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




 

With Obama, the Personal is Presidential
Saturday, July 16, 2016

Plaza de Mayo -1955 - Buenos Aires - the fall of Perón



Fortunately my Rosemary and I (48 years together) see eye to eye politically. We are definitely left-wingers. We adore MSNBC’s Rachel Maddow and we both think that President Barak Obama is a peach.

I have some experience in the mechanics of politics as I participated actively (under orders) as an Argentine Navy Conscript on a military coup d’etat on a cold but indifferent (particularly the inhabitants of my Buenos Aires who didn't seem to care) winter morning of June 28 1966. Members of the armed forces (the navy, I was in the ranks with my circa 1911 Mauser, the army and the air force) surrounded the Casa Rosada (the government palace from which Peron and Evita would talk to the Peronists masses years back) and gave the freely elected country doctor, Arturo Illía an hour to leave the premises. This he did in a cab.

I experienced a wonderful education in history and civics in my four years at the Roman Catholic school St. Edward’s in Austin Texas in the late 50s. In fact that education at my young age has made me (my personal belief) into an honorary American citizen.

Rosemary and I read daily our delivered NY Times so we are up and up on American politics. I am able to explain to Rosemary the machinations of the American political system thanks to Brother Francis Barrett, C.S.C. who taught me American History and to Mr. Marshall who taught me civics.

But neither man taught me how to cope with the fact that many of my Texan fellow students became gunslingers with right wing red neck politics.

Last year I wrote a blog which landed me with protests and hysterical emails from some of these former classmates of mine.

Today (I am writing this on Saturday July 16, 2016) I read a column by Timothy Egan called With Obama, the Personal is Presidential. It is nicely written and he pretty well elaborates on the fact that Obama is cool.

I don’t buy magazines much anymore. But I recall the Esquires of the 50s, 60s and 70s and I see President Obama as an Esquire kind of a guy. He is elegant, polite, well spoken, well read and the kind of guy I would enjoy being in a desert island with.

Just like I do not understand how my former classmates became what they are now I cannot understand Americans who have fallen under the spell of  Donald Trump.



Photography - The Limited Range of Our Memory
Friday, July 15, 2016




Bronwen Marsden

In my current state of photographic isolation I have found out that a lot of stuff stored in my head has some redeemable value. As things disappear the concepts behind them vanish, too.  My present obsession with Jorge Luís Borges (magnified from an erstwhile interest that bordered on obsession) reminds me that Borges often said that our memory is based on what’s left of all that we have forgotten.

As an example I noticed a recent and very popular essay in Medium.com (I write for that blog platform, too) about improving one’s art and photographs by following rules. The most obvious one, which I used to teach at least 30 years ago was that the centre of attention should not be in the centre. Another is the so-called rule of thirds. Most very good painters and photographers instinctively grasped the concept of composition.

The problem now is that with so much bad photography, a newer generation has no memory for what may have been good.

As an example there is this striking photograph that was on the front page of my NY Times (hard copy) today (I am writing this on Wednesday July 13, 2016). It is a remarkable photograph that has no photo credit except for NY Times.

The most major problem in photography until most recently is that the human eye always exceeded film and videotape to discern information in the shadow parts of a photograph. The shadow parts are magnified in high contrast situations like a person’s eyes (and eye sockets) at noon with the sun overhead. Between the light on the face and that of the black eye sockets the difference is much too much for film. Our eyes can adjust and as we shift from that person’s face to the eyes our eyes will adapt and show us the eyes in enough detail. Photographers in the past used what was called fill flash. This is the reason why you so often see wedding photographers using flash on perfectly sunny days.
Photographers, cinematographers and painters know that sunny days reduce the ability to recognize those middle tones. Those same photographers, cinematographers and artists know that cloudy days will show the most gradations of colour and shade.

Digital cameras have the same problems. Since contemporary (and young) photographers are used to high definition, ultra sharp, punchy and contrasty colour images they do not notice the detail lost in the shadows of their pictures.

Which brings us to the picture in the NY Times that many years ago would have been impossible to take. Film could have never rendered the woman in the doorway, the shadows in the street and the darkening sky behind well. 


Cuba - NY Times


Contrast has always been the enemy of photographer. A good photographer will grasp the existing contrast situation before snapping a shutter. Sometimes the scene can be lit to reduce contrast or camera settings adjusted. In times past slide film was less generous with showing detail in shadows. Colour negative was better. Fast film of any type was worse.

And worst of all the methods used in the past to print colour slides and negatives on colour stock always added contrast and reduced detail in the shadows. The modern combination of a good scanner and film with subsequent printing on a quality ink jet printer has remedied the situation a lot and to a certain point.

The photograph taken in Cuba at one time would have been called extended range night photography. I was pretty good at it (the one below I took and the sky was pitch black. The film saw the clouds to my surprise) but I was limited to only doing it in b+w. With the advent of digital cameras, photographers could take separate photographs of the bright spots, the middle spots and the dark spots and combine them in one image.  This kind of photography is called High Dynamic Range (HDR) photography.


Burrard Street Bridge - Vancouver

A pioneer in night photography before digital, was photographer Arthur Ollman who later became the head and curator of the excellent San Diego Museum of the Photographic Arts. I remember seeing some haunting photographs that he took of Southern California and Tijuana houses at sundown. I suspect that his technique was either the double exposure or very long exposures at sun down.

You may wonder what the pictures of Bronwen Marsden here have to do with it all. They are here because I am digressing to the concept of forgotten memory. These pictures have a certain charm because the colours are not accurate. I mixed too many kinds of light sources with a Fuji Superia 800 ISO colour negative film that simply could not adjust it all. There is a charm to shooting a sequence that is planned not one where on is indiscriminately shooting with a high-speed motor drive. And there is a charm, too of being a voyeur with previous permission.  






Exclusive as a Mailbox
Thursday, July 14, 2016




"She's dark and lovely and passionate. And very, very kind."

"And exclusive as a mailbox," I said.

"The Little Sister" (Chapter 19) - Raymond Chandler




The Viola da Gamba
Wednesday, July 13, 2016


Bronwen Marsden

My granddaughter Lauren is here today (Monday July 11, 2016). She uses her poker face to ignore all my puns. I pun in her presence because I do everything possible to press her button. But it does not work and only Rosemary gets upset. Lauren is helping Rosemary pick up stuff. She is a great organizer. Rosemary will give her some spending money for her forthcoming week at camp. I am in the refuge of my oficina. What used to be the garage of our duplex was changed into an office by the former owner. In that office I have all my negative files, my computer, my scanner and my new Canon Pro-1 printer. There is a separate little room behind that is now my intimate studio. Because the garage door is permanently closed I have planted some nice roses, a couple of columnar yews and some sunflowers. I sweet talked the garbage men who smiled at me and said they would do everything possible not to throw our bins back against the door. They have been true to their word.

As a retired and obsolete and former magazine photographer I can safely say that not much happens and I read a lot. I have caught up with my blog and filled all the empty holes that were there during my trip to Buenos Aires in April and the days I spent in the  hospital seeing to solving the problems of the lower countries.

Every once in a while I like to go through the files - Marsden, Bronwen who is one of the most dazzling of women that I photographed in my many years as a photographer. There was a session where she brought her violin. One that I never noticed until today is the one of her standing in her little black dress holding her violin bow. I could not resist making the little joke, the title of this blog as justification for putting it up.

Since my memory is not what it used to be I searched for a poem by Emily Dickinson that might mention the violin so I could justify placing here the second image. I went to google and to my surprise I found:

the music in the violin does not emerge alone - Emily Dickinson




But sequence ravelled out of reach
 A parasol is the umbrella's daughter
 Without the power to die
 Lessons on the piny
Ample make this bed

How happy is the little stone
 Sleep is supposed to be
The shutting of the eye
I dwell in possibility
when Sappho was a living girl
In a library
 A light exists in spring
The lady dare not lift her veil
 I took my power in my hand
 I find my feet have further goals
 I cannot dance upon my toes
The Music of the Violin does not emerge alone
Red Blaze 
He touched me, so I live to know
Rear Window- The Entering Takes Away
Said Death to Passion
 We Wear the Mask That Grins And Lies
It was not death for I stood alone
The Music in the Violin Does Not Emerge Alone
I tend my flowers for thee
Lavinia Norcross Dickinson
Pray gather me anemone! 
Ample make her bed
His caravan of red 
Me-come! My dazzled face  
Develops pearl and weed

But peers beyond her mesh
Surgeons must be very careful
Water is taught by thirst
I could not prove that years had feet
April played her fiddle
A violin in Baize replaced
I think the longest hour
The spirit lasts
http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2014/03/i-left-them-in-ground-emily-dickinson.html
http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2014/01/i-felt-my-life-with-both-my-hands.html
http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2011/03/currer-bell-emily-dickinson-charlotte.html

http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2011/03/and-zero-at-bone-with-dirks-of-melody.html
http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2011/05/charm-invests-her-face.html

http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2011/06/i-could-not-see-to-see.html 
http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2011/06/blonde-assasin-passes-on.html
http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2012/12/you-almost-bathed-your-tongue.html



But Sequence Ravelled Out of Reach
Tuesday, July 12, 2016





 I felt a cleaving in my mind  - Emily Dickinson

I felt a cleaving in my mind
As if my brain had split;
I tried to match it, seam by seam,
But could not make them fit.

The thought behind I strove to join
Unto the thought before,
But sequence ravelled out of reach
Like balls upon a floor.


 A parasol is the umbrella's daughter
 Without the power to die
 Lessons on the piny
Ample make this bed
How happy is the little stone
 Sleep is supposed to be
The shutting of the eye
I dwell in possibility
when Sappho was a living girl
In a library
 A light exists in spring
The lady dare not lift her veil
 I took my power in my hand
 I find my feet have further goals
 I cannot dance upon my toes
The Music of the Violin does not emerge alone
Red Blaze 
He touched me, so I live to know
Rear Window- The Entering Takes Away
Said Death to Passion
 We Wear the Mask That Grins And Lies
It was not death for I stood alone
The Music in the Violin Does Not Emerge Alone
I tend my flowers for thee
Lavinia Norcross Dickinson
Pray gather me anemone! 
Ample make her bed
His caravan of red 
Me-come! My dazzled face  
Develops pearl and weed

But peers beyond her mesh
Surgeons must be very careful
Water is taught by thirst
I could not prove that years had feet
April played her fiddle
A violin in Baize replaced
I think the longest hour
The spirit lasts
http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2014/03/i-left-them-in-ground-emily-dickinson.html
http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2014/01/i-felt-my-life-with-both-my-hands.html
http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2011/03/currer-bell-emily-dickinson-charlotte.html

http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2011/03/and-zero-at-bone-with-dirks-of-melody.html
http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2011/05/charm-invests-her-face.html

http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2011/06/i-could-not-see-to-see.html 
http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2011/06/blonde-assasin-passes-on.html
http://blog.alexwaterhousehayward.com/2012/12/you-almost-bathed-your-tongue.html




Only Butter is Butter
Monday, July 11, 2016




In the last few days I have been listening to four CDs True Blue – 75 Years of Blue Note Records on my stereo. I have not been using headphones (I do not own any) but sitting back and wowing myself with the sound of my JBL Studio Monitors. The sound in our Kitsilano living room is outstanding. The old-fashioned separation of old-time stereo sound is startling.

It makes me understand and appreciate this kind of home sound as opposed to that of the “Enjoy the show,” overly loud surround sound from a Multiplex salon with the accompanying and lingering smell of popcorn.

I enjoy driving my six cylinder Malibu that has an automatic transmission with three speeds and I wonder how you handle the new cars with automatics that have six or seven forward speeds. If you are young and have no arthritis, the latest Aston Martin with seven-on-the-floor must be a treat but I wonder how it would perform on the afternoon traffic across the Lions Gate Bridge in our increasingly more congested Vancouver.

I remember back in the late 70s when I photographed a lumber baron called Thoma who lived in North Vancouver. He commuted to work every day in a helicopter.

All the above has been in my head while listening to the Blue Note collection. It is amazing how understated (some of those duos between a muted trumpet and a restrained alto or tenor saxophone) and how elegant jazz in the 50s was. There is that special Autum Leaves from a Cannonball Aderley (1958 album Somethin’Else) with Hank Jones, Sam Jones, Art Blakey and (I repeat and) Miles Davis.


I was telling my Rosemary that by 1957 this was the kind of music I listened to. I would buy my records at a supermarket in Mexico City. I cannot imagine that now but then the Blue Note collection I found buried under contemporary (21st century) stuff at the Kerrisdale London Drugs.

While listening to Autum Leaves Rosemary asked me what boys my age (then) listen. I have no idea. Then I went upstairs and brought a free (at London Drugs) photo magazine called Photo News. It is glossy and the articles are what we used to call in the 80s service pieces. Now we are more up-front and we call them advertorials. I showed her the full page ad for a new Olympus Pen-F digital camera that looks like an old-fashioned film camera. I invite you to read the copy.

As far as I am concerned while I admire the qualities and capabilities of my mirrorless Fuji X-E1 I can emphatically state that only film is film just as only butter is butter.

Below is a picture I took in 2013 of my friend Yuki in Buenos Aires. I used Fuji Superia 800 ISO colour negative and my camera was a Nikon FM-2. The lens was either my f-2 35mm or my f-1.4 50mm.

A photographic memory





Hypertext Borges & Hopscotching Down the Banister
Sunday, July 10, 2016




Around Christmas 1938 Jorge Luís Borges had an accident while climbing the stairs of a house with a broken elevator. By 1938 Borges’s sight was fading. He did not note a ventilation window that was open and he hit his head. For weeks he suffered a high fever. He was delirious and had horrible visions which he later (according to Alicia Jurado’s biography Genio y Figura de Jorge Luís Borges) included in his story El sur (The South). He convalesced after an operation and he began to write his first stories of fantasy. Jurado does not dare (but still mentions) that there might have been a nexus between the banging of his head and his venture into literature of fantasy. His first story (one of my favourites) once he was well was Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius.

From beginning to end, from the middle to the beginning and vice versa Borges has always been a wonderfully problematic labyrinth, an Orson Wellesian hall of mirrors.

Tonight it hit me (a minor but not actual bump of my head) as I navigated from the little Alicia Jurado biography to all the mentions of quotes, stories, poems, etc from a huge pile of Borges books on my bed table.

Jurado cites his El jardin de los senderos que se bifurcan (The Garden of Bifurcating Paths) and there I am re-reading the story from my Ficciones which I bought in 1969. I remember that I had a small group of male Palmolive executives whom I was teaching English to. They were intelligent and awfully demanding. In the last 15 minutes of our hour classes they would attempt to translate into English my ficciones in Spanish.

In this site you will find a pretty short and easy to understand definition of hypertext. In the 80s the idea of hypertext novel was a novelty, the latest, at the time new sliced bread. Few at the time were aware that in 1963 Julio Cortázar had published Rayuela (Hopscotch) which was a very early hypertext novel that could be read in many ways and that depending on how you read it (whatever order you chose) the ending and the beginning would be in question.

It was around 1950 that Cortázar would visit my father in our Coghlan home. I remember in particular the winter visits as both would sit in our kitchen. The oven of the large black iron gas stove would be on and the kitchen was the only warm room in our very cold house. Enilse (our housekeeper’s sister) would add little drops of water to a Nescafe grounds and she would beat it for long minutes until it became a smooth paste. I think she also added sugar to the mixture. When she slowly added hot water the coffee would have a thick foam on top. It was then that my father and Cortázar would light up. But often Cortázar was out of cigarettes and he would not abide in even puffing one of my father’s Players. So I would be sent to the corner store to buy Arizonas.

It was one of those evenings when I was sliding down the banister that Cortázar came up to me and whispered in my ear that one day, on any day, one that I could not predict, the bannister would become a Gillette blade.

When I read Hopscotch in 1966 in Buenos Aires my memory of Cortázar’s voice haunted every page. I must admit that in that youth of mine I was conservative and I did not venture in reading the novel in any way but the conventional one of reading all the chapters as written.

But now I see myself jumping back from one poem to a story, to a quote, to an idea, back to figuring out where the idea was. The more biographical tidbits I read like the ones that not only did Borges fear mirrors but as a very small boy he was afraid of seeing his reflection in the polished dark mahogany furniture of his parent’s house, the more I jump back to a particular poem (there are many particular) about mirrors.

Borges is obsessed with circular time, with infinite series, with libraries that have all the books ever written and yet to be written but already written as time for Borges is an eternal present in which we all remember only that which we forget.

Perhaps my sanity is not in question as I have nobody with whom to share my present obsession with Borges. Will I ever stop jumping back and forth? Would the sudden change of the bannister that my house does not have but could have in a future present put a finish to my curious version of hypertext?

Or I could again explain my largish Mario Vargas Llosa collection. When I visited him in Lima and interviewed him for Books In Canada I asked him why so many of his novels were difficult to read. In particular I cited Conversación en la catedral where the protagonists have different names or nickname depending who is talking to them. He told me that he had been influenced by Faulkner and particularly by the story The Bear.  He told me that in this way the reader was part of the creation of the novel. The reader had to participate and an effort was shared with the author.

I may add here, if I may be allowed to diverge that my copy of Faulkner's Go Down Moses (which contains The Bear) was given to me by one of my students with whom I read Ficciones back then at Colgate Palmolive.










Wolberg y la guitarra



     

Previous Posts
Inertia

Beyond the Grave - A Posthumous Gift

Pathos With Kokoro at the Roundhouse

That Female Angel

Pete Turner & Khalistan

Figurative Art - An Obsession

Embryotrophic Cavatina - Requiem For My Friend

The Man From Pittsburg Almost Made Me Smile

Giclée in French Slang means...

Fairwell French Style - Not



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1/24/10 - 1/31/10

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2/7/10 - 2/14/10

2/14/10 - 2/21/10

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

4/4/10 - 4/11/10

4/11/10 - 4/18/10

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4/25/10 - 5/2/10

5/2/10 - 5/9/10

5/9/10 - 5/16/10

5/16/10 - 5/23/10

5/23/10 - 5/30/10

5/30/10 - 6/6/10

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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

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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

4/26/15 - 5/3/15

5/3/15 - 5/10/15

5/10/15 - 5/17/15

5/17/15 - 5/24/15

5/24/15 - 5/31/15

5/31/15 - 6/7/15

6/7/15 - 6/14/15

6/14/15 - 6/21/15

6/21/15 - 6/28/15

6/28/15 - 7/5/15

7/5/15 - 7/12/15

7/12/15 - 7/19/15

7/19/15 - 7/26/15

7/26/15 - 8/2/15

8/2/15 - 8/9/15

8/9/15 - 8/16/15

8/16/15 - 8/23/15

8/23/15 - 8/30/15

8/30/15 - 9/6/15

9/6/15 - 9/13/15

9/13/15 - 9/20/15

9/20/15 - 9/27/15

9/27/15 - 10/4/15

10/4/15 - 10/11/15

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

2/28/16 - 3/6/16

3/6/16 - 3/13/16

3/13/16 - 3/20/16

3/20/16 - 3/27/16

3/27/16 - 4/3/16

4/3/16 - 4/10/16

4/10/16 - 4/17/16

4/17/16 - 4/24/16

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

6/12/16 - 6/19/16

6/19/16 - 6/26/16

6/26/16 - 7/3/16

7/3/16 - 7/10/16

7/10/16 - 7/17/16

7/17/16 - 7/24/16

7/24/16 - 7/31/16

7/31/16 - 8/7/16

8/7/16 - 8/14/16

8/14/16 - 8/21/16

8/21/16 - 8/28/16

8/28/16 - 9/4/16

9/4/16 - 9/11/16

9/11/16 - 9/18/16

9/18/16 - 9/25/16

9/25/16 - 10/2/16

10/2/16 - 10/9/16

10/9/16 - 10/16/16

10/16/16 - 10/23/16

10/23/16 - 10/30/16

10/30/16 - 11/6/16

11/6/16 - 11/13/16

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

4/9/17 - 4/16/17

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

5/28/17 - 6/4/17

6/4/17 - 6/11/17

6/11/17 - 6/18/17

6/18/17 - 6/25/17

6/25/17 - 7/2/17

7/2/17 - 7/9/17

7/9/17 - 7/16/17

7/16/17 - 7/23/17

7/23/17 - 7/30/17

7/30/17 - 8/6/17

8/6/17 - 8/13/17

8/13/17 - 8/20/17

8/20/17 - 8/27/17

8/27/17 - 9/3/17

9/3/17 - 9/10/17

9/10/17 - 9/17/17

9/17/17 - 9/24/17

9/24/17 - 10/1/17