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




 

Helmut Newton - Subtlety, Elegance & Gone
Saturday, August 13, 2016



Helmut Newton - London 1988 - Photograph Lincoln Clarkes

Picture this. I am in pretty good health and I look a few months younger than I really am (about to be 74 in a few days). Money problems are gone as Rosemary and I sold our valuable West Side house and now live ensconced in a small (everything works and does not leak) duplex. The Malibu drives nicely and we could get a few more repair-free time out of it. Our cat, Casi-Casi, 12, is no longer radioactive as his Iodine 131 treatment for a hyperthyroid was successful. Eldest fdaughter Ale is happy in her one acre in Lillooet and Hilary, husband and youngest daughter Lauren are established in their new digs (with a community pool) in Burnaby.

Helmut Newton - 1975

The only besmirching of this ideal situation is our oldest granddaughter Rebecca who is on an apparent dive to more problematic situations.

My friends keep telling me to continue plugging with what I do. This is easy but also paradoxically difficult.

It is easy because I think that I am taking the best photographs of my life. On the negative (and with a smile of sorts) I may commission someone to write me a country song with the title of Obsolete, Redundant & Retired.


In the previous century, any experimental photographs I took sooner than later were re-adapted to magazines I worked for which had enlightened art directors who liked to push boundaries.

In that last century there was the Exposure Gallery on Beatty Street where I participated in countless erotic group shows. Also in that past century I had exhibits (including a one-person one) in various very good galleries. I had some pictures up in the Presentation House. My guess is that was a passing exception to their “rule” that the photographer has to be dead, or be foreign or to produce work that had to be explained with a massive artist statement.

The internet has changed all that. The last time I attended a show at Presentation House I was introduced by the chief curator as a good portrait photographer (what was really meant was a good commercial portrait photographer).The decline of magazines has meant that there is less money for photographers and for daring work. The avenues left are flickr, Instagram, Tumblr and others. To me even if good photographs can be found they are hidden by a waistland of banality and mediocrity. There are too many found photographs. Few are created in some form of pre visualization (as Minor White would have said).

And style the likes of Penn and Avedon seems to have disappeared to this ex-photographer.

And so I take lots of photographs that will never see the light of day as hard copy and, most that do appear on some web page, I censor so that I will not offend the onerous rules of 21st century propriety.

So going back to my relative calm life in my Kitsilano duplex I must find some meaning for existing further, for taking photographs, for wanting to wake up tomorrow to see what the day will bring.

I have been plagued by a recent desire to stay home and not go to concerts and plays or to see the latest films at a pop corned Multiplex.

My age makes it difficult for me to find models to undrape. I am no longer a passably attractive young man of 37.

I have no recollection when I first heard this:

A woman is as old as she looks. A man is old when he stops looking.

Forget the idea that driving in Vancouver with cell phone in hand is dangerous. Much more so is the recent explosion of women wearing shorts that expose the gluteus maximus. This distraction is very dangerous and I find it hard not to want to look.

What all that means is that I have a desire to photograph women of any age (preferably over 30,40 and over even better).  I don’t want to document fire plugs, Vancouver sunsets, Vancouver skylines, my cat or the food I cook or eat at a restaurant. My desire to take selfies only applies when I can find a beautiful woman to pose in front of a mirror with me squeezing the shutter on the side (and almost hidden).

This desire seemed unhealthy or at least it was the reaction indicated by some of the people I confessed my problem to.

The unhealthy factor changed the moment (it happened twice) at the Vancouver Art Gallery Picasso show. Watching Picasso, with a whimsical smile on his face in a lovely video where he does quick line drawings with a paintbrush and white paint and which all end up being unclothed women seemed so natural.

No I am not Picasso. But the show (a show of his relationship with the women of his life) stressed to me an obsession of the male painter, and sculptor to document the female body since that first little fat and pregnant statuette in our human pre-history.  Either they were all sick, (and that includes the relatively more recent photographic manifestations of the undraped female body), or it is perfectly natural and healthy! For my own sanity I will opt for the second part of that choice.


Olena - August 17 2016

In the past century I had the assignment to photograph a new cutting edge painter called Lincoln Clarkes. The write was Les Wiseman for Vancouver Magazine. Shortly after, Clarkes shifted to photography and began to photograph a lovely, slim model called Elizabeth Mazzoni. One that I particularly remember was of her undraped by the side of an antique bank vault (it was in a property owned by Uno Langmann, downtown). The photograph looked like a photograph of Helmut Newton’s. In fact for a while I thought Clarkes was the Helmut Newton of Vancouver! But Clarkes diverged into other topics and only recently did I notice his habit of taking pictures of women in skirts riding bicycles.

For better or for worse I have been emulating my own versions of Helmut Newton while trying to make sure that my photographs do not champion the objectification of women. I do not photograph them in a demeaning way and I always ask them to be in control. I want to think that at the very least Newton and I share some good taste and elegance with a side of occasional subtlety.

These photographs (the film ones) will go to my extensive metal cabinet files. The digital ones to an exterior hard drive. And meanwhile when I ride a bus I can smirk at people who might think, “That’s an old man.” More correct would be, “That’s a dirty old man.”





Emily Dickinson's White Dress & A Hunter of Lost Souls
Friday, August 12, 2016




During these last few months my late evenings in our Kitsilano home have been spent either reading Jorge Luís Borges in Spanish or Emily Dickinson in English.

For reasons that I cannot fathom by the time I had amassed a collection of 400 hostas in our old Athlone home I only had one of the only two literary hostas. In our new home I brought with me the slow growing Hosta ‘Robert Frost’ but no Hosta ‘Emily Dickinson’. My guess is that when I first stumbled upon this narrow leaved hosta I was not all that interested in Dickinson.

That has all changed and I am having lots of fun illustrating Dickinson poems with photographs from my collection. The links to them are bellow.

My interest in Dickinson ballooned when my friend writer Jerome Charyn published his Secret Life of Emily Dickinson in 2010.This fine book is what I call a first person autobiographic novel as Charyn writes it in the first person.

After A Secret Life I became a daily Dickinson reader. This has become even more intense since I purchased Charyn’s most recent A Loaded Gun which is a biography (with lots of subjective interpretation) on Dickinson .

Charyn paints Dickinson as a smoldering un-spinster whose poems reveal to him (and many other biographers) a strong overt sexuality of the woman who dressed in black, but did not.

That one famous photograph of a young Dickinson taken in 1847 has her in a black dress. But it seems that later in life she strictly wore white. One of the dresses still exists and you can read about it here.

Last Thursday when my friend baroque upright string bassist Curtis Daily and I were taking photographs of the blue-haired Olena (wonderful she is) she put on a chemise like dress that was not quite white. Olena looked exotically erotic in it and the first thought in my head was that somehow Dickinson had traveled to our day to my house to pose!

That is far-fetched and certainly not true. But in the scan of that Fuji b+w Instant 3200 film print I see a luminosity that shines in the same way as my mind does when  I read her poems.


If I am allowed to admit my obsession for Dickinson, it is a tame one in contrast to Charyn's. In his Author's Note he begins:

I couldn't let go. I'd spent two years writing a novel about her, vampirizing her letters and poems, sucking the blood out of her bones, like some hunter of lost souls. I'd rifled through every book about her I could find - biographies, psychoanalytic studies of her crippled, wounded self, tales of her martyrdom in the nineteenth century, studies of her iconic white dress, accounts of her agorophobia, etc. I shut my eyes, blinked, and wrote The Secret Life of Emily Dickinson (2010) like a boy galloping on a blind horse. I never believed much in her spinsterhood and shriveled sexuality. Yet she was a spinster in a way, a spinner of words. Spiders were also known as spinsters, a like a spider, she spun her meticulous webs, trapping words until she gathered them in a a Lexicon that had no equal.






Jerome Charyn - the blood sucker
El vestido blanco - The White Dress

Water makes many beds
 The viola da gamba
 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



Olena - The Woman With Blue Hair
Thursday, August 11, 2016



I consider myself an awfully lucky man to get my hair cut at the Richard Jeha Salon in Kerrisdale. The man himself (Jeha) told me,"I want you to meet my assistant. Her name is Olena and she speaks Spanish." At the time Olena was wearing her glasses and her hair was not yet blue. I asked her to pose for me. I hope to keep taking her pictures until I am blue in the face.





My taste for androgyny
From Olena to Modigliani 
All about Curtis Daily's baroque bass in the photograph 
The ghost with the purple hair



John Oliver - Marina Hasselberg - The Warmth of Electronic Music
Wednesday, August 10, 2016


Marina Hasselberg, John Oliver - Dominion Building - August 6 2016
 

I am not a friend of electronic music. But I have a Vancouver friend who is a new music composer who composes electronic music. His name is John Oliver. You might expect someone who does what he does to hide in a scowl behind thick and round rimless glasses like Shostakovich. But that is not the case. Oliver always smiles and he is so enthusiastic with what he does that I believe I have an electronic music virus rampant within me.

For many years during my ignorance of youth I thought Walter/Wendy Carlos Switched on Bach was electronic music. I did not know then that Carlos was well ahead of his/her times. 




German/Portuguese cellist Marina Hasselberg (one of the few cellists I know who plays both the modern and the baroque cello) is lovely and has one of those aw-shucks kind of voices that border on the cutesy. But when she sits down to play you are not inclined to laugh.

Pristine - video by Hasselberg/Oliver


Cameron Ward in his Dominion Building office


By combining the warmth of the wooden instrument with an array of electronic equipment the Oliver/Hasselberg concert partnership at last Saturday’s concert at the newish (but very old!) Gold Saucer Studio (in winter the plumbing adds interesting noise to concerts) proved that there is warmth and little dissonance in new music and electronic music. That's one point for Oliver.



My friend Ian Bateson and I thoroughly enjoyed the four pieces (as per almost usual there are no printed program notes). In fact I really don’t miss them since sometimes program notes can read like those artist statements one finds in Vancouver gallery spaces.

Both Bateson and I are fans of Hasselberg’s playing and I can safely say that in John Oliver I have a brand new friend who might just not short circuit my present liking for electronic music.

Part of the charm of a concert at the Gold Saucer Studio (attended by a chunk of the Vancouver avant-garde and yes it does exist) is that the venue is in a building with lots of Vancouver history.

My friend lawyer Cameron Ward used to have a tiny office there. The door with the frosted glass window reminded me of images I could see in my mind while reading Raymond Chandler or Dashiell Hammett thrillers. So did my friend, free-lance writer Mark Budgen who died last year.

In the late 70s I photographed a man who shot up in fame as a promoter of rock band concerts in Vancouver. His name was Norm Perry and his company Perriscope Productions handled venue tickets in Vancouver before the Ticketmaster mafia took over. My photograph of him resembles the portrait I took last Saturday of Hasselberg and Oliver. I do not believe it was in the exact same spot. Strangely enough Vancouver Magazine art director Rick Staehling must have noticed Perry’s right hand. There were five other pictures (I only took 6) where the hands were just right.


Norm Perry at the Dominion Building circa 1978













so that our hands would meet - para que nuestras manos se encontraran
Tuesday, August 09, 2016






Las Causas – Jorge Luís Borges

Los ponientes y las generaciones.
Los días y ninguno fue el primero.
La frescura del agua en la garganta
de Adán. El ordenado Paraíso.
El ojo descifrando la tiniebla.
El amor de los lobos en el alba.
La palabra. El hexámetro. El espejo.
La Torre de Babel y la soberbia.
La luna que miraban los caldeos.
Las arenas innúmeras del Ganges.
Chuang-Tzu y la mariposa que lo sueña.
Las manzanas de oro de las islas.
Los pasos del errante laberinto.
El infinito lienzo de Penélope.
El tiempo circular de los estoicos.
La moneda en la boca del que ha muerto.
El peso de la espada en la balanza.
Cada gota de agua en la clepsidra.
Las águilas, los fastos, las legiones.
César en la mañana de Farsalia.
La sombra de las cruces en la tierra.
El ajedrez y el álgebra del persa.
Los rastros de las largas migraciones.
La conquista de reinos por la espada.
La brújula incesante. El mar abierto.
El eco del reloj en la memoria.
El rey ajusticiado por el hacha.
El polvo incalculable que fue ejércitos.
La voz del ruiseñor en Dinamarca.
La escrupulosa línea del calígrafo.
El rostro del suicida en el espejo.
El naipe del tahúr. El oro ávido.
Las formas de la nube en el desierto.
Cada arabesco del calidoscopio.
Cada remordimiento y cada lágrima.
Se precisaron todas esas cosas
para que nuestras manos se encontraran.

The Causes - Jorge Luís Borges



The sunsets and generations.
The days and none was the first.
The coolness of water in Adam's
throat. Orderly Paradise.
The eye deciphering the dark.
The love of wolves at dawn.
The word. The hexameter. The mirror.
The Tower of Babel and pride.
The moon that Chaldeans gazed at.
The innumerable sands of the Ganges.
Chuang-Tzu and the butterfly that dreams him.
The golden apples on the islands.
The steps in the wandering labyrinth.
Penelope's infinite tapestry.
The Stoics' circular time.
The coin in the dead man's mouth.
The weight of the sword on the scale.
Each drop of water in the clepsydra.
The eagles, the auspicious days, the legions.
Caesar on the morning of Pharsalia.
The shadow of the crosses over the earth.
The chess and algebra of the Persian.
The footprints of long migrations.
The conquest of kingdoms by the sword.
The relentless compass. The open sea.
The clock's echo in memory.
The king beheaded by the ax.
The incalculable dust which was armies.
The nightingale's voice in Denmark.
The calligrapher's meticulous line.
The face of the suicidal one in the mirror.
The gambler's card. Greedy gold.
The shapes of a cloud in the desert.
Every arabesque in the kaleidoscope.
Each regret and each tear.
All those things were necessary
so that our hands would meet.



A Lady red
Monday, August 08, 2016


Olena
A Lady red—amid the Hill
Her annual secret keeps!
A Lady white, within the Field
In placid Lily sleeps!

 

The tidy Breezes, with their Brooms—
Sweep vale—and hill—and tree!
Prithee, My pretty Housewives!
Who may expected be?


The Neighbors do not yet suspect!
The Woods exchange a smile!
Orchard, and Buttercup, and Bird—
In such a little while!

 

And yet, how still the Landscape stands!
How nonchalant the Hedge!
As if the "Resurrection"
Were nothing very strange!

Emily Dickinson























Emily Dickinson's white dress & a hunter of lost souls
El vestido blanco - The White Dress
Water makes many beds
 The viola da gamba
 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



Freckled Devon Cream
Sunday, August 07, 2016




With few exceptions when I locate in some long forgotten box a photograph I took a long time ago I recognize it as my own. This is different when I look at something I have written in the past. I re-read the stuff and it seems alien as if someone else wrote it.

Just a few days ago I re-published this blog. I was struck by this very Borgesian content:

It is hot today and I hope it persists a few more days. I can take Rosemary’s nagging to position the sprinkler. The heat simply makes me understand that in the past one never thinks that the precise moment of that present will one day be a memory, even a nostalgic memory.

I live the memories of the past in this present while the present quickly recedes into a past to make fresh new ones for tomorrow.

Today I found a box with medium format transparencies of dancers I photographed in the early 80s. There is one photograph of a dancer that was called Topaz but if you knew her well you could address her as Fleen (her real name was Kathleen). I gave her my own name. To me she was Miss Mew. Often while walking the short distance from the Number 5 Orange on a Saturday to a punk concert at the Carnegie Library on Main and Hastings (it was not the scene that it is today) I would walk behind Miss Mew who during an in-between period between her dances, she too would go to a D.O.A. or a Subhuman concert as I was.

In fact you could easily categorize at the time two types of dancers. One, Miss Mew who danced to the music of Lou Reed, and the rest, who didn’t.

My co-ecdysiast interested (fans!) friends could not understand my preference for Miss Mew. They liked the voluptuous ones with big chests and raunchy acts. Miss Mew and her Lou Reed did not move much on stage. It was the eye contact and skin like Devon cream that did it for me. And to top it all she had a Lauren Bacall type of smoky voice.

Miss Mew is doing well these days and I often spy something she may have posted on facebook.

But I realize that those memories that I have of her are as I wrote in that blog:

I live the memories of the past in this present while the present quickly recedes into a past to make fresh new ones for tomorrow.

And when I look at the Ektachrome transparency of Miss Mew I realize that I could never take an equivalent photograph now (of anybody) in the same way. I could never (or could I ?) in this 21st century go up to some woman and say, “You have a glorious chest. Could I take some photographs of you?”

The time is past for all that. All I can do is savour the memories and once more gaze at that glorious chest.

Photographers my age would comment,  "Alex you used a burst of blue gel on that background!" In those days we especially used those blue gels for backgrounds involving businessmen in the high tech industry.  Business magazines demanded that "high tech (blue) look." To me blue represented the outward demeanour, cold, of Miss Mew that hid a warmth and friendliness that was inside. And it was only a few years later when I saw her in the light of day at our table at the Railway Club that her face had always been covered by delightful freckles.






     

Previous Posts
A Yellow Alcea & First Frost

My Latent Interest in Men

UBC's Deadening of Robson Square

A Dead Channel

The Return of She

She of the Resurrection

High on Knees

A Dish of Gnocchi

La Rubia de Categoría

Lolita



Archives
1/15/06 - 1/22/06

1/22/06 - 1/29/06

1/29/06 - 2/5/06

2/5/06 - 2/12/06

2/12/06 - 2/19/06

2/19/06 - 2/26/06

2/26/06 - 3/5/06

3/5/06 - 3/12/06

3/12/06 - 3/19/06

3/19/06 - 3/26/06

3/26/06 - 4/2/06

4/2/06 - 4/9/06

4/9/06 - 4/16/06

4/16/06 - 4/23/06

4/23/06 - 4/30/06

4/30/06 - 5/7/06

5/7/06 - 5/14/06

5/14/06 - 5/21/06

5/21/06 - 5/28/06

5/28/06 - 6/4/06

6/4/06 - 6/11/06

6/11/06 - 6/18/06

6/18/06 - 6/25/06

6/25/06 - 7/2/06

7/2/06 - 7/9/06

7/9/06 - 7/16/06

7/16/06 - 7/23/06

7/23/06 - 7/30/06

7/30/06 - 8/6/06

8/6/06 - 8/13/06

8/13/06 - 8/20/06

8/20/06 - 8/27/06

8/27/06 - 9/3/06

9/3/06 - 9/10/06

9/10/06 - 9/17/06

9/17/06 - 9/24/06

9/24/06 - 10/1/06

10/1/06 - 10/8/06

10/8/06 - 10/15/06

10/15/06 - 10/22/06

10/22/06 - 10/29/06

10/29/06 - 11/5/06

11/5/06 - 11/12/06

11/12/06 - 11/19/06

11/19/06 - 11/26/06

11/26/06 - 12/3/06

12/3/06 - 12/10/06

12/10/06 - 12/17/06

12/17/06 - 12/24/06

12/24/06 - 12/31/06

12/31/06 - 1/7/07

1/7/07 - 1/14/07

1/14/07 - 1/21/07

1/21/07 - 1/28/07

1/28/07 - 2/4/07

2/4/07 - 2/11/07

2/11/07 - 2/18/07

2/18/07 - 2/25/07

2/25/07 - 3/4/07

3/4/07 - 3/11/07

3/11/07 - 3/18/07

3/18/07 - 3/25/07

3/25/07 - 4/1/07

4/1/07 - 4/8/07

4/8/07 - 4/15/07

4/15/07 - 4/22/07

4/22/07 - 4/29/07

4/29/07 - 5/6/07

5/6/07 - 5/13/07

5/13/07 - 5/20/07

5/20/07 - 5/27/07

5/27/07 - 6/3/07

6/3/07 - 6/10/07

6/10/07 - 6/17/07

6/17/07 - 6/24/07

6/24/07 - 7/1/07

7/1/07 - 7/8/07

7/8/07 - 7/15/07

7/15/07 - 7/22/07

7/22/07 - 7/29/07

7/29/07 - 8/5/07

8/5/07 - 8/12/07

8/12/07 - 8/19/07

8/19/07 - 8/26/07

8/26/07 - 9/2/07

9/2/07 - 9/9/07

9/9/07 - 9/16/07

9/16/07 - 9/23/07

9/23/07 - 9/30/07

9/30/07 - 10/7/07

10/7/07 - 10/14/07

10/14/07 - 10/21/07

10/21/07 - 10/28/07

10/28/07 - 11/4/07

11/4/07 - 11/11/07

11/11/07 - 11/18/07

11/18/07 - 11/25/07

11/25/07 - 12/2/07

12/2/07 - 12/9/07

12/9/07 - 12/16/07

12/16/07 - 12/23/07

12/23/07 - 12/30/07

12/30/07 - 1/6/08

1/6/08 - 1/13/08

1/13/08 - 1/20/08

1/20/08 - 1/27/08

1/27/08 - 2/3/08

2/3/08 - 2/10/08

2/10/08 - 2/17/08

2/17/08 - 2/24/08

2/24/08 - 3/2/08

3/2/08 - 3/9/08

3/9/08 - 3/16/08

3/16/08 - 3/23/08

3/23/08 - 3/30/08

3/30/08 - 4/6/08

4/6/08 - 4/13/08

4/13/08 - 4/20/08

4/20/08 - 4/27/08

4/27/08 - 5/4/08

5/4/08 - 5/11/08

5/11/08 - 5/18/08

5/18/08 - 5/25/08

5/25/08 - 6/1/08

6/1/08 - 6/8/08

6/8/08 - 6/15/08

6/15/08 - 6/22/08

6/22/08 - 6/29/08

6/29/08 - 7/6/08

7/6/08 - 7/13/08

7/13/08 - 7/20/08

7/20/08 - 7/27/08

7/27/08 - 8/3/08

8/3/08 - 8/10/08

8/10/08 - 8/17/08

8/17/08 - 8/24/08

8/24/08 - 8/31/08

8/31/08 - 9/7/08

9/7/08 - 9/14/08

9/14/08 - 9/21/08

9/21/08 - 9/28/08

9/28/08 - 10/5/08

10/5/08 - 10/12/08

10/12/08 - 10/19/08

10/19/08 - 10/26/08

10/26/08 - 11/2/08

11/2/08 - 11/9/08

11/9/08 - 11/16/08

11/16/08 - 11/23/08

11/23/08 - 11/30/08

11/30/08 - 12/7/08

12/7/08 - 12/14/08

12/14/08 - 12/21/08

12/21/08 - 12/28/08

12/28/08 - 1/4/09

1/4/09 - 1/11/09

1/11/09 - 1/18/09

1/18/09 - 1/25/09

1/25/09 - 2/1/09

2/1/09 - 2/8/09

2/8/09 - 2/15/09

2/15/09 - 2/22/09

2/22/09 - 3/1/09

3/1/09 - 3/8/09

3/8/09 - 3/15/09

3/15/09 - 3/22/09

3/22/09 - 3/29/09

3/29/09 - 4/5/09

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

6/7/09 - 6/14/09

6/14/09 - 6/21/09

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

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

4/18/10 - 4/25/10

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

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

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