At some point in this post you will ask yourself, “What is this about and why am I reading it?”  I have no idea.  I’ve been drawing a blank on most of my usual activities this week, and have even managed to reverse my Circadian cycle such that I am working the night shift that I much preferred when I was working summers in high school and college.  

The week started with the deaths of two people I never met, yet felt close to for different reasons.  The first was that of George Carlin, known to most people, but who felt to me like a friend because the way our minds synchronized on many topics.  The other was a man who only drag racers were likely to have known before the picture of the fireball on the news for a day.  Scott Kalitta, age 42, died when his Funny Car exploded while traveling at over 300 mph and then hit the retaining wall at the far end of the strip because the drag chute did not open properly to slow him.  He was the son of Connie Kalitta, a man who was my contemporary in racing, though in a much higher and faster class.  I can’t even say that I knew him more than to exchange a passing greeting, but there was a personal tie present.

I never met Scott.  His death served to remind me that “the next generations” of racers are dying now, and how death was always “a given” possibility when one raced.  I was lucky enough never to have had a serious injury, but saw seven people either badly injured or killed at US 30 when a freak accident cut the steering and brakes to a car which then ran into a hot dog stand.  The propane tanks at the stand burst and were ignited.  It has had me wondering if the good old days were nearly as good as my memories of them.

Drag race slicks

Burning nitro fuel explodes

No chute deploy.  End.

How does one make a segue from a topic like this to the apartment complex and the behavior of cats?  I don’t know, but I’ve been trying to do just that, to get back into the present, for most of the week.  While pondering such life events as how and why I have lived as long as I have, done what I have done, missed doing things I have wanted to do, and arguing with myself about how I got here and where I am going next, I charged the batteries for my camera.  Yes, the expensive Olympus C-700 I purchased almost eight years ago with its astounding 2.1 Megapixel resolution and 10X optical zoom.  I found that I had a few pictures of cats already in the flash memory, so I proceeded to take another hundred or so.

Thoughts, mostly depressive, have been bouncing around in my head to the point that I haven’t even wanted to blog, and am now doing so more out of a feeling of obligation than for pleasure, as is the usual case.  I can afford it, but I don’t even seem able to just go ahead and buy a bookcase.  I don’t want to start projects or even go out to buy a USB cable.  I believe the pleasure center of my brain went on vacation and didn’t take me along.  Oh, well, I’ll add a few pictures and write more when I have something to say.

Peace, Doc

Copyright © 2008, Thomas A. Blood, Ph.D.

“One cat just leads to another....” - Ernest Hemingway.

Counterculture comedian George Carlin, age 71, died of heart failure at 5:55 PM PDT on Sunday.  He performed as recently as last weekend in Las Vegas and it was announced last Tuesday that he was to be awarded the 11th annual Mark Twain Prize for American Humor.

From his character as “The Hippy-Dippy Weatherman,” to the “Seven Words You Can’t Say On TV,” to his current cynical take on society and religion, in general, I listened.  My feeling about his work came as close to hero worship as I have felt about any living show business celebrity.

May He Rest In Peace, Doc

Copyright © 2008, Thomas A. Blood, Ph.D.

“I think it's the duty of the comedian to find out where the line is drawn and cross it deliberately.” – George Carlin

“The reason I talk to myself is that I'm the only one whose answers I accept.” - George Carlin

“Inside every cynical person, there is a disappointed idealist.” - George Carlin

I enjoy both the process pleasure and the goal pleasure from activities and objects.  As a personal example, when I flew Cross Country RC model sailplanes, I enjoyed both the process of designing, planning, finding sources for exotic materials (kevlar “string”, carbon fiber string or sheets, titanium rods, etc.,) finding ways of combining materials and design considerations such that the entire model, ready to fly, weighed five kilograms (11.023 pounds, an international standard,) or less.  “OK, if I use titanium wing rods to hold the wing panels together, rather than steel ones, I can just barely save enough weight to add an airspeed telemetry downlink.  Let’s try it,” and of course, building them.  Add to that an altitude gain/loss sensor and downlink, chrome reflective mylar tape on the leading edge of the wing, and a mechanism that could slightly alter the center of gravity in flight, and you had the basis for a fair amount of off season fun.  My commodore 64 and a pin printer could even produce a fairly good rendition of a specific airfoil, given the right formula and a great deal of patience.  A mixture of process and goal pleasure came when, in a contest, I could know how fast the model was traveling, whether it was climbing or descending, and when all of us in the pickup truck lost sight of it, it could usually be found by simply turning 360 degrees a few times and watching for the flashes of sunlight strobing off the wing’s reflective leading edge.  One could even tell which direction the plane was turning by watching the direction of the flashes.  Even the wings of models with 16 foot spans and 12 inch chords tend to “disappear” when they pass beyond about a mile from the pilot.  Fuselage and tail sections disappear much sooner, at 1000 to 1500 feet. 

So where was the pure goal pleasure in this?  I’m not really certain, because this was a series of activities and produced both kinds of pleasure at various stages along the way.  After designing and building for 700+ hours, having the darn thing fly and land in one piece marked the attainment of a large goal.  Learning from the first several flights that it required a more frontal center of gravity and was not a stable flyer with the length of the original fuselage led back to process of adding about a foot more length to a fiberglass fuselage, re-balancing, and flying again.  Ah, much better!  Intermediate goal achieved.  Talk it over with friends and enjoy the process.  Fly it in international competition and not come in last – definitely goal pleasure, although the process of “having fun” at this level of competition required several milligrams of Valium.  Winning an award for “professionalism” in our contest behavior was purely surprise goal pleasure.  Dropping that trophy on my left great toe following my move to this apartment was a painful stimulus that produced memories of both types of pleasure involved in the winning of it.  Even writing this post is a process pleasure and seeing pictures of our Cross Country team and my toy, a pleasure from recalling the past goal.  Some goal pleasure was mixed with goal pain – landing at the 45 mile mark on a 47.2 mile closed course, for example.  Coming that close yet not finishing was painful, but it was also a personal best for me and for the rest of the team, a pleasure.

A treatise of book length could be written about this single, obscure area of the pleasures involved in flying toy airplanes and only a few examples have been included.  Yet it is complicated enough for us to realize how many factors can be involved in deciding whether we were having fun or not.  Simpler examples of each type of pleasure abound.  A person who hates their job and does it only for the paycheck is likely only to feel goal pleasure related to spending the money earned.  A person who plays a musical instrument well but never shares it with others is deriving primarily process pleasure from the making of the music alone.  A person who fears flying but has to do so to get to a vacation destination won’t enjoy the process of getting there, but the vacation may be all the sweeter because of what had to be overcome in order to reach the goal. 

There are many other factors that become involved in the real life experience of process and goal pleasure.  How much is the goal worth to the individual, monetarily or emotionally?  How much pain?  What are the relative risks involved with each?  Is it legal, helpful, or harmful?  What are the consequences of failure versus success?  None of our waking behavior is simple and even the seemingly simple decisions we make are made easily only because the factors on one side of the scale so far outweigh the factors on the other, that little actual thought needs to occur.  “Would you get up and walk over here so I can hit your fingers with a mallet, please?”  “Uh, no!”  “Would you get up and walk over here so I can give you this $100 bill?”  “Yeah!  Sure!”

Peace, Doc

Copyright © 2008, Thomas A. Blood, Ph.D.

“Recognize that an activity involves more than the end result. What was the process or journey like? What did you learn?” – John Stallworth, J.D, Ph.D. et al

You people know I just can’t pass up a chance like this to sing the praises of our government agencies’ efforts to protect us from terrorism.  The following is the text and links directly from the June 18 article in Boing Boing:

“US seizes Danish dress-shop's payment to Pakistan in the name of "terrorism"

Posted: 18 Jun 2008 05:23 AM CDT

Carsten sez, "The owner of a small dress shop in Maribo, Denmark, orders six dresses in Pakistan for a value of $205 and pays by bank transfer - only to find that the transfer is intercepted by the US authorities and the money seized because the seller (fashio.biz) might conceivably support 'terrorism'."

"Christa Møllgaard-Hansen, owner of Christabella's in the town of Maribo on Lolland, routinely buys women's clothing and shoes from around the world to resell in Denmark. But a recent purchase of six dresses from Pakistan for $205 was considered by the American authorities to be money going to support terrorists.

The US froze the funds four months ago and contacted Møllgaard-Hansen's bank, saying they wanted more information on the payment's recipient. Møllgaard-Hansen had put all the necessary information into the original netbank payment, but complied with her bank's request for the additional information."

No doubt the FBI, NSA, CIA, or “Somebody Else” decided to snoop around a little bit longer while the Patriot Act is still mostly in effect and the FISA Act has yet to be officially modified.  You know, I don’t even feel a need to contact my state’s senator, Obama (D IL) because he will quite likely already be on the case.  If not, one of the above agencies will intercept this transmission of information, or buy it from one of the large telecoms or search databases.  One way or another, I’m sure they’ll know my sentiments on the matter.

Peace, Doc

Copyright © 2008, Thomas A. Blood, Ph.D.

“On account of being a democracy and run by the people, we are the only nation in the world that has to keep a government four years, no matter what it does.” - Will Rogers

This is clearly going to be a rant, so if any of you don’t want to read it, it’s permissible to leave now.

The impetus for this topic came to me in my sleep.  To be more precise, it woke me from my sleep.  I heard an insistent, repetitive beep coming from somewhere in the apartment but couldn’t identify what or where.  Bittle and Stinky didn’t seem to care much, one way or the other about it, and would not join the hunt.  I set off alone on my search-and-silence mission.  I shuffled carefully down the hallway trying to locate the sound.  I dared not stalk it rapidly as I had not taken time to put on my glasses, a definite disadvantage.  I located the noise as coming from the general direction of kitchen/dining area.  OK, what might make a noise from that area?  Stove timer?  No.  Microwave?  No.  Washer/Dryer?  No.  Smoke sensor?  No.  Jade plant?  Yes!  At least it first seemed that it was coming directly from the plants.  On closer inspection, it was discovered to be my fax machine’s call for attention, bouncing off the wall in a way that definitely made it sound like it was coming from the plants.  I scowled at them for their part in the plot and went on to shut off the noise.  It refused to be silenced and informed me that there was a fax in memory and that I had to add paper.  Paper?  Oh, no!  Paper is in the “room that no one dares enter.”  Buck up, Boyo.  This is no time to show cowardice to a small machine and a couple of plants. 

Very hesitantly, I entered “the room.”  I tried not to disturb the balance of anything there, and snatched the first discolored sheets of copy paper I could find.  When I was able to back out of the room unscathed, I’m sure The Boys were able to hear my sigh of relief.  Back to the fax machine to load and lock the paper and press “start.”  For all my effort and valor, I received a “spax” from a company attempting to lease to me “a major breakthrough in Physiological Monitoring and Biofeedback software” for $75 (USD) per month, laptop included, and purporting to do “Para Spinal Imaging.”  I don’t know what that is.  I think they made it up.  I will not mention the company’s name because, other than the spinal imaging part, they seem to be legitimate and it was the beeping that had irritated me, not the group sending the fax.

This episode did start me thinking about all the things that beep or blink in my environment.  (Oh, no!  He’s been thinking again!)  Other than a kitchen timer, I think I’ve pretty well covered that area of the apartment.  As I sit here, I hold an instrument of torture that displays a brightly colored flag and sings “bum-ble-e-beee!” enthusiastically announcing that it really is trying to start XP Pro after I pressed the start switch.  As I proceed, I note that there are five blindingly bright blue LED’s which tell me that I have turned it on, that DVD is OK, a pointy circle that appears to be chasing itself, and two volume controls.  Thankfully, the mute button remains dark.  The latter is actually a subtle trick, however, which only allows the user to trade more blue glare for silence.  Many programs announce themselves with entry marches, and of course there is the plethora of honks, beeps, and squeals that tell me that I have done something unacceptable.  There are seemingly random noises that occur for no apparent reason, and always the sorrowful sounding exit tune as I shut the computer off by clicking “start.”

I looked across the room and turned on the TV.  In response to a single remote button press, a red LED flashed three times and the machine greeted me with a happy, ascending “tweedle-ee-beep.”  (“He noticed me!  He noticed me!”)  It hasn’t yet learned that people would like the volume to remain relative constant among stations, but I don’t blame it personally for that.   Whenever it is turned off, it responds with a single LED blink and a sorrowful “deedle-ee-boop.”

I am nearly certain that alarm clocks set themselves.  When I set mine, it never seems to wake me up, although I sometimes awaken about a minute before it buzzes.  A few days ago I finally discovered the source of a tiny, repetitive beep that had remained hidden in the bedroom and occurred at about 12:35 a.m.  When I was present and awake, I might hear it.  If I happened to be asleep, it had never disturbed my slumber.  It was a timid little radio/alarm clock that had apparently been making that noise, unnoticed, for four years. 

I have made a small, slow red blinker to install under the dash of my car.  It cost $1.25 (USD) and will do absolutely nothing except blink, hopefully convincing a potential thief that I have a sophisticated alarm system which would, in turn, suggest to him it would be easier to steal the car parked next to mine. 

People with remote alarm transmitters on their key chains irritate the hell out of me by pressing the arm/disarm switch just as I am walking past their cars in a parking lot.  Lights flash, loud honking occurs, and I jump about a foot in the air.  I am reduced to pointing my keys at my car and stating, in an authoritative voice, “HONK!”  I am aware of a way to retaliate, but I believe it to be illegal.  Backup beepers annoy me, as do motion sensing lights and sirens.  Far too many lights and noises occur inside my car, the most annoying of which being the buzz that tells me that I have once again locked myself out with the keys still in the ignition switch. 

In the city and suburbs there is always a background of of flashing neon signs, honking car horns, sirens on emergency vehicles along with the red, blue or yellow “gum ball” lights or the brilliant white strobes that control traffic lights.  Cell phones ringing can anger me almost as much as the conversations that follow.  Wristwatch alarms, security cameras which watch us, and recently, advertising signs that start hawking their wares as one approaches them.

Taken one at a time, these are minor annoyances.  Viewed as a whole, however, I believe they have led to a heightened stress level in most of us, and have produced a dangerous side effect.  We have become so inured to them that we ignore or suppress them.  Have you ever driven through a red stoplight because there were so many bright business signs in your field of view that you simply did not differentiate danger from background?  Have you ever had the car windows rolled up and the tunes on so loud that you missed the warnings of the emergency vehicle?  Have you become so used to hearing car alarms screaming for help that you simply ignore them?  Or just become frustrated that something in the house is trying to get your attention, but you haven’t a clue as to what it is?  Yeah.  I thought so.

Peace, Doc

Copyright © 2008, Thomas A. Blood, Ph.D.

“Honk if you hate noise pollution.” - Author unknown, as seen on a bumper sticker.

See also:  Noise pollution and light pollution.

The new Firefox 3 web browser is to be released on the official Mozilla Download Day, Tuesday, June 17, 2008.  An informative article about this release and Microsoft’s rapid effort to catch-up using IE-8 was recently published by PC World.  I strongly suggest that you download Firefox 3 directly from a Mozilla site.   As I write, this site is still devoted to the download of Firefox 2.0.0.14, however.

The good people on the Firefox 3 project are trying to set a Guinness World Record for downloading software in a single day.  My best guess is that they will achieve this, because there is currently no such record in existence.

More importantly, I recently tried to download Release Candidate 3 of Firefox from other sites, and while beginning to install, they displayed instructions in a language which I did not recognize. These were reputable sites, but something was clearly going awry.

While you are downloading this excellent browser, I would also suggest looking over more of Mozilla’s software and other offerings.

A Field Guide to Foxfire 3 by Debra Lyn Richardson is available at her WordPress site and should definitely be referred to for many technical details, feature descriptions, and links.

Peace, Doc

Copyright © 2008, Thomas A. Blood, Ph.D.

Last Sunday I wanted to watch a segment of NHRA drag racing eliminations, but it had apparently been rain delayed.  It was suggested by the station that the elimination tree and video clips could be found on espn360.com.  When I attempted to register to watch the clips, this is the (partially redacted) onscreen response I received.

Member Registration
Please fill out the form below to become a ESPN.com Registered User. Member registration is easy and gives you instant access to ESPN Fantasy Games, customization, chats, message
boards and other exclusive content. Just follow the simple steps below to complete your registration.
Privacy questions? Click here for the ESPN Privacy Policy.
Some errors were encountered while processing your submission.
Please enter your Last Name.
Additionally, the following processing errors were encountered. These are listed below in order to help you determine the problem. If you feel that you cannot fix these errors, please call
ESPN Member Services at 1-888-549-ESPN.
INVALID_LASTNAME - The Last Name provided matches a filthy word in the system

At first I sputtered.  Then I laughed.  Finally, I entered some really filthy last names.  The system accepted some of them.  I taunted it a bit longer for insulting me and then left the site without giving it my credit card number.  Numerologically speaking, the CC number probably would have been filthy, also.  This station and website do not have a sense of humor, and as even computers go, seem to be a trifle simpleminded and straightlaced.

Peace, Ol’ Filthy

Copyright © 2008, Thomas A. Blood, Ph.D.

Perhaps if I had resorted to this, I would have been found acceptable.  “Hemodialysis:  A form of renal replacement therapy where a person’s blood is removed continuously and filtered through a machine that removes excess fluid and toxins. The filtered blood is then returned to the person.” www.bidmc.harvard.edu/display.asp

As an exception to my usual rule, the title of this post actually has a relationship to the content that follows.  Perhaps it is not exactly what you might expect, but it is accurate, nonetheless.  The general nature of my driving is known to long time readers of this blog, but may be succinctly summarized for new readers as; "I have no idea whatsoever why I am still alive."  More astounding still, (aside from the tractor thing) is that I cannot recall ever having been injured or killed.  There were a few times I was airborne or hanging upside-down from a seatbelt, but those don’t count because I wasn’t driving.

When I first learned to parallel park in high school drivers education class, it was easy.  Our group of four male teens derived great pleasure from tormenting our instructor.  We four gearhead country lads had been driving various motorized vehicles, from tractors to scooters, to racing go-karts, for several years.  We had starting, moving forward rapidly, tuning engines, and even four wheel drifts down pretty well.  It was the stopping and parking the vehicle in a designated spot that somewhat eluded us.  We learned well and quickly, however, and were passed from the class as rapidly as the teacher could possibly manage, as he was in fear for his life anytime he was in the driver’s ed car with us.  Considering that the car we learned in was a 383 tri-power Plymouth a three speed that had been loaned to the school for the class, he had reason to be. 

About a year or so after completing driver’s training, an unrelated event called a “Road-E-O,” was held in a neighboring town to test the driving skills of the area’s youth.  It involved awarding points for checking one’s rearview mirror, starting, turning, completing a pylon course without knocking them over, braking, and assorted other tasks, including parallel parking.  I believe that the only error the contest organizers made was to award points for completing some tasks in the shortest time.  I will simply state that I both won and lost the contest.  I treated it as a gymkhana, rather than pretending to “compete” at a level I believed to be beneath me.  A rule was made on the spot which applied only to me.  I had clearly won on points and time, but I was adjudged to have had “a bad attitude.”  Points were then deducted for bad attitudes.  The officials were quite correct.  I rapidly developed an extremely bad attitude as I watched the trophy being awarded to the second place contestant who fit the image of “All American Boy.”

So far, this tale has been prologue to the single occasion wherein parallel parking was quite important to me.  One morning I was driving out of town on a wide left sweeping turn that led into a straight and open road to the next larger town which had a machine shop.  In my usual manner, I accelerated continuously through the curve and well onto the straight section.  Also as usual, I was exceeding the speed suggestion when I saw a car stopped on the road where two roads intersected it.  It had no signals blinking, but it appeared clear that the driver had the intention of turning.  From experience, over 90% of traffic at that spot turned left.  Also from experience, nearly all cars that stop at a crossroad actually turn.  As I was approaching rapidly and the car ahead hadn’t moved, I based a decision on the 90% left turn postulate.  I both slowed (relatively speaking, I approached the speed limit from above) and prepared to pass on the right to avoid what I thought would be driving into the path of his turn.  I was mistaken.  The older couple in the car turned slowly to the right, directly into my path.  Ooh!  What to do?  I was already committed to a course of action, so while putting myself into a hard left drift, tires screeching, raising clouds of dust and gravel, and having just enough time for three bad words, I parked exactly parallel beside them.  They had apparently stopped their turn when they heard the commotion behind them.  I did not hit them, but slid to a halt perfectly aligned beside them with a distance of at least six inches (possibly seven) between vehicles.  When the dust cleared enough to see each other, I waved to them.  There didn’t seem to be much else to do.  There was no accident as the cars never touched each other, and for once, I was at a loss for words.  As they slowly drove over the railroad track, I sat there trembling, thinking about trajectories, tire grip on various surfaces, that possibly I had made an error, and trying not to soil myself.  This was most definitely not the sort of parallel parking taught in driver’s ed, but somehow I seemed to have passed the pop quiz.

Peace, Doc

Copyright © 2008, Thomas A. Blood, Ph.D.

“Have you ever noticed that anybody driving slower than you is an idiot, and anyone going faster than you is a maniac?” - George Carlin

The end of this week has been a little stranger than usual for me.  I say this in a comparative manner relative to peeling the paint off a candle holder.  The replacement keyboard for this laptop flew in on Wednesday morning.  It was ordered USPS ground, but the mail-person down by the group of mail boxes just grumbled and pitched it up the stairs.  As I looked out the door, a small box with a large red FRAGILE sticker on it sailed over the porch railing, bounced off a window, and landed within a foot of my door.  A good aim, if not a particularly enviable work ethic.  Now that I have both the part and the assembly diagram it looks quite easy to swap.  The only thing that seems to matter is which screws to remove and replace in what specific order.  I think I can handle that.  I just repaired a USB radio receiver for a wireless mouse very early yesterday morning.

On Thursday I did a bit of shopping at a very large computer store - Tiger Direct.  I bought a copy of XP Pro SP2 while it is still being sold.  I have read both June 15th and June 30th as official cutoff dates.  Before I bought it, I had to have a look around the store.  I had ordered things from them before but never been there in person.  A sign in their large showroom said that if one didn't see what one wanted, just ask, because they had a 38,000 square foot warehouse attached.  In partial answer to Jade's question, (" ... what the hell you talkin' about?") I am planning on building my next computer.  I have a large old Dell Opteron 98SE case with lots of room to replace hard drives (remove one 17 GB drive - install two 500 GB drives,) lots of space for the new mother board, 4 GB of RAM or more, a hefty power supply, and an intention to set it up as a dual boot box ... XP Pro and (OS7? Linux?, Ubuntu?)  I guess the point is that I'll have time to decide rather than impulsively buying something I would regret, off the shelf.  My ranting which may not have been completely clear in my comment to her was about drooling on the glass showcases (in which new AMD quad core Phenom Black processors and liquid cooled, copper finned, heat sinks that would reside on top of said processor were displayed.)  As an aside, no, I was not embarrassed to drool in public.  I've reached an age where such behavior is tolerated quite well if expensive parts are the center of attention and a credit card is in view.  Actually, I think this will be a great longer term project, and "barebones" kits with the correct combinations of motherboard and essential parts are available.  Perhaps I'll even get a Pong game to make use of all that raw power.

I also bought groceries and some postage stamps.

Peace, Doc

Copyright © 2008, Thomas A. Blood, Ph.D.

"Miss Wormwood is Calvin's world-weary teacher, named after the junior devil in C. S. Lewis' The Screwtape Letters. ... Regarding the difficulties of reining in rambunctious students, she once commented that "it's not enough that we have to be disciplinarians. Now we need to be psychologists." After Calvin once declared that school was a big waste of time, she tried catching him while he yelled into the hallway, "Help! It's the Thought Police!" - Bill Watterson comic strip, Calvin and Hobbes.

Recently while I was out shopping at a local big box grocery and general merchandise store I found a small thing that I thought I would enjoy and the apartment might even like it, also.  I like candles and incense occasionally and I found a display of glass votive or tea-light candle holders.  Some on the outside part of the display were absolutely ugly, overpriced, and "not me" objects.  I was on hands and knees, exploring what items might be lurking low and near the center of the display, and thus not found by other shoppers.  Eureka!  I found a very simple transparent blue rounded holder, about the size of a squashed goose egg, with a depression that would just fit a tea light.  What great luck!  It was only about 1/3 the price of the ugly ones on the outer rows.  When I got home with it, I removed the sticky tag from the bottom.  The surprise came when I found a dime-sized patch of blue on my thumb a few minutes later while I was searching for the candles.  You're right on the first try; made in China and it was painted blue.  It was such a good looking fake that I really couldn't tell in the store.  As I scratched at it, it became a sort of camouflage blue and clear color.  At first I was quite irate that I had been cheated.  Then I realized that I liked the clear glass look much better, and had even stopped myself from buying a much taller version of nearly the same item for $15 (USD) about two weeks earlier.  Suddenly my "wasted" $1.99 didn't seem like such a bad deal after all.  I didn't move any of my heavy duty solvents so I resorted to one of the two universal tool kit items.  Duct tape.  By simply sticking the tape to a painted section and pulling it off, bit by bit, each time a little more blue coating was removed.  Finally it became clear to me that it was better that way.  It will never pass as leaded glass crystal, but it's just fine with me because I can't see all that well anyway.

Peace, Doc

Copyright © 2008, Thomas A. Blood, Ph.D.