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




 

Slivovitz With Zvonko
Saturday, September 03, 2016





There are a few names that could be associated with the events that culminated with the photograph you see here. It was taken between others before and after under very different circumstances.

They are Jacqui Cohen, Nicole Ward, Natalie Gan, Tiko Kerr and of course yours truly who you might notice in the shot behind a camera.

And all those names somehow come together thanks to a pleasant Serbian who at one time was in the Yugoslavian Army in Josip Broz Tito’s Guard. His name is Zvonko.

Tiko Kerr, Zvonko and I had a really smooth 40 year-old slivovitz in Zvonko’s office on Friday. We were inside a beautiful building that houses, in one of its offices the Pearl Detective Agency. Mr. Kerr and I decided that the little pleasant Friday morning was a very good reason to admit we were alive. and that this was a good thing.

For more on the above you may have to wait until September 15.



My Personal Gioconda
Friday, September 02, 2016





I believe I took this photograph  in Vancouver around 1978. Until then I had this Mamiy RB-67 6x7 cm format camera with only a wide angle (in that format) 65mm. This portrait of Cheri was taken with my then very new portrait lens a 140mm. Since this was before the age of Photoshop and Photoshop’s awful skin pore remover Diffuse Glow we photographers had different tricks to flatter the females of our age. 

One was to stretch a woman’s stocking over the front of the lens. A b+w stocking did not remove the contrast. A white stocking did. Another trick was to smear a clear filter with Vaseline and smooth it out with your fingers or a Q-Tip. I have no memory for which trick I may have used here. I do know that I had not yet purchased a soft focus filter because the best (the B+Ws) were very expensive.

When I showed this picture ( a 16x20 inch print) to a friend he marvelled at the fact that Cheri’s eyes followed you around the room.

Some may note that da Vinci’s La Gioconda does exactly that. I did some research and I found this site. But the answer (simplified) is that in any portrait or photograph if the subject is looking straight ahead (and I would add with focused eyes on one spot at about eye level) this will invariably happen and the person in the photograph or painting will follow you ever so uncannily.

Of Cheri I have to write about her (and I have before). She was perhaps my first subject where I experimented with a studio flash system (and Ascor) and with an umbrella. I had no idea of what I was doing. Cheri was gracious and patient.

Until I first spotted Cheri dancing at the Drake Hotel (at the time the best place to see exotic dancers) my former experience with exotic dancers (called strippers when I saw my first one in 1966 on Bourbon Street in New Orleans. I wrote about it here.

There was something about Cheri’s very long legs and the way her hair moved around while she danced. I became an instant fan.

Flaming Sambucas



El Reloj de Arena - The Hour Glass
Thursday, September 01, 2016






I remember that half a century ago my professor of philosophy Ramón Xirau first told our class about the pre-Socratic philosopher Heraclitus and his idea that nothing could be really experience in the same way twice as like the waters of a flowing river were always changing and time was the same thing.

While looking at some photographs today of Marli W which I took around 1978 I noticed one that escaped my scrutiny. That Marli is posing on sand made me remember that Borges, who was quite obsessed in the philosophy of Heraclitus had a deep interest in “relojes de arena” or the hourglasses. His particular interest in them was that sand like water went only in one direction.

Thinking back at these images of Marli I can remember the heat of summer, the wonderful coarseness of the sand on my bare feet and the fact that I was most excited at the opportunity to photograph a beautiful woman without the scourge of clothes.



I do not believe that I could return to that beach with a new subject and take these photographs all over again. To be precise I also shot Kodachromes so that would be impossible.
In photography one explores, one discovers, one innovates, one dares and as soon as all that becomes a formula you move on (down river).

 El Reloj de Arena – Jorge Luís Borges

Está bien que se mida con la dura

Sombra que una columna en el estío
Arroja o con el agua de aquel río

En que Heráclito vio nuestra locura



El tiempo, ya que al tiempo y al destino

Se parecen los dos: la imponderable

Sombra diurna y el curso irrevocable

Del agua que prosigue su camino.



Está bien, pero el tiempo en los desiertos

Otra substancia halló, suave y pesada,

Que parece haber sido imaginada

Para medir el tiempo de los muertos.



Surge así el alegórico instrumento

De los grabados de los diccionarios,

La pieza que los grises anticuarios

Relegarán al mundo ceniciento



Del alfil desparejo, de la espada

Inerme, del borroso telescopio,

Del sándalo mordido por el opio

Del polvo, del azar y de la nada.



¿Quién no se ha demorado ante el severo

Y tétrico instrumento que acompaña

En la diestra del dios a la guadaña

Y cuyas líneas repitió Durero?



Por el ápice abierto el cono inverso

Deja caer la cautelosa arena,

Oro gradual que se desprende y llena

El cóncavo cristal de su universo.



Hay un agrado en observar la arcana

Arena que resbala y que declina

Y, a punto de caer, se arremolina

Con una prisa que es del todo humana.



La arena de los ciclos es la misma

E infinita es la historia de la arena;

Así, bajo tus dichas o tu pena,

La invulnerable eternidad se abisma.



No se detiene nunca la caída

Yo me desangro, no el cristal. El rito

De decantar la arena es infinito

Y con la arena se nos va la vida.



En los minutos de la arena creo

Sentir el tiempo cósmico: la historia

Que encierra en sus espejos la memoria

O que ha disuelto el mágico Leteo.



El pilar de humo y el pilar de fuego,

Cartago y Roma y su apretada guerra,

Simón Mago, los siete pies de tierra

Que el rey sajón ofrece al rey noruego,



Todo lo arrastra y pierde este incansable

Hilo sutil de arena numerosa.

No he de salvarme yo, fortuita cosa

De tiempo, que es materia deleznable.

The Hourglass -  J. L. Borges


It is well that time can be measured

With the harsh shadow a column in summer

Casts, or the water of that river

In which Heraclitus saw our folly,



Since both to time and destiny

The two seem alike: the unweighable daytime

Shadow, and the irrevocable course

Of water following its own path.



It is well, but time in the desert

Found another substance, smooth and heavy,

That seems to have been imagined

For measuring dead men’s time.



Hence the allegorical instrument

Of the dictionary illustrations,

The thing that gray antiquaries

Will consign to the red-ash world



Of the odd chess-bishop, of the sword

Defenseless, of the telescope bleared,

Of sandalwood eroded by opium,

Of dust, of hazard, of the nada.



Who has not paused before the severe

And sullen instrument accompanying

The scythe in the god’s right hand

Whose outlines Duerer etched?



Through the open apex the inverted cone

Lets the minute sand fall down,

Gradual gold that loosens itself and fills

The concave crystal of its universe.



There is a pleasure in watching the recondite

Sand that slides away and slopes

And, at the falling point, piles up

With an urgency wholly human.



The sand of the cycles is the same,

And infinite, the history of sand;

Thus, deep beneath your joys and pain

Unwoundable eternity is still the abyss.



Never is there a halt in the fall.

It is I lose blood, not the glass. The ceremony

Of drawing off the sand goes on forever

And with the sand our life is leaving us.



In the minutes of the sand I believe

I feel the cosmic time: the history

That memory locks up in its mirrors

Or that magic Lethe has dissolved.



The pillar of smoke and the pillar of fire,

Carthage and Rome and their crushing war,

Simon Magnus, the seven feet of earth

That the Saxon proffered the Norway king,



This tireless subtle thread of unnumbered

Sand degrades all down to loss.

I cannot save myself, a come-by-chance

Of time, being matter that is crumbling.

From Dreamtigers, by Jorge Luis Borges, translated by Harold Morland




Many Happy Returns
Wednesday, August 31, 2016





My friend and virtuoso violinist Marc Destrubé informed someone I was born in Mexico. I corrected him by telling him I had been born in Buenos Aires but it had been in Mexico City in 1968 that I had spied a beautiful long-haired blonde in a mini skirt with stupendous legs and that I subsequently married her.

Since Destrubé was not entirely wrong in an email he wrote:

So I wasn’t completely up the spout. (And where does that expression come from?)

So I researched it since I had personally had never heard that expression before. The Oxford Dictionary had this:

Definition of up the spout in English:

up the spout

British informal

1.No longer working or likely to be useful or successful: his petrol gauge is up the spout



More example sentences

2. (Of a woman) pregnant.



Example sentences

3(Of a bullet or cartridge) in the barrel of a gun and ready to be fired.

And there is this which is quite cute. 



Marc Destrubé
Today is my 74th birthday and I was struck by a birthday greeting from my friend and actor Allan Gray:

Have a great day Alex - many happy returns.

It just so happens that I know where that expression happy returns comes from. My proof of it is this cover scan of one of my favourite (and my mother’s) nautical author C.S. Forester and his taciturn (very Gregory Peck) character Hornblower.

It wasn’t until the advent of the 20th century (the Titanic being a glaring exception) that sea travel was considered safe. To be a captain in His Majesty’s Navy in the 18th and beginning of the 19th was a dangerous profession. To be able to return from a sea voyage was a lucky thing. To do it often even luckier.

And so I wish all those who sent me birthday greetings and specially Mr. Gray many happy returns in their futures.


Allan Gray




Alastair Macaulay - The foot is at the root of poetry.
Tuesday, August 30, 2016




There is this most interesting NY Times essay, Notice the Feet in that Body of Work by their senior dance critic Alastair Macaulay.

I have written often in my blogs about feet and how I think that feet are the ugliest part of the human body. I had never thought that dancers' feet would be the ugliest of all. I have had the privilege of being allowed to photograph the feet of Evelyn Hart and of Lauri Stallings. Their feet are not pretty like mine. I inherited my mother's. She often told me I had swimmer's feet even though I never swam with style.

In a trip to Florida for a travel magazine I was offered either a body massage or a pedicure at a luxury resort. I was much too embarrased to go for the former so I opted for the second.  I found myself in a room-full of women with feet in buckets gossiping. They all stopped yakking when they saw my feet. It was then that they asked me how old I was!

Not too long ago I wrote a fake blog about Isadora Duncan's feet.

I am coming around to finally appreciate the hidden beauty of some feet.


You'll know Her - by Her Foot - Emily Dickinson

You'll know Her—by Her Foot—
The smallest Gamboge Hand
With Fingers—where the Toes should be—
Would more affront the Sand—

Than this Quaint Creature's Boot—
Adjusted by a Stern—
Without a Button—I could vouch—
Unto a Velvet Limb—

You'll know Her—by Her Vest—
Tight fitting—Orange—Brown—
Inside a Jacket duller—
She wore when she was born—

Her Cap is small—and snug—
Constructed for the Winds—
She'd pass for Barehead—short way off—
But as She Closer stands—

So finer 'tis than Wool—
You cannot feel the Seam—
Nor is it Clasped unto of Band—
Nor held upon—of Brim—

You'll know Her—by Her Voice—
At first—a doubtful Tone—
A sweet endeavor—but as March
To April—hurries on—

She squanders on your Ear
Such Arguments of Pearl—
You beg the Robin in your Brain
To keep the other—still— 



There is no Frigate like a Book

I pay - in Satin CashWednesday, September 07, 2016
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



The Comet 4C - Metal Fatigue & My PC Sync Cord
Monday, August 29, 2016







In 1959 I was getting ready to go back to St. Ed’s High School in Austin. We were still in Mexico City so my mother decided as a surprise to book me into a Mexicana de Aviación flight to San Antonio. From there I was to take a Greyhound Scenicruiser to Austin. The surprise was that the airplane in question was a de Havilland Comet 4C which was the first jet airliner to come into service. In my mother’s bargain was a brand new US silver Dollar. The idea was for me to attempt to balance it on my seat tray. Because the jet had no vibration from piston engines the coin was not supposed to fall. It didn’t.

The story of the de Havilland Comet involves many crashes from previous models due to the unresolved stresses and perhaps metal fatigue.

I have always wanted to leave this world vaporized in midflight in an airplane. This would save Rosemary money on a burial and perhaps a windfall of money care of the airline and my life insurance. Unfortunately Comets are not in service anymore and flying is pretty safe.

In my years as a magazine photographer I learned very early the rules of the successful game:

1. Show up on time. This meant casing the joint on another day so as to avoid surprises.
2. Make appointment with magazine subjects on the phone without insulting them.
3. Leave with one useable image.  This always meant that equipment had to work and that backup stuff was readily available.

Of all the failures that I almost had or had, but I had backup ready, the worst offender was the PC cord. This cord connects the camera’s PC outlet to the flash. The design of the PC cord comes from the first electronic flashes invented in the 50s. The design was never really modified.

In the picture you see here there is that odd little brass tool. This tool (almost impossible to find in this century) squeezes the end of the PC cord so that it will be snug and make a connection that will not fail. Notice the PC tip has a slit on the side. It has one on the other side. Nobody has ever bothered to use metal that will not eventually fail due to metal fatigue. At the end of the slit, eventually you get a tair at a 90 degree to the slit. No matter how many times you may attempt to reform the tip with my snazzy brass tool the cord will fail. And you will get that horrible statement from your subject:

“Your flash did not flash.”

I have two of these PC cords right now and both have experienced metal fatigue. I wonder if the British make any of these and with their Comet experience would they work longer?



     

Previous Posts
David Macgillivray Meets My Sword Excalibur

Leonard George Did Not Make It To Spring

Jonas - Good Joby!

The Vivaldi Gloria, Alice Cooper, Igor Stravinsky ...

No vuelven nunca más.

Despised & Rejected Superbly

Olena & My iPhone3G

Style Observed

Sandrine Cassini - Dancer - Woman

The Good & the Not So Good



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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

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3/13/11 - 3/20/11

3/20/11 - 3/27/11

3/27/11 - 4/3/11

4/3/11 - 4/10/11

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4/24/11 - 5/1/11

5/1/11 - 5/8/11

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5/22/11 - 5/29/11

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7/3/11 - 7/10/11

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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

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12/25/11 - 1/1/12

1/1/12 - 1/8/12

1/8/12 - 1/15/12

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1/22/12 - 1/29/12

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3/25/12 - 4/1/12

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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

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8/19/12 - 8/26/12

8/26/12 - 9/2/12

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9/23/12 - 9/30/12

9/30/12 - 10/7/12

10/7/12 - 10/14/12

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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

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3/31/13 - 4/7/13

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4/21/13 - 4/28/13

4/28/13 - 5/5/13

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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

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6/23/13 - 6/30/13

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7/21/13 - 7/28/13

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8/25/13 - 9/1/13

9/1/13 - 9/8/13

9/8/13 - 9/15/13

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9/22/13 - 9/29/13

9/29/13 - 10/6/13

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10/20/13 - 10/27/13

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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

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4/13/14 - 4/20/14

4/20/14 - 4/27/14

4/27/14 - 5/4/14

5/4/14 - 5/11/14

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5/25/14 - 6/1/14

6/1/14 - 6/8/14

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7/20/14 - 7/27/14

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9/21/14 - 9/28/14

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10/19/14 - 10/26/14

10/26/14 - 11/2/14

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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

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4/19/15 - 4/26/15

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7/19/15 - 7/26/15

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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

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2/21/16 - 2/28/16

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3/13/16 - 3/20/16

3/20/16 - 3/27/16

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4/3/16 - 4/10/16

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4/24/16 - 5/1/16

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5/8/16 - 5/15/16

5/15/16 - 5/22/16

5/22/16 - 5/29/16

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10/2/16 - 10/9/16

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11/20/16 - 11/27/16

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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

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2/12/17 - 2/19/17

2/19/17 - 2/26/17

2/26/17 - 3/5/17

3/5/17 - 3/12/17

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3/19/17 - 3/26/17

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4/16/17 - 4/23/17

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7/16/17 - 7/23/17

7/23/17 - 7/30/17

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8/20/17 - 8/27/17

8/27/17 - 9/3/17

9/3/17 - 9/10/17

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9/17/17 - 9/24/17

9/24/17 - 10/1/17

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10/15/17 - 10/22/17

10/22/17 - 10/29/17

10/29/17 - 11/5/17

11/5/17 - 11/12/17

11/12/17 - 11/19/17

11/19/17 - 11/26/17

11/26/17 - 12/3/17

12/3/17 - 12/10/17

12/10/17 - 12/17/17