxxx
8:00 PM
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Elton John
Copps Coliseum
Hamilton, Canada
Saturday
2/8/xxxx
7:00 PM
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Elton John
Air Canada Centre
Toronto, Canada
Thursday
2/6/xxxx
8:00 PM
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Elton John
Centre Bell
Montreal, Canada
Wednesday
2/5/xxxx
8:00 PM
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Elton John
Budweiser Gardens (formerly John Labatt Centre)
London, Canada
Monday
2/3/xxxx
8:00 PM
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Elton John
Covelli Centre (Formerly Chevrolet Centre)
Youngstown, OH
Saturday
2/1/xxxx
8:00 PM
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