I sent this to Canon in the hopes that it might find the right person at the right time… If any of you have ever looked for a professional quality, multi-format film scanner (possible Jorsa) than you know how I feel…
This is less a question than a pleading to Canon engineers… PLEASE develop a top quality film scanner which will scan at least all 120 formats. With Nikon out of the biz and nothing out there producing top quality scans from old and new film, there must be a market. Canon, being an electronics company as well as a camera company, should be able to product something… I know you, the reader of this comment, will not be in a position to help. However, you could forward this to the right people who may understand this great need. (Picture me on my knees begging and pleading for this as soon as possible)
Sincere thanks for anything you can do,
Long time Canon user,
Name and address blah blah blah
September 1, 2009
THIS IS ME, YARBZ, CIRCA 1980 WHILE IN THE .50 CAL TURRET OF MY LVTP-7 SOMEWHERE IN CAMP PENDLETON. I WAS WEARING THE NBC (NUCLEAR BIOLOGICAL CHEMICAL) MASK TO AVOID BREATHING IN THE HEAVY DUST WHICH THE LINE OF TRACS MADE AS WE MOVED THROUGH THE SCRUB BRUSH AND BONE DRY DIRT TRAILS. I WAS PROBABLY A LANCE CORPORAL IN THIS SHOT. BELOW IS THE SAME BUT OBVIOUSLY WITHOUT THE MASK… I REMEMBER HAVING A REAL FUN TIME SOME OF THE TIME AND THEN LOTS OF ‘UN-FUN’ TIMES, ESPECIALLY WHEN WE GOT BACK TO THE RAMP (THE PLACE WE PARKED AND SCRUBBED THE VEHICLES) AND HAD TO CLEAN UP THE TRACS AFTER OPERATIONS…
ONCE AGAIN AT CAMP PENDLETON WITH A STACK OF M-16’S DURING A WEEK LONG FIELD OPERATION. I REMEMBER THE SMELLS OF THE CAMP PENDLETON AND EATING OUR FOOD WHICH WAS IN THE FORM OF ‘C’ RATIONS… BY THE LAST YEAR OF MY TIME IN THE MARINES, 1983, WE HAD SWITCHED TO MRE’S WHICH ARE WHAT OUR GUYS AND GALS ARE EATING NOW…
April 7, 2009
April 1, 2009
March 31, 2009
March 27, 2009
BIGGER SIZE IMAGE IN THE ‘MORE’ SECTION
This is Yarbz and his 1972 Chevelle taken by my mom in 1978. This is the driveway of the house where we lived in Simsbury, Connecticut. I think this is April but I’m not sure. The car was purchased from some guy out in Unionville Connecticut where I saw it sitting on his front lawn with a For Sale sign. I believe this is the initial cleaning and polishing. My parent’s classic rugged and hard sucking Electrolux vacuum was assisting in making this car mine along with a bottle of Armorall sitting on the roof.
The Chevelle was basically stock with a 350 cubic-inch V-8 and a Muncie four-speed manual transmission. It has a 10-bold rear-end which was eventually replaced with a 12-bolt Positraction rear-end later in the year after the original differential began to leak gear oil. I found the 12-bolt Positraction at a local junk yard. My buddy Mike, who worked with me at the ARCO gas station, and I put it in one weekend. The car was very fun and looked great during my senior year at Simsbury High School. While I had the car, I repaired, upgraded and did lots of modifications some of which were ill-advised like the 12-bolt differential. The gear ratio on the new rear-end was different so the speedometer was off. Worse than that was that at highway cruising speeds the engine ran about 500 rpm’s higher than before.
The extra wear and tear from the higher revolutions eventually caused my engine to become unhappy. The unhappiness came to a head one night and caused my motor to explode with anger on the highway while driving up to Springfield Massachusetts where I lived at the time. It was about 1:30 AM and I was racing some guy in a Chevy Nova north on I-91. All the sudden the car made a split-second stutter and then a huge bang! Lots of crunching was heard and felt under the car. I pressed in the clutch and allowed the car to gradually slow. When I looked in the rearview mirror there was an incredibly thick trail of smoke erupting at 80 miles per hour from the back of my Chevelle. I immediately felt as if I was shot down in a WWII fighter and was spiraling to Earth, leaving the tell-tale oily smoke trail behind as I slowly arched toward an inevitable impact in the English countryside.
After gliding to a stop on the side of the dark highway I found that the push rods had blown through the oil pan. This is usually an indication that your motor needs some maintenance. Luckily, the guy I was racing and his buddies pulled over and gave me a ride the rest of the way to my apartment in Springfield. The Chevelle would eventually be towed to my parents’ house and there it would sit until it was sold for $500. I will never know if the person who bought it actually put in a new engine and got it going or not. I wonder to this day if the car is still on the road somewhere.
It was shortly after the destruction of the Chevelle’s engine that I decided my life was going nowhere and that I didn’t want to grind out a living as an auto-mechanic as originally planned. I enlisted in the Marine Corps in the fall of 1978 and was to report to MCRD (Marine Corps Recruit Depot) San Diego in January 1979. This seemed like the best way to achieve an immediate change to the direction of my life. As it turned out, it was.
March 17, 2009
March 16, 2009
March 12, 2009
Large file in the ‘MORE’ Section.
I have the name of the town written down at home but don’t remember it right now. I think it is Indiana but I will clarify later. This was taken in 1999 during my cross country adventure encompassing 16000 miles and is one of the towns we stayed in.
I had a very fitful sleep due to the hot and sticky air that sat motionless in our room. This old boarding house room was quiet and without air conditioning so we could hear the night sounds. Careful listening could separate the apparent silence from the faint buzz of florescent lighting outside our open second floor window. There was the occasional creaking of the old plank floor.
I woke up about well before the light and wondered around the vacant streets of the town with my Leica M6. I was shooting chromes (slides) during the entire trip which seem to capture life more accurately than negatives. This image didn’t make it past my original edit but when recently scanned on better equipment, the image really came alive. It captures precisely how I remember this morning felt as I wondered the slumbering streets in the quiet hours of the morning. Every faint smell and subtle sound seemed amplified to be devoured by the senses. All this delicate input is later lost to all as the clanking daily commotion slowly gains momentum to become a typical weekday. For now though, I can hear the grit scraping away at the worn concrete sidewalks underneath my boots. The soft rhythmic pattern of my solitary meandering keeps me company until the muffled whirling hum of a squeaky-belted V8 engine grumbles by in a pitted chrome and chipped paint clad sedan.
Main Street USA is gone with scant few exceptions. Most of us don’t know what we’ve missed. My generation saw the last of it when we were children. We get mega-sized drug stores with identical stock sitting caddy-corner on every ugly intersection. Battleship sized Wal-Mart’s and Target stores that sell only the cheapest possible version of any given item. Gone are the independent markets and shops run by local families and entrepreneurs who stock diverse quality merchandise and locally grown food and beverage.
Perhaps the end of the generic megastores is near as the struggling economy wields its substantial hammer of retail-natural selection. This could open the door for smaller, better shops and at least a partial return to a local economy. The over-saturation of bland identical corporate retailers that blight America in unending urban sprawl may, I hope, become the compost that feeds a better future.