Yes. - And there are lots of excellent French mechanics, but I still thought
the joke was funny, which is why I remembered it........I never let
political correctness get in the way of a funny joke........:^)

I am dislexia of borg your a.s will be laminated
http://www.ian-lincoln.pwp.blueyonder.co.uk/
"Father Kodak" <dont_bother@IDontCare.COM> wrote in message .

Providing there aren't buring sheep on the track.

Un-exposed. Expired, but kept refrigerated lo these many years.

I don't think you leaned much. Not about life anyway.

True, I have seen some really good work especially with the 20D but I
think more and more that people are just letting the camera do the work.  
My wife when she went from fully manual bodies with manual Zeiss lenses
to EOS lost a lot and got lazy using pre programmed settings. Don't tell
her but some of her work has sufferd.

Have you ever done a test with a Canon film body like A2 next to the 20D
for the same shot? I bet there is quite a bit of differnce in the DOF and
just overall perspective of the shot. If that is the right term. I can
see a lot when I do the same. I rented a 10D and did a similar test with
my old Elan. There were things I liked about both but it was just not
enough to get be to purchase the 10D at the time.

point is, it matters as much or more what you say, than how you say it.
james moore knows how to do both.  i love these words of his...

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/jim-moore/when-i-was-a-boy_b_10885.html

James Moore
11.18.2005
When I Was a Boy

As congress busied itself last night with cutting programs to the poor
to pay for more war and Bush tax benefits for the wealthy, I found
myself thinking yet again about the America where I grew up. In spite
of our differences in years, our current president and I were coming of
age in a nation thriving with prosperity and optimism.

Mr. Bush's father went out to West Texas with a $500,000 grubstake in
his pocket from his father the US senator and built and oil company. My
dad, home from the same war, had failed miserably trying to grow cotton
on someone else's farm in the Mississippi River bottomland in Arkansas.
He gave up and went north to the car factories of Michigan. My mother,
who was an immigrant, thought that marrying the handsome American in
the uniform meant she was bound for Dixie and a life of sipping mint
tea on a veranda. Most of what she knew about America had come from the
movie "Gone With the Wind." Instead, she found herself crowded into a
shack with her in-laws and she spent nights staring at the southern
moon passing between the wall and ceiling slats.

A big man, daddy quickly got a job on an assembly line in Flint,
Michigan lifting bumpers out of a metal press and stacking them on
wooden pallets. Although she already had three children, Ma went to
work as a waitress at one of the short order restaurants surrounding
the automobile manufacturing complexes. Their tenth and eighth grade
educations did not provide them with much more potential. They worked
until they could not stand. Eventually, the needs of their six children
for food, health care, clothes, and an education far outstripped their
ability to provide. Things got worse when daddy endured several years
of hospitalization. Ma, though, never gave up in those years and
continued carrying hamburgers and open-faced sandwiches to the tables
of laborers who left her nickel tips to supplement her $60 a week
paycheck.

Fortunately, I was living in an America that realized there might be as
much potential in my future as there existed in the son of the oilman
out in the desert of West Texas. My country, my government, filled in
the spaces that were left empty when my parents' efforts fell short.
While George W. was honing his irresponsibility in West Texas in
advance of leaving for prep school in the east, my brother and sisters
and I were turning to the government to get us food, education, and
health care. It's not what my parents wanted; nor did we. We were
ashamed. But had no choice. Eventually, though, I got to attend a
university because my country offered Basic Educational Opportunity
Grants and National Defense Student Loans to those who qualified. And
not a minute of any day passes where I am not thankful for where I was
born and the fellow citizens of my country who gave me such an
opportunity. The fact that I ended up being the author of books and
journalism critical of a president trying to take away similar programs
from a new generation also seems to me somehow distinctly American.

Last night, 220,000 people were cut from the Food Stamp program. And
Democrats considered that an accomplishment. States will now be asked
to seek co-payments from Medicaid beneficiaries to supplement a
shortfall of federal funding, and congress wants to cut funding for
state programs aimed at child support enforcement. No one even seemed
particularly disturbed when they debated taking 40,000 children off of
the student lunch program at the same time their parents were being
dropped from Food Stamp rolls.

The context for all of this goes unnoticed. While we hand out no-bid
contracts to Halliburton for billions of dollars we are trimming the
budget in the Spaghetti-Os of impoverished children. Food Stamp
recipients are being forced to pay for the president's latest $50
billion in tax cuts. Medicaid patients have no choice over a co-pay
that will help our president and our congress pay for the current war
without end. One estimate I read indicated that the first round of
funding for the Iraqi invasion, which was $84 billion dollars, was
enough to pay for full health care for every man, woman, and child in
America for one year; no deductions, no co-pays. We are not just
wasting lives in those ancient deserts.

Capitalism is not a perfect system. Effort does not always produce
results. Some of us fail, regardless of how hard we try. The question
for our country is whether we ignore the people who have fallen into
the ditch or do we stop and give them a hand. And do we turn our backs
on their children even though they had nothing to do with the
circumstances in which they find themselves? And what do we lose if we
walk away from them? There is no way to measure unlived lives or
unrealized potential.

I want my America back.