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




 

Rodney Sharman - New Music For Old Instruments
Saturday, January 14, 2017



Rodney Sharman February 14 2017 and Left November 1996


With so many dead composers on record, CD and live-streaming these days it is always a pleasure to meet a real one. One of these rare species is Vancouver composer Rodney Sharman. About him here is his short but substantial bio:

Rodney Sharman lives in Vancouver, BC. He has been Composer-in-Residence with the Victoria Symphony, the National Youth Orchestra of Canada and the Vancouver Symphony Orchestra. In addition to concert music, Rodney Sharman writes music for cabaret, opera and dance. He works regularly with choreographer James Kudelka, for whom he has written scores for Oregon Ballet Theatre, San Francisco Ballet and  Coleman Lemieux & Co. (Toronto). Sharman was awarded First Prize in the 1984 CBC Competition for Young Composers and the 1990 Kranichsteiner Prize in Music, Darmstadt, Germany. His score for the music-dance-theatre piece, From The House Of Mirth, won the 2013 Dora Mavor Moore Award for outstanding sound design/composition (choreography by James Kudelka, text by Alex Poch Goldin after Edith Wharton's The House of Mirth). He was a 2014 Djerassi Artist-in-Residence, Woodside, California.


I first met Sharman in November 1996 when I was assigned by the Globe& Mail to photograph him. Since then I often see him at new music concerts and old music concerts. We have obviously both become older but there is one difference which you might discern in the photographs here. He now has a very large beard.

In my Kitsilano home today Saturday January 14 he asked my granddaughter Lauren, 14, if his beard was symmetrical. Apparently it was not and off he went to a mirror with his comb to set things right.
In a the next few days he will write a guest blog here on his involvement on this two day concert series New Music For Old Instruments with the collaboration of the Vancouver Symphony Orchestra, (which has a very good new music festival every year of which this is a part) the Pacific BaroqueOrchestra and Early Music Vancouver. Several luminaries I know are involved including VSO In Residence Composer Jocelyn Morlock and Lutenist KonstantinBozhinov. 

The two concerts feature a smaller ensemble on the 25th and the one on the 28th has the full Pacific Baroque Orchestra with the stellar appearance of countertenor Reginald Mobley (both Sharman and I are extreme fans of this Bostonian who wears spats). That he can sing jazz while being accompanied by harpsichordist and Artistic Director of the Pacific Baroque Orchestra, Alexander Weimann who just happens to be a maestro at the piano is something to savour. You will hear them together. Sharman has written and arranged some songs for the man.

New Music for Old Instruments January 25, 2017 7:30 (Pre-concert talk) Christ Church Cathedral

http://www.earlymusic.bc.ca/events/new-music-for-old-instruments-i/

New Music for Old Instruments II - Saturday , Jan 28, 7:30 PM (Pre-concert talk 6:45) Christ Church Cathedral
http://www.vancouversymphony.ca/m/concerts/16NMF04/

Why is Sharman holding two instruments? Closest to him is the instrument he plays. It is modern recorder made to be a copy of an old one. The other instrument is a wooden Irish flute - Coyne - Dublin that was brought from Ireland by my wife's ancestors. According to Sharman this is a baroque flute very much like one from the time of Bach.







Rebecca Wenham Revisited
Friday, January 13, 2017




Rebecca Wenham - Mamiya RB-67 Pro-SD Kodak Portra 160 Colour Negative Film


There are two other blogs that featured Vancouver cellist Rebecca (Becky) Wenham. They are this one and this one.

But this blog is not about our wonderful Becky. It is about photography but also in some way it involves physics.

We all know that you cannot put more than one object (or person) in the same space. Ancillary to this idea is that one photograph, no matter how you fix it or manipulate it; the result will be just variations of the same thing. This is, that one photograph.

My photographer friends either make fun or do not understand when I tell them that although I have a very good digital camera, a mirrorless Fuji X-E1 I have not abandoned my use of my film cameras. 

There are some shoots where I have used:
The Fuji, a Mamiya RB-67 with b+w on one back and colour negative on another, plus very carefully I might shoot one exposure in colour and one in b+w using the now discontinued Fuji Instant Film on two separate backs on that Mamiya. Then I might use a couple of Nikon FM-2s, one with b+w and the other in colour negative. I have a wonderful rectilinear 20mm wide angle so I might also load up the Pentax MX it goes with.

Rebecca Wenham - Mamiya RB-67 Pro-SD Kodak Portra 160 Colour Negative Film

My idea is that I never get the same photograph. The act of picking up a different camera and focusing, while my subject adjusts, means that no picture will ever be an exact duplicate of another.
When I had my plan to photograph Rebecca Wenham I immediately discounted the use of b+w film. She is a lovely redhead. She is also a very busy musician so I had to make it as simple as I could so as not to tire her.

So in the end I shot some pictures with the Fuji using two lighting setups. In one I used a ringflash and in the other a softbox. With the same two lighting setups I loaded a Mamiya with colour negative and shot two Fuji Colour Instant Film shots. You can compare and decide.




Linda Lost & Found
Thursday, January 12, 2017



While I am alive I want to know where every picture I ever took is. This is both unreasonable and unlikely. There are many photographs that I took with my first couple of cameras that I cannot find.  

Loss can be random and yet I remember moving from one little apartment to another with my Rosemary around 169 when my best pipe, an English Bewlay given to me by my Argentine uncle Fred Hayward and one record, Miles Davis-Kind of Blue disappeared from our moving van. I will never know if those two Mexicans from a small moving van company knew what they had taken.

The sheet of negatives that you see here I lost approximately 10 years ago and every time I remember the loss I feel like crying. Who do painters cope with the selling of an original work?

These photographs are of Argentine model Linda Lorenzo with whom my friends and Argentine painters Juan Manuel Sánchez and Linda Lorenzo worked in a project of “colaboración that we called Nostalgia. We had a grand gallery show of our output.


In this contact sheet (in this case the scanned negatives) in which I used Kodak B+W Infrared Film the theme was the Borges labyrinth and the other posing with an Argentine ostrich egg.  Lorenzo had fabulous curves so I could not resist sliding of the theme. The Borges labyrinth is interpreted with Lorenzo posing in a sofa with the sofa itself part of two painting by Sánchez and Patrich.  

I found the negatives between my alphabetized files. Somehow I had returned them without putting then in the file in question labeled, Lorenzo, Linda.



Finality
Wednesday, January 11, 2017


Granaderos de San Martín - Plaza de Mayo - April 2016. Equestrian statue of San Martín on extreme right


Finality has been a word in my mind in my days awake and my days asleep in my dreams.

I was unaware of this word but I had a hint in my memory when I was 12 in Buenos Aires as I had gone to a few velorios (wakes) and seen dead neighbours in their coffins. When Eva Perón had died on July 27 1952 it was impossible not to be met with the idea of death. In movies all the newsreels featured her death and her capilla ardiente (translates to burning chapel) an Argentine term for an elaborate wake. It was during the transporting of her coffin on the street surrounded by crying Argentines that I first discovered Beethoven and Chopin because of their funeral music.

But it was in 1954 shortly before we moved from Buenos Aires to Mexico City when I realized that I might be leaving Buenos Aires and to never return. I asked my mother to take me to town and have her buy me some lead shoulders that featured Granaderos de San Martín, who were the special guard and elite soldiers of General Don José de San Martín, a brilliant soldier who liberated Argentina, Chile and Perú (the latter two countries might not agree with me, so be it). The ones I wanted had the soldiers on white horses (San Martín’s horse was white but nobody ever documented the animal’s name) with lances.

I wanted them because I knew I would never be able to have them. Alas! They disappeared in the multiple moves thereafter.

Now at my age of 74 I look at everything almost as if I were a soon-to-be blind man. I am trying to enjoy what might not be possible tomorrow if I happened to die today.

In my memory, a sad and troubling one is a chat I had with my  good friend Mark Budgen (he died 22 October 2015) who told me how many more books I would be lucky to read before my death. He said, “You have to be awfully selective.”

And so I am going with Rosemary and Lauren to Buenos Aires this March. Most important is to visit my 92-year-old first cousin and godmother Inecita O’Reilly Kuker. Her mind is beginning to wander so this may be the last time we have lucid chat and she meets Lauren who is looking forward to listening to a woman who talks like the Queen of England. I also think that this could be a parting gift of culture and family tradition from us to Lauren, who at age 14 will be exposed to a really foreign country.

On the 23 of December our beloved Malibu’s engine failed. We had to buy a new car. Our new car is a 2017 Chevrolet Cruze that is a lovely car, smooth and quiet but does not (Alas!) have a horn like our Malibu’s. Our Cruze’s is definitely a plain honk.


But I find the purchase symmetrical. In 1975 we moved to Vancouver from Mexico City in our Mexican-made VW Beetle. I have found out that our new Cruze was made in Mexico. I am delighted. After all I found my Rosemary in Mexico and our two daughters were born there.

I believe that our metallic light blue/silver car will be the last car I ever buy. Today Lauren suggested we name her Penelope. I knew that Lauren is beginning to understand her grandfather’s humour. Think of a famous Spanish actress.




Elizabeth Aird & Her Fishnets Revisited
Tuesday, January 10, 2017




Yesterday I had lunch with my friend John Lekich, an old time journalist, freelance writer and novelist. While paying a pleasant visit to Barbara-Jo's Books to Cooks the subject of restaurant critics came up and Lekich mentioned one about the Vancouver Sun's former restaurant critic (and many other things she did) Elizabeth Aird. Lekich reminded me of a sore point and that is that his favourite photo of Aird was one that I took ( blog below and picture above) where the Vancouver Sun, alas lost all my original slides. But in spite of that sore point it was pleasant to remember something from our city's receding memory before constant change became the alienating mantra that is in our face now.

And having Leckich's face on the other side at our booth at Fable Diner on Broadway (at Main) was also a most pleasant  experience. It sure beats Facebook.


Elizabeth Aird & Her Fishnets 
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Today I read John Mackie's obituary. Sun reporter and columnist Elizabeth Aird is dead at 50. Of her, editor-in-chief Patricia Graham says,"Elizabeth was quick-witted and clever. Often frustrating but always endearing, she was a marvellous writer who had a sweet nature but wrote with the stong voice of a truly independent thinker."

I don't know of anybody who would find fault with that. I would only add that Elizabeth was the sexiest reporter that ever worked for the Vancouver Sun. Not only that, she had the finest legs, too! One of reporter John Armstrong's first pieces for the Sun, in the middle 90s, was one on the vintage furniture store on West Pender (now gone) Metropolitan Home. To illustrate the article Armstrong convinced Aird to pose in fishnets on a swank lounge chair. That photograph refreshed my libido for weeks.

It was at the end of March 2000 that I received a phone call from Jim Sutherland, then editor of the Vancouver Sun's Saturday magazine, Mix. He had written an essay in defence of Vancouver Magazine's annual restaurant awards. He wanted me to take a picture to illustrate the concept of an anonymus restaurant critic. I thought I heard wrong when he told me that Elizabeth Aird had volunteered for the shot. I asked him to repeat that. When I showed up at the Sun newsroom Aird looked at me and told me, "I only found out about this this morning. There is no time to buy fishnets." I could only stare at her black stockings and pumps as we went downstairs to Aqua Riva.

Sometimes my filing system works and sometimes not. I found Elizabeth's picture and article under Restaurant Critic but there were no slides or negs in the folder. But this will do even though I recall that the racier ones were vetted by the Sun photo editor. If anything (if you notice she is writing in a notepad under the table) this picture to me conveys Aird's joy for life.







The Liquifaction of Her Clothes - Robert Herrick
Monday, January 09, 2017



Caitlin Legault


In my first year of university at the University of the Americas in Mexico City in 1963 I took English Literature with a professor (I have long forgotten his name) who looked like Robert Frost with glasses. He was a personal friend of Frost, and knew Faulkner and Steinbeck well. He would drone on and on about these men and many of us thought he was a bore. I sat in the back row not understanding that in many ways this man set me up to appreciate literature. As I look at the text book now I am amazed at how much I underlined and of the notes I wrote in so many pages. How was I to know then that I was getting a lifelong education from the man?

When I scanned this Fuji b+w Instant peel of Caitlin Legault today, I wondered what I could possibly find in my Theme and Form. I found this by a poet more famous for another poem, this one. What I noticed and seems to go well with my compound image is

Robert Herrick – Upon Julia’s Clothes


Whenas in silks my Julia goes,

Then, then (me thinks) how sweetly flows

The liquefaction of her clothes.



Next, when I cast mine eyes and see

That brave vibration, each way free,

O how that glittering taketh me!










Tu Más Profunda Piel - Julio Cortázar
Sunday, January 08, 2017


Caitlin Legault - Fuji Instant B+W Print


In this increasingly uniform world of globalization I can still reach moments of complete separation from all those Starbucks in Indonesia or MacDonald’s in El Salvador. I can peer into, as an example below, an erotic story by Argentine writer Julio Cortázar,that is all about a woman’s skin and Virginia tobacco. That I no longer smoke (pipes and cigars) does not mean I must abandon my erstwhile erotic view on women smoking and sharing a cigarette (a pastel papered Balcan Sobranie) with a beautiful woman. I can remember times when gender was simpler. It was either one or the other. I am now at my age liberal in my views to accept all those other ones. But I will not let go my memories of the past that involve Argentine writers (in this case Cortázar) in a café in Paris reminiscing of past and soon to be past love affairs.

It is this uniqueness of thinking in another language that alleviates the sameness of our present world. In my case it is Spanish and I must state here that I have not found this lovely story translated into English. Many of the books in Spanish in Argentine bookstores are Stephen King’s or Danielle Steel. There is no reason why book publishers in English should translate Cortázar.

In March, during the spring break Rosemary, our 14 year-old granddaughter, and I are traveling to Buenos Aires. I want to immerse Lauren into another culture, different to what she has encountered in trips to Seattle and places beyond in the United States. It might, I hope, widen her perception of the world and make her remember one day when I am long dead and gone, that she once went to this wonderful place where she shared some medias lunas and a submarine (a tall glass with a long spoon, with a large bar of dark chocolate into which very hot milk is poured). I am sure she will be a better person for it as will I be come March.

I explain my personal connection with Cortázar here and my love of Borges and other writers who write in Spanish.

  
Tu más  Profunda Piel – Julio Cortázar


Cada memoria enamorada guarda sus magdalenas y la mía -sábelo, allí donde estés- es el perfume del tabaco rubio que me devuelve a tu espigada noche, a la ráfaga de tu más profunda piel. No el tabaco que se aspira, el humo que tapiza las gargantas, sino esa vaga equívoca fragancia que deja la pipa, en los dedos y que en algún momento, en algún gesto inadvertido, asciende con su látigo de delicia para encabritar tu recuerdo, la sombra de tu espalda contra el blanco velamen de las sábanas.

No me mires desde la ausencia con esa gravedad un poco infantil que hacia de tu rostro una máscara de joven faraón nubio. Creo que siempre estuvo entendido que sólo nos daríamos el placer y las fiestas livianas del alcohol y las calles vacías de la medianoche. De ti tengo más que eso, pero en el recuerdo me vuelves desnuda y volcada, nuestro planeta más preciso fue esa cama donde lentas, imperiosas geografías iban naciendo de nuestros viajes, de tanto desembarco amable o resistido de embajadas con cestos de frutas o agazapados flecheros, y cada pozo, cada río, cada colina y cada llano los hallamos en noches extenuantes, entre oscuros parlamentos de aliados o enemigos. ¡Oh viajera de ti misma, máquina de olvido! Y entonces me paso la mano por la cara con un gesto distraído y el perfume del tabaco en mis dedos te trae otra vez para arrancarme a este presente acostumbrado, te proyecta antílope en la pantalla de ese lecho donde vivimos las interminables rutas de un efímero encuentro.


Yo aprendía contigo lenguajes paralelos: el de esa geometría de tu cuerpo que me llenaba la boca y las manos de teoremas temblorosos, el de tu hablar diferente, tu lengua insular que tantas veces me confundía. Con el perfume del tabaco vuelve ahora un recuerdo preciso que lo abarca todo en un instante que es como un vórtice, sé que dijiste " Me da pena, y yo no comprendí porque nada creía que pudiera apenarte en esa maraña de caricias que nos volvía ovillo blanco y negro, lenta danza en que el uno pesaba sobre el otro para luego dejarse invadir por la presión liviana de unos muslos, de unos brazos, rotando blandamente y desligándose hasta otra vez ovillarse y repetir las caída desde lo alto o lo hondo, jinete o potro arquero o gacela, hipogrifos afrontados, delfines en mitad del salto. Entonces aprendí que la pena en tu boca era otro nombre del pudor y la vergüenza, y que no te decidías a mi nueva sed que ya tanto habías saciado, que me rechazabas suplicando con esa manera de esconder los ojos, de apoyar el mentón en la garganta para no dejarme en la boca más que el negro nido de tu pelo.

Dijiste "Me da pena, sabes", y volcada de espaldas me miraste con ojos y senos, con labios que trazaban una flor de lentos pétalos. Tuve que doblarte los brazos, murmurar un último deseo con el correr de las manos por las más dulces colinas, sintiendo como poco a poco cedías y te echabas de lado hasta rendir el sedoso muro de tu espalda donde un menudo omóplato tenía algo de ala de ángel mancillado. Te daba pena, y de esa pena iba a nacer el perfume que ahora me devuelve a tu vergüenza antes de que otro acorde, el último, nos alzara en una misma estremecida réplica. Sé que cerré los ojos, que lamí la sal de tu piel, que descendí volcándote hasta sentir tus riñones como el estrechamiento de la jarra donde se apoyan las manos con el ritmo de la ofrenda; en algún momento llegué a perderme en el pasaje hurtado y prieto que se llegaba al goce de mis labios mientras desde tan allá, desde tu país de arriba y lejos, murmuraba tu pena una última defensa abandonada.

Con el perfume del tabaco rubio en los dedos asciende otra vez el balbuceo, el temblor de ese oscuro encuentro, sé que una boca buscó la oculta boca estremecida, el labio único ciñéndose a su miedo, el ardiente contorno rosa y bronce que te libraba a mi más extremo viaje. Y como ocurre siempre, no sentí en ese delirio lo que ahora me trae el recuerdo desde un vago aroma de tabaco, pero esa musgosa fragancia, esa canela de sombra hizo su camino secreto a partir del olvido necesario e instantáneo, indecible juego de la carne oculta a la conciencia lo que mueve las más densas, implacables máquinas del fuego. No eras sabor ni olor, tu más escondido país se daba como imagen y contacto, y sólo hoy unos dedos casualmente manchados de tabaco me devuelven el instante en que me enderecé sobre ti para lentamente reclamar las llaves de pasaje, forzar el dulce trecho donde tu pena tejía las últimas defensas ahora que con la boca hundida en la almohada sollozabas una súplica de oscura aquiescencia, de derramado pelo. Más tarde comprendiste y no hubo pena, me cediste la ciudad de tu más profunda piel desde tanto horizonte diferente, después de fabulosas máquinas de sitio y parlamentos y batallas. En esta vaga vainilla de tabaco que hoy me mancha los dedos se despierta la noche en que tuviste tu primera, tu última pena. Cierro los ojos y aspiro en el pasado ese perfume de tu carne más secreta, quisiera no abrirlos a este ahora donde leo y fumo y todavía creo estar viviendo.



     

Previous Posts
Lee Lytton III & Friendly & Warm Ghosts

San Valentín

From Simple To Complex

Leaning Towards Irrelevancy

Nevertheless She Persisted - For Allan Morgan - My...

El Reloj de Arena - The Hour Glass - Jorge Luís Bo...

An Officer and a Gentleman & An Anniversary

el ayelmado tripolio que ademenos es de satén rosa...

For Susanne Tabata's Media Class At the Art Instit...

Linda Melsted - The Music in the Violin does not e...



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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

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3/14/10 - 3/21/10

3/21/10 - 3/28/10

3/28/10 - 4/4/10

4/4/10 - 4/11/10

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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

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6/20/10 - 6/27/10

6/27/10 - 7/4/10

7/4/10 - 7/11/10

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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

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8/3/14 - 8/10/14

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8/24/14 - 8/31/14

8/31/14 - 9/7/14

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9/14/14 - 9/21/14

9/21/14 - 9/28/14

9/28/14 - 10/5/14

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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

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5/17/15 - 5/24/15

5/24/15 - 5/31/15

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7/19/15 - 7/26/15

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8/9/15 - 8/16/15

8/16/15 - 8/23/15

8/23/15 - 8/30/15

8/30/15 - 9/6/15

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9/13/15 - 9/20/15

9/20/15 - 9/27/15

9/27/15 - 10/4/15

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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

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

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7/24/16 - 7/31/16

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9/25/16 - 10/2/16

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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