Thursday, September 8, 2016

Ultimate Frisbee Pittsburgh Westinghouse Group

Ultimate Frisbee Pittsburgh Westinghouse Group over the years..
Sat after Thanksgiving:

Labor day, 2016:


Larry used a techy device to map our route:

Here we are May 14, 2015:

 
11/8/2012:



11/2009:



In 2007 Fabio Scenini sent me this pic: (taken 2005)
10/2005 - Pics with Diego and Andrea just before they left

 And 8/2005:
And the same year, our Ultimate Frisbee Fox!



And here's a few pics from our Ultimate Frisbee trip to Panama City Beach, Sep 2015:




Monday, August 22, 2016

Beyond the mere brocade

Frequent movement all around, with percussion to astound.
Harmonies give light to sound, christening a pluck redound.
Subtle serenade subsists with symphonies and blades.
Yet gentler rhythms spark the nightly shade.
Listen to the flowing holographic chant: it's just been made,
moving over altitudes beyond the mere brocade.
And it's said, that nothing happens,
unless an act can move from here to there, and then we'll trade.

Red carpet stairway

A Whirlwind of Stolen Time

She was more like anything I've ever dreamed of and she was no dream. She waxed elusive hidden in plain sight wearing an exquisite red evening gown with trailing tails which flowed behind her as she entered the stage, bowing and seating herself before the grand piano. She was Valentina Lisitsa, and she was here to play Edvard Grieg's piano concerto. Then she began and time seemed to stand still, yet minutes passed and the beautiful music progressed faster than I would like, for I wanted it to last forever.

Lively passages quickly give way to passionate vibes, as unyielding concentration poured heart and soul into vigorous sequences of splendor. Then came a smile as she gently leaned forward as if contemplating the next measure for measure. Fingers sprightly danced over the keyboard coyly flirting with oboe and cellos, and again the PSO repeats the refrain. Hands now seemed to attack the keyboard for only a quick few notes, then softly silhouetted a sanguine solo sequence.

Fast forward to the end, and my friend exclaims: 'outrageous' meaning it was so magnificent as to go beyond mere description. I agree. Time has stolen itself back again, as the concerto is now over as the audience applauds, and I again have been robbed of the beautiful music from my ears. Yet I'll return to hear again.

Usurp the Clock

Even now as I write this the full toned voice of Joshua Bell's violin is still ringing harmoniously in my mind. He has conquered the savage temperament of his instrument and masterfully tamed its pinpoint delicacies with such precision as to elicit chords of such beauty

Countenance became an expression of a tempestuous glowing fervor deep within the musical composition, which only he, the soloist could feign to adroitly release before the rapturously assembled audience whose attention could not be broken by nary a cough nor sprinkling of applause between movements. Indeed each of the patrons around me seemed spellbound by the performance unraveling before us.

Enthusiasm expressed by his mastery of the violin and the score exposed a smile in my heart translated to my lips. Simultaneously the music would affect my introspective mind as I discovered the notes were fixed yet offered more: the rhythm and other aspects of his solo interpretations supplanted subtle expectations and were deliriously absorbed by every ear.

The pure notes reached my soul and produced the most exquisite feeling of joy within me. I felt the greatest eagerness to fully hear more, yet at the same time furiously usurp the clock to slow down time so that I may savor the delicious sounds, to bathe in their silky texture and to break the surface of each luxurious tone like a swimmer emerging from a pool, refreshed.

Naked Strings Commence

Naked Strings commence
Percussion joins
Dissonant Horns fledglings hatch
Piano transcends
Drums ravage common tempo

Trombone segway her entrance
Cello stumbles
Bells ascend
Bass girds
String screech like an owl
Trumpets enunciate
Big O notes from Trombones emancipate
Drums roll thunder
Slowness descends
Piano and woodwinds ripple
Xylophones harmonize
Trumpets Sustain
Violas Scarily announce
Trepidatiosly drumming
Cellos grind
Horns accent
Percussion train has arrived
Revelry ground
Fluttery sounds underground
Grand scale top
Wood Xylophone promenade
Brass Dominates
Conductor yields ascending lines
Magical variations as the wand waves
Culminating Revelry like bees swarming
Darting hither and thither, pouncing, gone
Principle Mastery in unison
Yet dissonant sounds unavoidable
Shifting gears
Shattered grandeur
Strings enunciate
Flying heights
Woodwinds enjoin
Final Ascent
Hectic Hay-day
Resolving to naught
again Naked Strings
as in the beginning, so it is again
Monotone metronome drum
Heart beat methodically
building
volume, fullness
Louder, ready to Burst

An ardor flirtingly revealed

Is it a sturdy cacophony replete with waving baton, or a measured gravitational series of waves that roll ceaselessly over my senses, caressing the very depths of my being? Either or, it makes no difference, it is anxiously perceived.

In my minds eye I imagine a subtle smile detected, with long flowingHallelujah hair flung opulently as if to obscure my concentrated view, but not in a direct line of flight to the ensemble, but rather a subtle diversion reaching from within the orchestra's core competency, softly mixing harmonic elegy to show an ardor flirtingly revealed.

A temporal dilemma arises, hitherto redacted prose replete with singularly intimate imbalance replenishes softly my consummate repose. Already scribed with abundance, the text remains. Hearing quiet sounds, the concert continues, no need to amplify, my conscience returns in ample abundance.

The love story is still building, ever longing, building, longing the way it was intended in the opera, the way it has always been. Is it a splendid tragedy? No, it's ever my immortal hearing of a beautiful love told in music which never fails to send shivers through my soul