During World War II, as the Allies planned the invasion of Normandy, there was one major hurdle to overcome—logistics. In particular, planners needed to guarantee a solid supply of fuel to keep the mechanized army functional. Tanks, trucks, jeeps, and aircraft all drink petroleum at a prodigious rate. The challenge, then, was to figure out how to get fuel over to France in as great a quantity as possible.
War planners took a diverse approach. A bulk supply of fuel in jerry cans was produced to supply the initial invasion effort, while plans were made to capture port facilities that could handle deliveries from ocean-going tankers. Both had their limitations, so a third method was sought to back them up. Thus was born Operation Pluto—an innovative plan to simply lay fuel pipelines right across the English channel.
Assuming you’re not stuck in a prison cell without windows, you could feasibly keep track of the moon and tides by walking outside and jotting things down in your notebook. Alternatively, you could save a lot of hassle by just building this moon and tide clock from [pjdines1994] instead.
The build is based on a Raspberry Pi Pico W, which is hooked up to a real-time clock module and a Waveshare 3.7-inch e-paper display. Upon this display, the clock draws an image relevant to the current phase of the moon. As the write-up notes, it was a tad fussy to store 24 images for all the different lunar phases within the Pi Pico, but it was achieved nonetheless with a touch of compression. As for tides, it covers those too by pulling in tide information from an online resource.
It’s specifically set up to report the local tides for [pjdines1994], reporting the high tide and low tide times for Whitstable in the United Kingdom. If you’re not in Whitstable, you’d probably want to reconfigure the clock before using it yourself. Unless you really want to know what’s up in Whitstable, of course. If you so wish, you can set the clock up to make its own tide predictions by running local calculations, but [pjdines1994] notes that this is rather more complicated to do. The finished result look quite good, because [pjdines1994] decided to build it inside an old carriage clock that only reveals parts of the display showing the moon and the relevant tide numbers.
We’ve featured some other great tide clocks before, like this grand 3D printed design. If you’ve built your own arcane machine to plot the dances of celestial objects, do be sure to let us know on the tipsline!
We’ve all been there. You’ve found a beautiful piece of older hardware at the thrift store, and bought it for a song. You rush it home, eager to tinker, but you soon find it’s just not working. You open it up to attempt a repair, but you could really use some information on what you’re looking at and how to enter service mode. Only… a Google search turns up nothing but dodgy websites offering blurry PDFs for entirely the wrong model, and you’re out of luck.
These days, when you buy an appliance, the best documentation you can expect is a Quick Start guide and a warranty card you’ll never use. Manufacturers simply don’t want to give you real information, because they think the average consumer will get scared and confused. I think they can do better. I’m demanding a new two-tier documentation system—the basics for the normies, and real manuals for the tech heads out there.
Connected devices are ubiquitous in our era of wireless chips heavily relying on streaming data to someone else’s servers. This sentence might already start to sound dodgy, and it doesn’t get better when you think about today’s smart glasses, like the ones built by Meta (aka Facebook).
[sh4d0wm45k] doesn’t shy away from fighting fire with fire, and shows you how to build a wireless device detecting Meta’s smart glasses – or any other company’s Bluetooth devices, really, as long as you can match them by the beginning of the Bluetooth MAC address.
[sh4d0wm45k]’s device is a mini light-up sign saying “GLASSHOLE”, that turns bright white as soon as a pair of Meta glasses is detected in the vicinity. Under the hood, a commonly found ESP32 devboard suffices for the task, coupled to two lines of white LEDs on a custom PCB. The code is super simple, sifting through packets flying through the air, and lets you easily contribute with your own OUIs (Organizationally Unique Identifier, first three bytes of a MAC address). It wouldn’t be hard to add such a feature to any device of your own with Arduino code under its hood, or to rewrite it to fit a platform of your choice.
We’ve been talking about smart glasses ever since Google Glass, but recently, with Meta’s offerings, the smart glasses debate has reignited. Due to inherent anti-social aspects of the technology, we can see what’d motivate one to build such a hack. Perhaps, the next thing we’ll see is some sort of spoofed packets shutting off the glasses, making them temporarily inoperable in your presence in a similar way we’ve seen with spamming proximity pairing packets onto iPhones.
Want to know if somebody is lying? It’s always so hard to tell. [dbmaking] has whipped up a fun little polygraph, otherwise known as a lie detector. It’s nowhere near as complex as the ones you’ve seen on TV, but it might be just as good when it comes to finding the truth.
The project keeps things simple by focusing on two major biometric readouts — heart rate and skin conductivity. When it comes to the beating heart, [dbmaking] went hardcore and chose an AD8232 ECG device, rather than relying on the crutch that is pulse oximetry. It picks up heart signals via three leads that are just like those they stick on you in the emergency room. Skin conductivity is measured with a pair of electrodes that attach to the fingers with Velcro straps. The readings from these inputs are measured and then used to determine truth or a lie if their values cross a certain threshold. Presumably, if you’re sweating a lot and your heart is beating like crazy, you’re telling a lie. After all, we know Olympic sprinters never tell the truth immediately after a run.
Does this work as an actual, viable lie detector? No, not really. But that’s not just because this device isn’t sophisticated enough; commercial polygraph systems have been widely discredited anyway. There simply isn’t an easy way to correlate sweating to lying, as much as TV has told us the opposite. Consider it a fun toy or prop to play with, and a great way to learn about working with microcontrollers and biometric sensors.
Although it might seem like there was a sudden step change from analog to digital sometime in the late 1900s, it was actually a slow, gradual change from things like record players to iPods or from magnetic tape to hard disk drives. Some of these changes happened slowly within the same piece of hardware, too. Take the Sony DXC-3000A, a broadcast camera from the 1980s. Although it outputs an analog signal, this actually has a discrete pixel CCD sensor capturing video. [Colby] decided to finish the digitization of this camera and converted it to output HDMI instead of the analog signal it was built for.
The analog signals it outputs are those that many of us are familiar with, though: composite video. This was an analog standard that only recently vanished from consumer electronics, and has a bit of a bad reputation that [Colby] thinks is mostly undeserved. But since so many semi-modern things had analog video outputs like these, inspiration was taken from a Wii mod chip that converts these consoles to HDMI. Unfortunately his first trials with one of these had confused colors, but it led him to a related chip which more easily outputted the correct colors. With a new PCB in hand with this chip, a Feather RP2040, and an HDMI port the camera is readily outputting digital video that any modern hardware can receive.
Besides being an interesting build, the project highlights a few other things. First of all, this Sony camera has a complete set of schematics, a manual meant for the end user, and almost complete user serviceability built in by design. In our modern world of planned obsolescence, religious devotion to proprietary software and hardware, and general user-unfriendliness this 1980s design is a breath of fresh air, and perhaps one of the reasons that so many people are converting old analog cameras to digital instead of buying modern equipment.
A mosquito has a very finely tuned proboscis that is excellent at slipping through your skin to suck out the blood beneath. Researchers at McGill University recently figured that the same biological structure could also prove useful in another was—as a fine and precise nozzle for 3D printing (via Tom’s Hardware).
Small prints made with the mosquito proboscis nozzle. Credit: research paper
To achieve this feat, the research team harvested the proboscis from a female mosquito, as only the female of the species sucks blood in this timeline. The mosquito’s proboscis was chosen over other similar biological structures, like insect stingers and snake fangs. It was prized for its tiny size, with an inside diameter of just 20 micrometers—which outdoes just about any man-made nozzle out there. It’s also surprisingly strong, able to resist up to 60 kPa of pressure from the fluid squirted through it.
Of course, you can’t just grab a mosquito and stick it on your 3D printer. It takes very fine work to remove the proboscis and turn it into a functional nozzle; it also requires the use of 3D printed scaffolding to give the structure additional strength. The nozzle is apparently used with bio-inks, rather than molten plastic, and proved capable of printing some basic 3D structures in testing.
Amusingly, the process has been termed 3D necroprinting, we suspect both because it uses a dead organism and because it sounds cool on the Internet. We’ve created a necroprinting tag, just in case, but we’re not holding our breath for this to become the next big thing. At 20 um, more likely the next small thing.
