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




 

A Stellar Night With the Petit Avant-Garde
Saturday, April 14, 2018

Stefan Smulovitz, April 13, 2018

“You have to be with other people, he thought. In order to live at all. I mean before they came here I could stand it... But now it has changed. You can't go back, he thought. You can't go from people to nonpeople." - J.R. Isidore” 
Philip K. Dick - Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?



After having returned from a week in NY City in January and having seen the Michelangelo exhibit at the Met, Vancouver more than ever feels provincial (in the old meaning of the world).
I am not attracted to local art/photography shows. They seem mediocre and banal with too much of that (to me) nasty concept of conceptual.

But then I am rewarded by Turning Point Ensemble concerts, Early Music Vancouver concerts and Sunday Series dance performances courtesy of that gem that is the Arts Umbrella Dance Company.

But rarely am I really impressed to the point of saying to myself, “In Vancouver, only? Pity!”

Since I arrived in this city I 1975 I have noticed a cultural underground that I have labeled the Petit Avant-Garde. In the 80s by word of mouth there would be Art Bergmann concerts in houses or locations in West Hastings that I knew about simply by word of mouth. These one-of events happened only for one night. They were never advertised in standard media. Perhaps it had to do with serving booze without a license or simply making a lot of noise.


Jeff Younger

I went to one such event last night in an unmarked location in East Vancouver not far from the former sweets refinery.

I went with my friend and music connoisseur, graphic designer, Graham Walker. We braved walking many blocks in a constant rain reminiscent of what we were going to experience when the show finally began at 10pm.

We were seated in a comfortable leather sofa. In front of us there was a jumble of electronic equipment and assorted musical instruments. On the wall there was a rumpled white sheet.

Walker and I were there to witness a performance that would be laudable anywhere else in the world. The musicians were skilled. One of them, Stefan Smulovitz, had done this sort of thing hundreds of times before. But there was an enthusiasm in his face that almost seemed fanatical.

The lights went out and Ridley Scott’s 1962 Blade Runner was projected on the sheet with subtitles. There was no film sound. There was no Vangelis soundtrack. What we had was music improvised by two musicians who had never played together before.

Stefan Smulovitz - laptop, violin, Kenaxis, various sound makers
Jeff Younger - guitar, electronics, found sounds

Smulovitz’s original career instrument has always been the viola. He originally wanted to play the trombone but his mother insisted that since his grandmother had played the streets of Stochholm with a violin that he should play a string instrument, too. The night’s performance was on that very violin.

At first I noticed the music. It was very good, not pleasant, edgy, but just right and matching the striking scenes of a film I had almost forgotten I had ever seen. After a while the improvised music was not emanating from the musicians in front of me but somehow from the film. Walker whispered in my ear, “This is really a silent film performance.”

I used to say that my proof for the nonexistence of a higher being was that Art Bergmann never became a world-famous millionaire.

Last night listening and watching an event with no parallel, all I could think was that a higher being was asleep at the wheel.













Barrie Clark - 27 November 1932 – 16 March 2018
Friday, April 13, 2018






It was a few years ago that as I was driving through a back alley in East Vancouver I noticed a gull thrashing on the ground in its final moments of life.

I felt sad in that I could not comfort the bird and that the bird was going to die alone.’

Can anybody relate to those Hollywood films with the dying man (more often than not a man) on a hospital bed or on a war zone area about to breathe his last? Is the dying man getting any comfort from not being alone? Will it make any difference on the other side?

As a product of my age (75) I often look at the Vancouver Sun’s obituary page. The little photographs of people that I know are all dead (all smiles or in their best WWII uniform best) remind me of the dying gull. They died alone as we all die alone. Hand in hand two dying persons go their separate ways.

In the 19th century photographers using the new invention of photography believed that if they parked their camera, bedside by a dying man (many children, too) they might capture that moment between here and there. Of course that never happened. We will all die not knowing.

Today I read the little box in the Sun informing that radio personality Barrie Clark has died.

I was not there when he died but somehow my portrait of him taken in the early 80s for a Vancouver Magazine article on radio announcers (they were all men) makes me think that I was and am a witness to a man who few will ever get to know.

In those 80s Vancouver Magazine and its editor Malcolm (Mac) Parry was Vancouver’s Ukraine.
Why Ukraine? I have been told that Ukraine has mountains but I  believe that they are not high enough to stop invading armies going west or east. It seems that Ukraine was a carpet for invading armies. In the same way Vancouver Magazine and Parry’s office was such a carpet. Prostitutes, actors, actresses, journalists, politicians, hoods, illustrators, photographers, wrestlers, boxers, real estate tycoons, businessmen, policemen, detectives, comedians, musicians, chefs, all visited and sat in Parry’s office.

In this year, 2018, the local media has withdrawn and I have my doubts that I will read an informative obituary anywhere about Barrie Clark the man.

I consider myself lucky that in my portrait I can see intelligence and humanity. That it is gone is a shame but then that is an irrevocable path that I, too, must travel.

From Wikipedia there is this:


Barrie Aird Clark (27 November 1932 – 16 March 2018) was a Canadian politician and broadcaster.

He began his broadcasting career in 1949 in Kelowna, and served brief stints in Ontario and London, England before settling in Vancouver. He was a popular radio personality and parlayed his popularity into politics, beginning in 1963 as an alderman in the District of North Vancouver.
In 1966 Clark was elected to the B.C. Legislative Assembly as a Liberal in the riding of North Vancouver-Seymour, and was re-elected in 1969. He was defeated by Colin Gabelmann in the 1972 election. [2] The following year he was appointed B.C.'s first Rentalsman by Premier Dave Barrett; he served in that position until 1976.

Clark then returned to radio as a talk show host in Vancouver, and in 1988 he returned to Kelowna to host a show on radio station CKOV. In 1999 he was elected to Kelowna city council and served there until his retirement in 2008.

Sometimes in my magazine assignments my subjects would ask to be photographed with someone. I found this negative in my Barrie Clark file. I have no memory as to who it was.






That Bad Weed - Taraxacum officinale
Thursday, April 12, 2018


 
Taraxacum officinale, April 12, 2018

The Spanish expression, “Mala yerba nunca muere,” or bad weeds never die, has suffered a transformation in the last few years.

Before the expression was all about the dogged resilience of garden weeds to survive in spite of everything the gardener might do to eradicate them. Now this bad weed refers to drugs. At least three films in Spanish have been made (beginning in 1920) with the theme of a bad weed being a person with no redeeming quality. Now there is a play on Broadway on the theme of drug lord.

When some persistant politician of ill- repute would not go away in Latin America we would often repeat the mala yerba refrán. Or when people ask me about my Rosemary’s health I repeat it!

In my 80s past when I was obsessed with having the perfect English lawn I resorted to a fertilizer (no longer sold in our pesticice/heribicide weed Vancouver) called Weed’n Feed. A few years later I understood the damage I was doing to the environment and I used a very reliable and rewarding task of removing in particular the common dandelion which has the interesting botanical name of Taraxacum officinale.

In my late teenagehood I was obsessed with reading science fiction. I read everything by Ray Bradbury that I could find including Dandelion Wine. This is what Wikipedia says of this fine novel:

Dandelion Wine is a 1957 novel by Ray Bradbury, taking place in the summer of 1928 in the fictional town of Green Town, Illinois, based upon Bradbury's childhood home of Waukegan, Illinois. The novel developed from the short story "Dandelion Wine" which appeared in the June 1953 issue of Gourmet magazine.

The title refers to a wine made with dandelion petals and other ingredients, commonly citrus fruit. In the story, dandelion wine, as made by the protagonist's grandfather, serves as a metaphor for packing all of the joys of summer into a single bottle.

The main character of the story is Douglas Spaulding, a 12-year-old boy loosely patterned after Bradbury. Most of the book is focused upon the routines of small-town America, and the simple joys of yesterday.

Now in 2018 at age 75 I find myself troubled by the simple removal of the dandelions in my Kitsilano laneway garden. Any living thing, including weeds that are so persistent in existing require some respect. I feel guilty removing them by digging underneath with my rose secateurs.

But I take them out anyway. I hope my life is as equally persistent.



The Darkroom from Wet to Dry
Wednesday, April 11, 2018

Beneath the Chickering - Fuji Instant Film FP-3000B January 9, 2018


There is a lingering memory that I have treasured all these years about projecting a b+w negative with an enlarger on photographic paper and then inserting into a tray of developer. Then to see that image slowly emerge was thrilling magic. Since that event, 1961, to about two years ago I never lost my thrill for working in my darkroom. The smells of chemicals never bothered me and the magic was always there.

As a magazine photographer (I began around 1977) I always processed my b+w film and printed the 8x10s that art directors wanted from me. The idea of depending on a lab to interpret my negative was anathema.

Then magazines started demanding colour. I shot Ektachromes and Kodachromes. These originals were then made into was then called colour separations which were then printed onto magazine pages.

One art director, in particular, Chris Dahl (an artist in his own right) one day said this to me, “You always print your b+ws to your own satisfaction. I want you to print, now, colour negatives, big ones, at least 11x14inches using all those burn and dodge techniques you use for b+w. Since I already knew how to print slides and colour negatives this was not that much of a chore but a chore it was.

Two years ago a few weeks before we moved to our present Kitsilano duplex my darkroom flooded. Before it did I was printing as much stuff as possible using every available package of paper that I had at my disposal. The flood cemented in my mind that my darkroom days were over. I grieved.

That grief did not last all that long. In the interim I have been shooting lots of discontinued Fuji Instant Film in b+w and in colour. This film fits my old Mamiya Polaroid back. The results I scan. Because these scans are digital files there really is no practical way of printing them in what we used to call a wet darkroom (even wet before a flood!).

I have had for some years an excellent flatbed scanner that scans photographs, slides and negatives (and my plant scans!). It is an Epson Perfection V700 Photo. Not far from it is a Canon Pro-1 inkjet printer (prints up to 13 by 19 inches) suggested by Jeff Gin from Leo’s Camera on Granville.

This is what I have discovered. There is a thrill at seeing my photograph on my Dell Cathode Ray Tube Monitor (accurately calibrated it is) and then press print and get (after a few delaying minutes) a print that is exactly like the one on the monitor.

The photographs I take with both my Fuji X-E1 and X-E3 and with my dedicated, camera only iPhone3G could never be printed in that wet lab. I have adapted to the times.

But I must now interject something that perhaps is not known by too many people.
In times past photographers like Ansel Adams or Edward Weston would sign in pencil the back of their photographs. What this meant was that the print was printed by the photographer who took the photograph.

I am having a show in Buenos Aires at the Vermeer Gallery in the first weeks of September of this year. All my inkjets will be signed in pencil in the back.

Tradition persists even if it has been modified.

Addendum:  I print with only one kind of paper, Hahnemüle Fine Art Bamboo Natural Warm Tone. In my magazine days I always went for accuracy and I used photographic paper that gave me absolute whites and blacks that were black because I dipped my prints in Kodak Selenium Toner (a known carcinogen. At age 75 I may be a lucky man). But now with age I prefer not a stark white but a warm tone one. I like the heft (290 GSM). Prints look like the real McCoy. And they are!



Retiro - The Train Station
Tuesday, April 10, 2018


Retiro

All my life I have been attracted to and savoured being in a train station.

It all began because the English built a train system in Argentine in the 19th century.
The first trains I remember were electric. The coaches must have been made in England, mostly of wood with elaborate wrought-iron luggage racks. Both the lead car and end car looked much the same except that on one side they had a compartment for the engineer/driver.

These trains stopped at train stations that looked that they could have been anywhere in England. They had huge wooden framed clocks and the ticket stations had little windows that were also wrought iron.

The conductors (still the case in the trains in New York, so we found out in January in our visit to the city) all had a personal stamper on their click machine which they used to punch your ticket when on the train.

For me those trains meant two things. Either they took me one station up from where we lived, Coghlan Station, to Belgrano R where my school was or much more exciting to the end of the line station of Retiro which was downtown. Going there was always with my father who would take me to see a movie on Calle Lavalle. When we would arrive at Retiro (very much like a main station in big English cities) we would take escalators down to the subte and we would get off at Lavalle.
In Retiro which is cavernous now but much more so then when I was a little boy there was a large glass case framed by wood that contained a locomotive that was about five feet long. If you put a coin the wheels would turn and there was a red glow on the tracks under the fire box.

Retiro has been recently restored to its past glory but there are two items that have not been restored or retained. There was a huge wooden wall with gold lettering that had all the information on trains leaving and returning. The odd-numbered times of 20:13 meant that these trains usually arrived on precise time even though Mussolini was not in charge but Perón was.

The other item was a café/restaurant that in the morning serve café con leche and tostadas. Tostadas are an Argentine version of toast. The loaf itself might be the size of a large ham. So the toast pretty well covered the plate.

When I arrived early at Retiro in the mid 60s on my way to my “job” as a conscript sailor at the office of the Seniour US Naval Advisor not far from the Secretaría de Marina I would linger there with buttered tostadas and the café. The restored restaurants now would not have tostadas in their menu.

And I would linger. I had befriended the Retiro Station schedule man and he would sign me a certificate with the information that my train had arrived 30 minutes late. I would present the certificate to Cabo Moraña who I am sure knew about my trick.

But there was one event that happened, as the train was about to arrive at Retiro that I will never forget. I was standing in my uniform with my sailor hat (very much like a WWII German submariner’s hat) under my arm. A man in civies came up to me and told me to put my hat on. I refused. He produced an ID that stated that he was a general in the SIDE (Servicio de Información del Estado). He demanded my name and my Military ID Number (I still remember it 588737). When I arrived at the office Cabo Moraña had a grim face, he asked me,”Que hiciste ché?” There was an arrest order for a week.


Here in Vancouver I sometime linger in the CP Train Station downtown (no longer a train station) and imagine my grandmother, mother, aunt and uncle, sometime in the early 20s walking by on their way to take a train to Montreal and from there switch to a train to New York City where they would live for some years in the Bronx.



     

Previous Posts
Once the Pictures are Digitized, Everything Old is...

Kay

My Photographic Lineage With Lisa

Remembrance - Not

The Potentiality of a Rosebud

The Darkroom & the Glove

Beauty in Fall Decay

A Post-Halloween-Pre-Christmassy-Rant

No Tigers, Clowns or Brass Bands - Backbone a Circ...

Béatrice Larrivé - a Ghost at the Vancouver Playho...



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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

10/1/17 - 10/8/17

10/8/17 - 10/15/17

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

12/17/17 - 12/24/17

12/24/17 - 12/31/17

12/31/17 - 1/7/18

1/7/18 - 1/14/18

1/14/18 - 1/21/18

1/21/18 - 1/28/18

1/28/18 - 2/4/18

2/4/18 - 2/11/18

2/11/18 - 2/18/18

2/18/18 - 2/25/18

2/25/18 - 3/4/18

3/4/18 - 3/11/18

3/11/18 - 3/18/18

3/18/18 - 3/25/18

3/25/18 - 4/1/18

4/1/18 - 4/8/18

4/8/18 - 4/15/18

4/15/18 - 4/22/18

4/22/18 - 4/29/18

4/29/18 - 5/6/18

5/6/18 - 5/13/18

5/13/18 - 5/20/18

5/20/18 - 5/27/18

5/27/18 - 6/3/18

6/3/18 - 6/10/18

6/10/18 - 6/17/18

6/17/18 - 6/24/18

6/24/18 - 7/1/18

7/1/18 - 7/8/18

7/8/18 - 7/15/18

7/15/18 - 7/22/18

7/22/18 - 7/29/18

7/29/18 - 8/5/18

8/5/18 - 8/12/18

8/12/18 - 8/19/18

8/19/18 - 8/26/18

8/26/18 - 9/2/18

9/2/18 - 9/9/18

9/9/18 - 9/16/18

9/16/18 - 9/23/18

9/23/18 - 9/30/18

9/30/18 - 10/7/18

10/7/18 - 10/14/18

10/14/18 - 10/21/18

10/21/18 - 10/28/18

10/28/18 - 11/4/18

11/4/18 - 11/11/18

11/11/18 - 11/18/18