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




 

El Abanico de Mambrú - Mario Benedetti
Saturday, September 08, 2018






Mambrú se Fue a La Guerra – Wikipedia

Compuesta tras la batalla de Malplaquet (1709), que enfrentó a los ejércitos de Gran Bretaña y Francia, durante la Guerra de Sucesión Española. A pesar de su derrota, los franceses creyeron muerto en la batalla a su enemigo John Churchill, duque de Marlborough, que es a quien se dedica la canción burlesca. La melodía de la canción parece ser aún más antigua: según Chateaubriand, es de origen árabe y habría llegado a Francia llevada por los cruzados.

La canción se popularizó en tiempos de Luis XVI: una de las nodrizas del delfín solía cantarla; la canción agradó a los reyes y pronto se difundió por Versalles y luego por todo el país. A España llegó por influencia de los Borbones, con el nombre Marlborough reducido a un más pronunciable Mambrú. Solían cantarla sobre todo las niñas, típicamente acompañando al juego de rayuela.

El tema de la canción fue empleado por Beethoven en su obra La Victoria de Wellington, sobre la derrota napoleónica de Vitoria en 1813 para simbolizar a Francia

Existen también versiones en otros idiomas. La inglesa, cantada con el estribillo For he is a jolly good fellow ha dado lugar a la canción del mismo nombre, conocida en España como Es un muchacho excelente y en Argentina, Chile, México, Paraguay, Perú y Uruguay (entre otros países de Latinoamérica) como Porque es un buen compañero. Es interesante señalar que, si bien la música de 'Malbrough s'en va-t-en guerre', 'For he is a jolly good fellow' y la versión española de Es un muchacho excelente son prácticamente iguales, no ocurre lo mismo con la versión española de 'Mambrú se fue a la guerra' que ha sufrido una adaptación musical diferente.

En Argentina, la poetisa y cantautora María Elena Walsh popularizó esta melodía entre los chicos, durante las décadas de 1960 y 1970 fundamentalmente. También la misma autora escribió otras canciones en homenaje a Mambrú como la Canción del estornudo.



No  hay niño en cualquiera primaria en Buenos Aires a fines de los 40 y principios de los 50 que no cantara en clase la canción Mambrú se fué a la guerra. Era una de mis favoritas. Al ver mi foto de la modelo japonesa Helen con su abanico se me ocurrió buscar alguna poesía o escrito sobre el abanico. ¡Vaya mi sorpresa de encontrar algo por el escritor uruguayo Mario Benedetti sobre Mambrú y su abanico (no japonés).  

Mambrú se fue a la guerra    
       
LA VUELTA DE MAMBRÚ - Mario Benedetti

Cuando Mambrú se fue a la guerra, llevaba una almohadilla y un tirabuzón. La almohadilla para descansar después de las batallas y el tirabuzón para descorchar las efímeras victorias.

También llevaba un paraguas contra venablos, aguaceros y palabrotas; un anillo de oro para la suerte y contra los orzuelos y un llavero con la llave de su más íntimo desván.

Como a menudo le resultaba insoportable la ausencia de la señora de Mambrú, llevaba un ejemplar del “Cantar de los Cantares”, a fin de sobrellevar los veranillos de San Juan, un abanico persa y otro griego.

Llevaba una receta de sangría para sobornar al cándido enemigo y para el caso de que este no fuera sobornable llevaba un arcabuz y un verduguillo.

Así mismo unas botas de potro que rara vez usaba, ya que siempre le había gustado caminar descalzo y un calidoscopio artesanal, debido probablemente a que Marei, Edison y Lumiere no habían nacido para inventar el cine.

Llevaba por último, un escudo de arpillera porque los de hierro pesaban mucho y dos o tres principios fundamentales mezclados con la capa bajo el morrión.

Nunca se supo como le fue a Mambrú en la guerra, ni cuantas semanas o siglos se demoró en ellas. Lo cierto es que no volvió para la Pascua ni para Navidad. Por el contrario, transcurrieron centenares de Pascuas y Navidades sin que volviera o enviara noticias. Ya nadie se acordaba de él ni de su perra. Nadie cantaba ya la canción que en su tiempo era un hit.

Y sin embargo, fue en medio de esa amnesia que regresó en un vuelo regular de Iberia, exactamente el miércoles pasado. Tan rozagante que nadie osó atribuirle más de un siglo y medio. Tan lozano que parecía el bisnieto de Mambrú.

Por supuesto ante retorno tan insólito hubo una conferencia de prensa en el abarrotado salón Vip. Todos querían conocer las novedades que traía Mambrú después de tanta guerra. Cuántas heridas, Cuántos grilletes. Cuántos casus belis. Cuántos pillajes y zafarranchos de combate. Cuánto orgullo, cuántas lecciones. Cuántos laureles, cuántas medallas y cruces y chafalonías.

Ante el asedio de micrófonos que diecinueve hombres de prensa blandían como cachiporras, Mambrú, oprimido pero afable solo alcanzó a decir: —Señores no sé de qué me están hablando. Traje una brisa con arpegios, una paciencia que es un río, una memoria de cristal. Un ruiseñor, dos ruiseñoras, traje una flecha de arco iris y un túnel pródigo de ecos. Tres rayos tímidos y una sonata para grillo y piano. Un lorito tartamudo y una canilla que no tose. Traje un teléfono de ensueño y un aparejo para náufragos. Traje éste traje y otro más. Y un faro que baja los párpados, traje un limón contra la muerte y muchas ganas de vivir.

Fue entonces que nació la calma y hubo un silencio transparente. Un necio adujo que las pilas se hallaban húmedas de llanto y que por eso los micrófonos estaban sordos y perplejos.

Poquito a poco aquel asedio se fue estrechando en un abrazo y Mambrú viejo y joven y único sintió por fin que estaba en casa.



Doctor Pat McGeer & Aurintricarboxilic Acid
Friday, September 07, 2018





Doctor Pat McGeer is 91. I ran into him at my Safeway. We had a chat. He told me that at his age he can no longer play basketball but that he does play tennis every day. I asked him about his research at the UBC Hospital which he had previously told me was about cancer. This time he went into more detail. They have a product called Aurintricarboxilic  Acid which prevent cancers cells from getting blood. He told me that all the patients they have tried the substance on are alive and well. One has been around two years since being treated. He then went into the complexity of the further step of making it known to pharmaceutical companies. I asked him if it worked only on certain cancers. He told me it worked with all including that tough pancreatic cancer.

Dr. Pat McGeer



A Hollywood Scoop Light & Jo-Ann
Thursday, September 06, 2018




When my pioneer wife Rosemary told me that we were moving from Mexico City in 1975 to Canada (the US was out as I was an alien Argentine) I followed orders. She further informed me that I would have a hard time learning French so Montreal was out and that I would not be able to handle the Toronto snow. So we came to Vancouver.

It is my belief that if the French CBC had not hired me to take station ID slides for  their TV station launch and I had not met Malcolm Parry I would still be washing cars for car rental agencies.  I sometimes wonder what would have happened if we had originally settled in Toronto with the proximity of New York as a place for an enemy Argentine alien to seek photographic work.

One very good Vancouver photographer, Bret Daniels, did just that and moved to Toronto. But before he left he gave me this beautifully odd Hollywood scoop light which I still have.



In my years of having a big studio I did a lot of experimenting to keep me active when work might have been slow. I had a favourite subject Jo-Ann who would visit me for sessions, once a month on Thursdays.

She was very plástica, a word of choice for my friend Argentine artist Juan Manuel Sánchez who for 10 years was my mentor (without me knowing). By plástica he meant a combination of flexibility, muscle tone with a touch of voluptuousness.  Jo-Ann talked little and most of my instructions were with a nod of my head and she would always seem to know what to do.

Since these sessions were not magazine assignments I did not have to produce on deadline a useable image for a demanding art director. Here I could afford to do as I please. But in all instances I liked (and still like) to choose a theme or one lighting setup. I suggested to Jo-Ann that we would use the scoop light and nothing more.



I have no idea what a magazine art director would have said of these pictures. But I do know that they led me to further experimentation with the idea of simple themes where the restrictive parameters made me more alert to look for that shot.



I touch your mouth - with a finger its edge - Cortázar
Wednesday, September 05, 2018




These days in my time to think which seems to be, in its limitation, quite infinite into how many derivations each thought takes me, I wonder about that relationship of me the photographer, the camera and my subject on the other side. Is this important? Or is it a personal obsession that will prevent me from thinking about things that may matter more like my preparation for death?

I have thousands of negatives, slides and photographs of people’s faces. I look at each one of them and the memory of taking them takes me back to the sounds of their voices, feelings and in some cases the sweet smells of their perfume or in the case of the piece of literature here by Julio Cortázar his smell of cigarros Arizona which I used to buy for him at the corner store when he visited my father in Coghlan in Buenos Aires.

In the late 80s my Rosemary took me to a meeting of the Vancouver Rose Society. We sat on uncomfortable chairs in VanDusen’s Floral Hall and somebody projected over 100 terrible slides of rose close-ups. I looked at Rosemary and told her, ”You have brought me to this?”

Of course I fell in love with roses and I vowed I would never photograph them. I have (a bit) but I mostly think I am not breaking my vow because I scan them.

But if 100 bad slides of people were projected I would be alert. Rosa ‘Double Delight’ might be a beautiful rose with very nice fragrance (true) but after a few projections boredom would set in, not so with the face. There is such a variety in the human face that even with identical twins we want to discern how one is different from the other.

With many of my pictures I look at them and I know that time has changed what I see (in some instances time has faded or stained the very pictures I am looking at). Some of my faces are of people that are now dead. Others I have lost with the shifts of moving and different interests. In others I am enthusiastic of the prospect of taking new photographs in which the progression of time can add to the complexity of a portrait.

In the case of Caitlin Legault’s reversed b+w Polaroid peel I look at perfection and think if you have a perfect face how can another person have that,  too. Are there two perfect faces? What would Plato say of the essence of the human face, one we would see as we emerge from that dark tunnel with the flickering fire that projects imperfection onto the back wall?


Rayuela - Capítulo 7  - Julio Cortázar


 Toco tu boca, con un dedo toco el borde de tu boca, voy dibujándola como si saliera de mi mano, como si por primera vez tu boca se entreabriera, y me basta cerrar los ojos para deshacerlo todo y recomenzar, hago nacer cada vez la boca que deseo, la boca que mi mano elige y te dibuja en la cara, una boca elegida entre todas, con soberana libertad elegida por mí para dibujarla con mi mano por tu cara, y que por un azar que no busco comprender coincide exactamente con tu boca que sonríe por debajo de la que mi mano te dibuja.




Me miras, de cerca me miras, cada vez más de cerca y entonces jugamos al cíclope, nos miramos cada vez más de cerca y nuestros ojos se agrandan, se acercan entre sí, se superponen y los cíclopes se miran, respirando confundidos, las bocas se encuentran y luchan tibiamente, mordiéndose con los labios, apoyando apenas la lengua en los dientes, jugando en sus recintos donde un aire pesado va y viene con un perfume viejo y un silencio. Entonces mis manos buscan hundirse en tu pelo, acariciar lentamente la profundidad de tu pelo mientras nos besamos como si tuviéramos la boca llena de flores o de peces, de movimientos vivos, de fragancia oscura. Y si nos mordemos el dolor es dulce, y si nos ahogamos en un breve y terrible absorber simultáneo del aliento, esa instantánea muerte es bella. Y hay una sola saliva y un solo sabor a fruta madura, y yo te siento temblar contra mí como una luna en el agua.



A door just opened on a street
Tuesday, September 04, 2018




Caitlin Legault posed for me several times not too long ago. Her face was a complete enigma. I could never guess what she was thinking and I would have certainly lost all my clothes to her if we had played poker. There is something about her face in which the word face is not the adequate word to define it. Perhaps using the French visage might apply.

We were in my dusty garage at the old Athlone house when she suggested she do what you see here. The light challenged my 35mm colour negative film’s ability to handle extreme contrast, But I like the photograph.

The photograph beckons me to get out of my tiny Kits studio and use light (in that other century it was called available light and it meant that you used it without amending it with an extraneous light you might bring along.




A door just opened on a street--
I, lost, was passing by--
An instant's width of warmth disclosed
And wealth, and company.

The door as sudden shut, and I,
I, lost, was passing by,--
Lost doubly, but by contrast most,
Enlightening misery.
Emily Dickinson

More Emily Dickinson
 

Amber slips away
Sleep
When August burning low
Pink Small and punctual
A slash of blue
I cannot dance upon my toes
Ah little rose
For hold them, blue to blue


 Her Grace is not all she has  
To know if any human eyes were near
Linda Melsted - the music of the violin does not emerge alone
The Charm invests her face
A sepal, a petal and a thorn
The Savior must have been a docile Gentleman
T were blessed to have seen
There is no frigate like a book
I pay in satin cash
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



     

Previous Posts
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...

Costumbrismo - Laurence Gough, Mario Vargas Llosa ...

Alex - the Serial Bombmaker



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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

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3/20/11 - 3/27/11

3/27/11 - 4/3/11

4/3/11 - 4/10/11

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4/17/11 - 4/24/11

4/24/11 - 5/1/11

5/1/11 - 5/8/11

5/8/11 - 5/15/11

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5/22/11 - 5/29/11

5/29/11 - 6/5/11

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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

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

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3/18/12 - 3/25/12

3/25/12 - 4/1/12

4/1/12 - 4/8/12

4/8/12 - 4/15/12

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4/22/12 - 4/29/12

4/29/12 - 5/6/12

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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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8/12/12 - 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

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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

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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

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5/25/14 - 6/1/14

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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

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

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4/12/15 - 4/19/15

4/19/15 - 4/26/15

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5/10/15 - 5/17/15

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5/24/15 - 5/31/15

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6/21/15 - 6/28/15

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7/12/15 - 7/19/15

7/19/15 - 7/26/15

7/26/15 - 8/2/15

8/2/15 - 8/9/15

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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

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

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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

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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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8/21/16 - 8/28/16

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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

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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

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3/19/17 - 3/26/17

3/26/17 - 4/2/17

4/2/17 - 4/9/17

4/9/17 - 4/16/17

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4/23/17 - 4/30/17

4/30/17 - 5/7/17

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5/14/17 - 5/21/17

5/21/17 - 5/28/17

5/28/17 - 6/4/17

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7/2/17 - 7/9/17

7/9/17 - 7/16/17

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7/23/17 - 7/30/17

7/30/17 - 8/6/17

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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

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10/22/17 - 10/29/17

10/29/17 - 11/5/17

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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

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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

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5/13/18 - 5/20/18

5/20/18 - 5/27/18

5/27/18 - 6/3/18

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6/24/18 - 7/1/18

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7/8/18 - 7/15/18

7/15/18 - 7/22/18

7/22/18 - 7/29/18

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9/23/18 - 9/30/18

9/30/18 - 10/7/18

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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