A THOUSAND WORDS - Alex Waterhouse-Hayward's blog on pictures, plants, politics and whatever else is on his mind.




 

Sábado De Gloria - Gringo Viejo
Saturday, April 04, 2015


Lauren Stewart - April 4 2015


It is not often that I rant in this here blog. But today I will make it an exception and do so.
It all began on Thursday when on CBC Radio On The Coast host Stephen Quinn had as a guest the redoubtably boring Grant Lawrence. Lawrence had one of his infamous podcasts of some boring Canadian alternative band (we want Art Bergmann or even that notoriously named The Wankers from yore). Lawrence told us that the song in question was going to put us in the right mood for the holiday weekend.

If you consider that the next day was Good Friday and that he (Lawrence) was on the radio during Holy Week you might wonder to what extent this weekend is a holiday. You might explore the meaning of that word by first separating it – holy day.

When is the last time you heard anybody say, “Happy Ramadan,” or “Happy Passover?”
While Roman Catholics, Lutherans, Protestants, Calvinists, etc do not have a storied and unblemished past free of massacres and assassinations, of late these Christians do not challenge your existence with death (perhaps hell after, if you do not repent). So it is easy to make cartoons and to laugh at the expense of the Nazarenes and their ilk.

But the CBC might want to show some respect or is it that the new religion (my friend Bob Mercer might hooray me if he reads this) is that of consumerism, digital consumerism, Dickensian Capitalism and movies involving swords and magical rings?

Today in Spanish we call the day Sábado de Gloria. We prepare for the one pleasant and happy day (after a morose Holy Week) that is Easter Sunday. Believe it or not , the Roman Catholic church considers Easter to be the most important feast day. If the man who was God did not come back from the dead and rise then everything He said was a lie and he was a charlatan. You can attempt to prove this or not. You can believe it or not. But you must at least respect those who believe in this. Their belief defies logic because it happens to be called faith.

Lauren, my 12 year-old granddaughter came early at two to help me clean the kitchen and vacuum around while Rosemary was carefully putting in pieces of sod we obtained from a nearby house being landscaped by men from Kosovo. They told me I could take all the pieces.

I prepared a nice fire and made my signature gnocchi in the over with my cream sauce and plenty of Parmesan cheese on top. After our meal (Lauren’s mother, Hilary, who is my daughter joined us as our Saturday evening family dinners are special) we watched the 1989 film Old Gringo with Gregory Peck, Jane Fonda and Jimmy Smits. The film is based on Mexican novelist Carlos Fuentes’s Gringo Viejo in which Ambrose Bierce disappears into Mexico to die. That he joins the Pancho Villa army is all in the wonderful imagination of Fuentes. It is a beautiful film which we all enjoyed. Since I am a Bierce fan I could stop and tell my family where some of the stuff Peck was saying was coming from such as his story Parker Adderson Philosopher or An Ocurrence at Owl Creek.

Between meal and film I coaxed Lauren for one of my joint selfies in the guest bathroom.Her mother (who is 43) won the giant bunny at a Shopper’s Easter contest when she was 8. The smaller bunny, my aunt Fermina Miranda gave to Hilary in one of my trips to Mexico City in the late 80s.

I can only finish this rant with the most beautiful two-word expression in existence (my opinion) from the Latin Mass.

It is sursum corda which translates to lift up your hearts.



Two (Not Three) Sisters & Not In Langley
Friday, April 03, 2015


Robert Salvador, Jay Brazeau, Carmen Aguirre, Sussin McFarlen, Katey Hoffman, & Anna Galvin , March 25 2015


Sometime around 1974 my Spanish neighbour and I traded science fiction books. His was one by Polish author Stanislaw Lem, mine was Olaf Stapledon’s Sirius. We returned each other’s books a month later. We chatted on how we had enjoyed them. I never was able to read more than four pages of Lem and I am sure my neighbour never peeked into Sirius.

When one has gone from one school to another in different countries, one (that’s me!) ends up with holes in history and literature. I don’t expect anybody here to know the author of music of the Mexican National Anthem or to expound on the wonders of Alejo Carpentier. I could name the first and duly expound on the second.

The above is simply filler on my part before I confess that my knowledge of Anton Pavlovich Checkov is limited to one work and another not quite by the Russian master. In college my text book Theme and Form – An Introduction to Literature had one single story by Chekov, The Kiss. I still have the text book so my research for this blog has consisted in me reading the delightful story again.

The second entry in my brain of Chekov lore is a play I saw in 2011 called Three Sisters in Langley by playwright/director Bronwen Marsden.

After seeing the delightful Arts Club Theatre Company’s production of Christopher Durang’s Vanya And Sonia And Masha And Spike (directed by Rachel Ditor, one who has an elegant sense of humour) I talked to Jay Brazeau (he plays Vanya) backstage, at the Stanley, and told him of the Three Sisters in Langley. He thought this was a goodshow idea.

There are lots of pleasant pieces of music, films, operas and theatrical productions that lure you to the idea that you are watching something light and funny. That was my first impression of Vanya “& Company.” The play has some over the top performances that I could not figure out so I watched Marco Soriano (a very good actor who happens to be my friend) who was a couple of rows ahead of me on stage right. The fact that he was on stage right meant that I could see his profiled face and most of the time I could discern how funny he though it all was, particularly when Carmen Aguirre sucked her chest and stomach in and out in the rapture of Cassandric predictions. I noticed that Soriano’s right eyebrow went up. This meant that he thought this was not only a funny play but an intelligent one.

I did not dare ask Soriano on the mystery of the very good actor and actress (yes, I am old fashioned!) who on cue overact to perfection. I could not tell if any of the actors on stage were over acting or simply acting the act superbly.

My only steady course was to watch the low-key Brazeau who plays a quiet, disillusioned man who is gay with a foot inside the closet. Brazeau is the man who almost died of heart failure, a year or two agoa, because Millerd (the Artistic Director) made him jump repeatedly over a red (I recall) sofa. From what I could see the man was safe siting, this time in his sofa next to his step sister Sonia played by Susinn McFarlen (watch for her makeover). But I knew that something was going to happen when overacting-to-perfection Robert Salvador (who plays Spike the boy toy to Vanya’s sister the possibly over-the-hill actress Masha (Anna Galvin, who did a very good job of it when you realize that Masha was played on Broadway by Sigourney Weaver and alas neither Weaver nor Galvin appeared in underwear).

That is a long dangling sentence so I will continue that boy-toy Spike does a reverse strip and Vanya almost chomps on his (Spike’s ) belt.

All the fun and rollick of the play suddenly got dead serious (much like in a Bartók quartet). Brazeau put meat into this up-to-now pleasing, funny almost (but not) banal play. I was afraid the man was going to collapse (it was a long loud rant about stamps you can lick, and the state of our life in this 21st century) and Millerd would have to quickly find a replacement (who could possibly take Brazeau’s place?).

All in all the play was one that I savoured all the way home and I cannot stop here that one of my favourite Canadian films is Lynne Stopkevich’s Kissed and that Brazeau played a mortician in it.
I loved Katey Hoffman’s Nina but I had to ask her about her red and shinny cheeks. Her answer to my question, “It’s glitter.”




Linda, A Facón & A Rastra - Pure Nostalgia
Thursday, April 02, 2015



Sometime in 1999 I went into the Marble Arch and sat at the bar. Jorge the barman looked at me and placed in front of me a tall glass of soda water. This was my usual and I never had to pay for it. Jorge was Mexican.We spoke in Spanish. I felt very much like Humphrey Bogart in one of his films where he lived in a city that he belonged to. While I now feel alienated in a Vancouver I can no longer relate to, I felt then that if I could go to a bar and be recognized and to be offered “your usual” I belonged.

At another bar I had not frequented for a few years I went up to the bar tender and I said, “I want to see …” The man looked at me and replied, “Go upstairs and knock on your left.” I did just that. I entered a room with two men sitting at a table. One of them was an Asian wearing a huge Rolex. On the table was the largest pile of big denomination bills I have ever seen.   ...  the other man introduced me to his companion, "This is Alex Waterhouse, Vancouver's most famous photographer because he has photographed me."

In that first bar … (the owner of the establishment) came up to me and asked, “You are Argentine, Alex, aren’t you? I want you to meet someone you just might have a connection with.”
That’s how I met the very Argentine Linda who had a mouth to kill for, the same with her eyes and everything else about her.

With Linda, my artist friends Juan Manuel Sánchez and Nora Patrich and I embarked in an almost one-year project of taking pictures, painting and sketching Linda. After sessions in my studio or in Nora’s house we would have Argentine mates (note no accent on that e) and talk about the subject of our project, our nostalgia for Argentina and Buenos Aires. It was only in that year that I finally understood what is probably most evident to most people. This is that you can only feel nostalgia for a place when you are no longer in that place.

For this photograph (of hundreds, one nicer or better than the other in some detail) Nora made Linda wear the gaucho bombacha. A bombacha in many Latin American countries is a woman’s underpants. In Argentina it is a baggy pant that is tight around the ankles (it is buttoned there). Gauchos wear alpargatas, an Argentine espadrille. Around Linda’s waist is a gaucho rastra. For dress gauchos will wear rastras with gold coins. In her hands is a facón a knife that is used by gauchos to slaughter cattle, to eat or in 19th (and 20th) lore, the weapon of choice (never a six-shooter) to resolve conflicts.

After my two years in the Argentine Navy my sailor mates gave me this facón as keepsake and remembrance of my time served.

On Linda’s magnificent chest the black cloth is normally used to keep the bombacha in place in lieu of a belt.

You might find interesting if you read here, that my facón is the actual murder weapon in a novel by Canadian author J. Robert Janes.



Kenji Kawakami - Chindogu
Wednesday, April 01, 2015

Kenji Kawakami




Portland, Seattle, Spicy Chocolate & A Spinach & Leek Soup
Tuesday, March 31, 2015





On Sunday morning I drove the Malibu to Portland for a day. That evening I drove back to Seattle and stayed for another. I was in Portland and Seattle to photograph 11 female musicians who specialize in period instruments of the 17th and 18th century.

In Portland I had spinach and leek soup with Monica Huggett and Roxanne Cumming. I photographed the former with her violin and the latter charmed me with her sense of humour and her home-made soup.

In Seattle I checked into a hotel, reserved by my frugal wife Rosemary (in Spanish my grandmother would have called it “de mala muerte” or a hotel for a bad death). Rosemary told me that the artistic director of Early Music Vancouver would not pay for a Holiday Inn Express. My motel was in the Aurora section (85th and Aurora) of Seattle and I was immediately offered charms-for-pay as I walked by a Jack-in-the Box. My room was clean but the lighting was all green fluorescent so I did not attempt to read my novel. The room phone was ancient. I had to write the numbers (they had faded) on the keys with my black marking pen. I could not dial long-distance except with a calling card. I purchased one for $10. It didn’t work. I went to complain to the female from hell behind the desk who asked, “Didn't you read the instructions? “  She finally relented and came to the room (she warned me to keep the door wide open) and when she dialed it didn’t work either. In the office she dialed and I was able to talk to Rosemary and tell her I was safe. I noticed my tub had water jets. I tried to turn the unit on but it didn’t work. When I informed Cheryl (a fictitious name for that female from hell) she told me, “We don’t advertise hot tubs in our brochures so none of them work.”

The wi-fi kicked in after 30 minutes of roundabout firewalls, “Our guests who come from all over the world have never complained,” Cheryl barked at me. I could not call some of the musicians who had given me cellular numbers because my room phone could not handle the different area codes.
Getting gas was almost impossible as the pumps demanded my zip code and were not in the least interested in my credit card’s pin number. In one gas station in Vancouver, Washington I had to pay an additional $0.60 to use my credit card and only after I produced my picture I.D.  I could not fill the tank as I had to choose a sum which was going to be pre-authorized.

Stephen Stubbs playing Mozart and my Malibu reflected on his door


At breakfast a pleasant Japanese/Canadian woman from San Francisco proudly showed me her titanium wallet. She said hackers would not be able to access her credit cards.

All the above was nicely compensated by the spinach and leek soup and spending most of Monday in the home of Stephen Stubbs and Maxine Eilander where I photographed most of the musicians. Maxine made lovely coffee and the forest surroundings to the house on an unusually sunny day made the day most special. The last person I photographed in the afternoon was cellist Julian Soltis. She invited me for hot chocolate (a very nice spicy one) at a place called Chocolati. We discussed (the kind of stuff you can discuss with a musician) why it seemed that Georg Philipp Telemann had fallen out of favour in the last few years.



When I noticed the big mirror in the joint bathroom at Chocolati I mentioned this to Juliana who knew what I wanted. In the picture the bright blue object on the left is Juliana’s Ukranian custom made case for her cello (the cello was inside).

In the evening I drove to downtown Seattle and photographed one violinist and two harpsichordists. Once in my motel I got into bed and fell soundly asleep. I woke up two minutes to 9 and Cheryl had already cleared the breakfast table of everything (including the delicious honey buns). She allowed me to pour myself some coffee.






That Recurring Leaky Tank Problem - Again
Monday, March 30, 2015




On Thursday, July 16, 2009 I wrote the blog below entitled the recurring leaky tank problem. It is I have learned of late an unavoidable factor of life unless you are born to very rich parents and inherit millions from them. In our family my Rosemary has (I am not ashamed to admit) been wearing the financial pants. She makes all decisions involving funds stored, saved, lost or misspent. I have never understood how you borrow money from a bank and then put it into the bank in order to make money years later. I simply cannot understand finances except when I see it as a leaky tank problem. When one is 30 the idea of buying a brand new refrigerator or vacuum cleaner can be exhilaratingly exciting. But when your expensive Breville blender is about to be done in (thank you Eliza!) by bad design I cannot abide in making the decision to buy another one when I have five bucks in my wallet.

In the last few weeks our friend Tim Turner has been taking us to see small nearby houses and concrete condominiums for the eventual move from our decaying mansion on Athlone. Even my roses (85 of them) are tired and Brevilling in a garden with encroaching shade. The act of going to see these houses is in itself a sad and depressing action even if Mr. Turner, suave, friendly and warm drives us around in his nice car. It is a strain for Rosemary who escapes by having long siestas (in the morning and in the afternoon).

Fortunately we are not like some poor Inuit family arriving at the realization that if the morrow does not bring a killed seal starvation will occur. But the stress is still there. It helps to look at the greening of the garden from my living room window as I write this.

I no longer grieve about my roses, our trees, our perennials and the fact that they might soon end in a landfill.

Why?

I remember, most fondly, the very British but local photographer Philip Hersee (Age 68) who died March 20, 2013. A few months before he died my friendly camera repairman Horst Wenzel told me that Hersee had left a few of his cameras to be repaired. Not even two months before he died of terminal cancer of the lower regions he was seen at Beau Photo, cheerfully buying photo supplies.

I need to buy a new wheelbarrow to cart little stones that will be unloaded by my lane garage. I use the torpedo (that is what the stones are called) to freshen up our garden paths. It is obvious that a brand new wheelbarrow will last a few years. Will be need it? Phil Hersee would say, “Live your life normally.” And he might have even added, “If your leaky tank goes dry, repair it and fill it again.”

Thank you Philip Hersee for that.




Ever since I can remember there was one word problem in school which I despised since no matter how they hid its core with words it was always a leaky tank problem. So much water (gallons per minute) is going into a tub that has no stopper. So much water is going out of it (gallons per hour). The question was always the same. Will the tub stabilize, empty or overflow?

This problem is one that hits us all in finances, in mortgage payments and just about everything else. It doesn’t take a computer spread sheet to tell me that if the money going into my monthly studio does not exceed the money going out I am going to have an empty tub very soon. And so I have decided to let go of my studio in the next few months.

I can rationalize that the little work that I do in it like lawyer or businessman web portraits I can do in their offices. All I need is a blank wall and to trudge over with my lighting equipment. Those Ministers of Parliament (NDP) that hire my services every once in a while since they know I can make them look honest, incisive and intelligent will have to pay extra for me to secure a day’s studio rental. I don’t see the problem there.

Rosemary saw this coming a few years ago but kept playing around with our money because she thought (rightly at the time) that a studio is part of a photographer’s pride of profession.

For a long time a big chunk of studio money came from my arts photos for the Georgia Straight. That has stopped as the publication has found the cheaper route of either demanding handout art or expecting it staff writers to take the pictures. I don’t see that publication suddenly turning around that mandate.

If there is anything of what I do that may suffer in not having my own studio, it is the personal work that I rely on to keep me on my toes and to keep at bay the tendency of age to deaden passion.



But the personal work now is either the studio portrait of my granddaughters or my work with the undraped human body. Cases in point are these pictures of Lisa Ha, a Vietnamese/Canadian subject of mine that sporadically frequents my studio. These I took a couple of weeks ago. I like to record the change of time. I may have last photographed her about 4 years ago. The next time will probably have to be in my living room or in my garden or in her apartment. I can assert that environmental photographs can have their charm, too.



Best of all I will take my grandmother’s advice to heart, “Nadie te quita lo bailado,” Nobody can take away from you the dances that you have danced.

more Lisa Ha.



The Human Cello
Sunday, March 29, 2015


Juliana Soltis


"All you do is play the cello---that's all there is to you! No one is ever going to love you because you're so boring."

It's curious, how quickly your life can change. T. and I had met as undergraduate students at the New England Conservatory; we had been together nearly five years when he impulsively spoke the words that effectively ended our relationship. These weren't the last words he ever spoke to me---I dimly recall, through the high-pitched whine of my nervous system and the thudding of my heart in my ears, the hasty, reparative murmurings spilling out of the phone---but they are the last ones that I remember. An early spring thunderstorm caused the call to drop, and I never called him back.

Interestingly enough, that was not the first time that I found myself on the receiving end of such a comment. It was also not the last. It is a remark meant as an insult: an indictment of how I have chosen to spend my time on the planet. Does it hurt? Yes, absolutely. It is a statement that is meant to harm, but one which simultaneously inspires in me no small amount of morbid fascination. Why the focus on the instrument? "You wouldn't be anything without that cello," a teenaged colleague said to me nearly two decades ago. It perplexes me because of the emphasis on the external: you only play the cello, you are nothing without the cello. Do I play the cello? Well, yes---obviously. I have done so for almost twenty-five years. But what these detractors who would hurl my instrument in my face as a means of tearing me down and assailing my life choices fail to grasp is this: the cello is just an instrument. And I mean that in the purest sense of the word: that the cello is a tool, the means by which I give voice to that indefinable something within me that relentlessly seeks manifestation in the physical world. Were there suddenly no more cellos, or were it that there had never been any such thing as a cello, that something within me would still be there, straining and striving towards expression. It is both the best and worst of who I am, and it exists and endures independent of any instrument---including the cello.

So when Alex Waterhouse-Hayward and I first struck-up a correspondence regarding the possibility of doing a photoshoot together, I knew that I wanted to do something special: an homage to Man Ray's well-known image, Le Violon d'Ingres (1924). This would be controversial. Women in male-dominated fields often go to great lengths to downplay their gender and sexuality; Facebook photos and posts are self-censored and policed, workplace clothing is carefully calculated to be just feminine enough, but never too much so. These women do not commonly pose nude. A close friend and colleague, confused upon seeing the first images from my shoot with Alex, asked "Are you trying to make a statement, or something?"

Yes, the photograph is a statement---though not in the way that people might think. It could be about body image; it could be about sexual expression. It could be a defiant statement about the purposeful suppression of the feminine identity in the arts. What it is about, however, is far more personal. For me, the image is a powerful visual allegory. As its focal point: my bare body, exposed to camera and transformed into a Human Cello by virtue of a pair of f-holes drawn onto my back with a soft black kohl pencil that Alex snatched from my makeup bag. To the side, my own dear cello: a beautiful seventeenth-century instrument enjoying a rare moment of silent repose.

People have derisively referred to the cello as my single defining characteristic. That's alright. I'll own it, because I know that without me, the cello is just a wood box, sitting silently in the corner. When someone says "All you do is play the cello," they are trying to deal a debilitating blow to something essential at the heart of me; however, all they ever really do is prove that they just don't get it. It's not the instrument; it's me---and that force within me that refuses to be cowed, that will not be silent.

Will people be shocked by this image? Offended? Possibly; probably. But perhaps the next time I am on stage, someone will see and hear something more than "just a cello."




     

Previous Posts
Rosa 'James Mason' - All Potential & More

Jacqueline du Pré Returns & I Smile

You Have Guilt - I Have Sorrow - Children of God

Dazzling Movement in Cultch's Children of God

Linda Lorenzo & My Father's Flag

Linda Lorenzo - Nostalgia Ayer y Hoy

My Neighbourhood Tulpengekte

Three Mothers & One More

Santa Conchita del Molino de la Pampa & Fernet Bra...

Testing & Inspiration with a Lovely Roman - Silvia...



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4/5/09 - 4/12/09

4/12/09 - 4/19/09

4/19/09 - 4/26/09

4/26/09 - 5/3/09

5/3/09 - 5/10/09

5/10/09 - 5/17/09

5/17/09 - 5/24/09

5/24/09 - 5/31/09

5/31/09 - 6/7/09

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6/21/09 - 6/28/09

6/28/09 - 7/5/09

7/5/09 - 7/12/09

7/12/09 - 7/19/09

7/19/09 - 7/26/09

7/26/09 - 8/2/09

8/2/09 - 8/9/09

8/9/09 - 8/16/09

8/16/09 - 8/23/09

8/23/09 - 8/30/09

8/30/09 - 9/6/09

9/6/09 - 9/13/09

9/13/09 - 9/20/09

9/20/09 - 9/27/09

9/27/09 - 10/4/09

10/4/09 - 10/11/09

10/11/09 - 10/18/09

10/18/09 - 10/25/09

10/25/09 - 11/1/09

11/1/09 - 11/8/09

11/8/09 - 11/15/09

11/15/09 - 11/22/09

11/22/09 - 11/29/09

11/29/09 - 12/6/09

12/6/09 - 12/13/09

12/13/09 - 12/20/09

12/20/09 - 12/27/09

12/27/09 - 1/3/10

1/3/10 - 1/10/10

1/10/10 - 1/17/10

1/17/10 - 1/24/10

1/24/10 - 1/31/10

1/31/10 - 2/7/10

2/7/10 - 2/14/10

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2/21/10 - 2/28/10

2/28/10 - 3/7/10

3/7/10 - 3/14/10

3/14/10 - 3/21/10

3/21/10 - 3/28/10

3/28/10 - 4/4/10

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4/11/10 - 4/18/10

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4/25/10 - 5/2/10

5/2/10 - 5/9/10

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5/16/10 - 5/23/10

5/23/10 - 5/30/10

5/30/10 - 6/6/10

6/6/10 - 6/13/10

6/13/10 - 6/20/10

6/20/10 - 6/27/10

6/27/10 - 7/4/10

7/4/10 - 7/11/10

7/11/10 - 7/18/10

7/18/10 - 7/25/10

7/25/10 - 8/1/10

8/1/10 - 8/8/10

8/8/10 - 8/15/10

8/15/10 - 8/22/10

8/22/10 - 8/29/10

8/29/10 - 9/5/10

9/5/10 - 9/12/10

9/12/10 - 9/19/10

9/19/10 - 9/26/10

9/26/10 - 10/3/10

10/3/10 - 10/10/10

10/10/10 - 10/17/10

10/17/10 - 10/24/10

10/24/10 - 10/31/10

10/31/10 - 11/7/10

11/7/10 - 11/14/10

11/14/10 - 11/21/10

11/21/10 - 11/28/10

11/28/10 - 12/5/10

12/5/10 - 12/12/10

12/12/10 - 12/19/10

12/19/10 - 12/26/10

12/26/10 - 1/2/11

1/2/11 - 1/9/11

1/9/11 - 1/16/11

1/16/11 - 1/23/11

1/23/11 - 1/30/11

1/30/11 - 2/6/11

2/6/11 - 2/13/11

2/13/11 - 2/20/11

2/20/11 - 2/27/11

2/27/11 - 3/6/11

3/6/11 - 3/13/11

3/13/11 - 3/20/11

3/20/11 - 3/27/11

3/27/11 - 4/3/11

4/3/11 - 4/10/11

4/10/11 - 4/17/11

4/17/11 - 4/24/11

4/24/11 - 5/1/11

5/1/11 - 5/8/11

5/8/11 - 5/15/11

5/15/11 - 5/22/11

5/22/11 - 5/29/11

5/29/11 - 6/5/11

6/5/11 - 6/12/11

6/12/11 - 6/19/11

6/19/11 - 6/26/11

6/26/11 - 7/3/11

7/3/11 - 7/10/11

7/10/11 - 7/17/11

7/17/11 - 7/24/11

7/24/11 - 7/31/11

7/31/11 - 8/7/11

8/7/11 - 8/14/11

8/14/11 - 8/21/11

8/21/11 - 8/28/11

8/28/11 - 9/4/11

9/4/11 - 9/11/11

9/11/11 - 9/18/11

9/18/11 - 9/25/11

9/25/11 - 10/2/11

10/2/11 - 10/9/11

10/9/11 - 10/16/11

10/16/11 - 10/23/11

10/23/11 - 10/30/11

10/30/11 - 11/6/11

11/6/11 - 11/13/11

11/13/11 - 11/20/11

11/20/11 - 11/27/11

11/27/11 - 12/4/11

12/4/11 - 12/11/11

12/11/11 - 12/18/11

12/18/11 - 12/25/11

12/25/11 - 1/1/12

1/1/12 - 1/8/12

1/8/12 - 1/15/12

1/15/12 - 1/22/12

1/22/12 - 1/29/12

1/29/12 - 2/5/12

2/5/12 - 2/12/12

2/12/12 - 2/19/12

2/19/12 - 2/26/12

2/26/12 - 3/4/12

3/4/12 - 3/11/12

3/11/12 - 3/18/12

3/18/12 - 3/25/12

3/25/12 - 4/1/12

4/1/12 - 4/8/12

4/8/12 - 4/15/12

4/15/12 - 4/22/12

4/22/12 - 4/29/12

4/29/12 - 5/6/12

5/6/12 - 5/13/12

5/13/12 - 5/20/12

5/20/12 - 5/27/12

5/27/12 - 6/3/12

6/3/12 - 6/10/12

6/10/12 - 6/17/12

6/17/12 - 6/24/12

6/24/12 - 7/1/12

7/1/12 - 7/8/12

7/8/12 - 7/15/12

7/15/12 - 7/22/12

7/22/12 - 7/29/12

7/29/12 - 8/5/12

8/5/12 - 8/12/12

8/12/12 - 8/19/12

8/19/12 - 8/26/12

8/26/12 - 9/2/12

9/2/12 - 9/9/12

9/9/12 - 9/16/12

9/16/12 - 9/23/12

9/23/12 - 9/30/12

9/30/12 - 10/7/12

10/7/12 - 10/14/12

10/14/12 - 10/21/12

10/21/12 - 10/28/12

10/28/12 - 11/4/12

11/4/12 - 11/11/12

11/11/12 - 11/18/12

11/18/12 - 11/25/12

11/25/12 - 12/2/12

12/2/12 - 12/9/12

12/9/12 - 12/16/12

12/16/12 - 12/23/12

12/23/12 - 12/30/12

12/30/12 - 1/6/13

1/6/13 - 1/13/13

1/13/13 - 1/20/13

1/20/13 - 1/27/13

1/27/13 - 2/3/13

2/3/13 - 2/10/13

2/10/13 - 2/17/13

2/17/13 - 2/24/13

2/24/13 - 3/3/13

3/3/13 - 3/10/13

3/10/13 - 3/17/13

3/17/13 - 3/24/13

3/24/13 - 3/31/13

3/31/13 - 4/7/13

4/7/13 - 4/14/13

4/14/13 - 4/21/13

4/21/13 - 4/28/13

4/28/13 - 5/5/13

5/5/13 - 5/12/13

5/12/13 - 5/19/13

5/19/13 - 5/26/13

5/26/13 - 6/2/13

6/2/13 - 6/9/13

6/9/13 - 6/16/13

6/16/13 - 6/23/13

6/23/13 - 6/30/13

6/30/13 - 7/7/13

7/7/13 - 7/14/13

7/14/13 - 7/21/13

7/21/13 - 7/28/13

7/28/13 - 8/4/13

8/4/13 - 8/11/13

8/11/13 - 8/18/13

8/18/13 - 8/25/13

8/25/13 - 9/1/13

9/1/13 - 9/8/13

9/8/13 - 9/15/13

9/15/13 - 9/22/13

9/22/13 - 9/29/13

9/29/13 - 10/6/13

10/6/13 - 10/13/13

10/13/13 - 10/20/13

10/20/13 - 10/27/13

10/27/13 - 11/3/13

11/3/13 - 11/10/13

11/10/13 - 11/17/13

11/17/13 - 11/24/13

11/24/13 - 12/1/13

12/1/13 - 12/8/13

12/8/13 - 12/15/13

12/15/13 - 12/22/13

12/22/13 - 12/29/13

12/29/13 - 1/5/14

1/5/14 - 1/12/14

1/12/14 - 1/19/14

1/19/14 - 1/26/14

1/26/14 - 2/2/14

2/2/14 - 2/9/14

2/9/14 - 2/16/14

2/16/14 - 2/23/14

2/23/14 - 3/2/14

3/2/14 - 3/9/14

3/9/14 - 3/16/14

3/16/14 - 3/23/14

3/23/14 - 3/30/14

3/30/14 - 4/6/14

4/6/14 - 4/13/14

4/13/14 - 4/20/14

4/20/14 - 4/27/14

4/27/14 - 5/4/14

5/4/14 - 5/11/14

5/11/14 - 5/18/14

5/18/14 - 5/25/14

5/25/14 - 6/1/14

6/1/14 - 6/8/14

6/8/14 - 6/15/14

6/15/14 - 6/22/14

6/22/14 - 6/29/14

6/29/14 - 7/6/14

7/6/14 - 7/13/14

7/13/14 - 7/20/14

7/20/14 - 7/27/14

7/27/14 - 8/3/14

8/3/14 - 8/10/14

8/10/14 - 8/17/14

8/17/14 - 8/24/14

8/24/14 - 8/31/14

8/31/14 - 9/7/14

9/7/14 - 9/14/14

9/14/14 - 9/21/14

9/21/14 - 9/28/14

9/28/14 - 10/5/14

10/5/14 - 10/12/14

10/12/14 - 10/19/14

10/19/14 - 10/26/14

10/26/14 - 11/2/14

11/2/14 - 11/9/14

11/9/14 - 11/16/14

11/16/14 - 11/23/14

11/23/14 - 11/30/14

11/30/14 - 12/7/14

12/7/14 - 12/14/14

12/14/14 - 12/21/14

12/21/14 - 12/28/14

12/28/14 - 1/4/15

1/4/15 - 1/11/15

1/11/15 - 1/18/15

1/18/15 - 1/25/15

1/25/15 - 2/1/15

2/1/15 - 2/8/15

2/8/15 - 2/15/15

2/15/15 - 2/22/15

2/22/15 - 3/1/15

3/1/15 - 3/8/15

3/8/15 - 3/15/15

3/15/15 - 3/22/15

3/22/15 - 3/29/15

3/29/15 - 4/5/15

4/5/15 - 4/12/15

4/12/15 - 4/19/15

4/19/15 - 4/26/15

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9/20/15 - 9/27/15

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10/18/15 - 10/25/15

10/25/15 - 11/1/15

11/1/15 - 11/8/15

11/8/15 - 11/15/15

11/15/15 - 11/22/15

11/22/15 - 11/29/15

11/29/15 - 12/6/15

12/6/15 - 12/13/15

12/13/15 - 12/20/15

12/20/15 - 12/27/15

12/27/15 - 1/3/16

1/3/16 - 1/10/16

1/10/16 - 1/17/16

1/31/16 - 2/7/16

2/7/16 - 2/14/16

2/14/16 - 2/21/16

2/21/16 - 2/28/16

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3/13/16 - 3/20/16

3/20/16 - 3/27/16

3/27/16 - 4/3/16

4/3/16 - 4/10/16

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4/24/16 - 5/1/16

5/1/16 - 5/8/16

5/8/16 - 5/15/16

5/15/16 - 5/22/16

5/22/16 - 5/29/16

5/29/16 - 6/5/16

6/5/16 - 6/12/16

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6/19/16 - 6/26/16

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9/25/16 - 10/2/16

10/2/16 - 10/9/16

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10/30/16 - 11/6/16

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11/13/16 - 11/20/16

11/20/16 - 11/27/16

11/27/16 - 12/4/16

12/4/16 - 12/11/16

12/11/16 - 12/18/16

12/18/16 - 12/25/16

12/25/16 - 1/1/17

1/1/17 - 1/8/17

1/8/17 - 1/15/17

1/15/17 - 1/22/17

1/22/17 - 1/29/17

1/29/17 - 2/5/17

2/5/17 - 2/12/17

2/12/17 - 2/19/17

2/19/17 - 2/26/17

2/26/17 - 3/5/17

3/5/17 - 3/12/17

3/12/17 - 3/19/17

3/19/17 - 3/26/17

3/26/17 - 4/2/17

4/2/17 - 4/9/17

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4/16/17 - 4/23/17

4/23/17 - 4/30/17

4/30/17 - 5/7/17

5/7/17 - 5/14/17

5/14/17 - 5/21/17

5/21/17 - 5/28/17