Like the lead paint and asbestos of decades past, microplastics are the new awful contaminant that we really ought to do something about. They’re particularly abundant in the aquatic environment, and that’s not a good thing. While we’ve all seen heartbreaking photos of beaches strewn with water bottles and fishing nets, it’s the invisible threat that keeps environmentalists up at night. We’re talking about microplastics – those tiny fragments that are quietly infiltrating every corner of our oceans.
We’ve dumped billions of tons of plastic waste into our environment, and all that waste breaks down into increasingly smaller particles that never truly disappear. Now, scientists are turning to an unexpected solution to clean up this pollution with the aid of seashells and plants.
A few weeks ago we brought you news of a new palmtop computer for hackers, powered by the new Espressif ESP32-P4 application processor. The Tanmatsu (Japanese for “Terminal”) is a compact handheld device with a QWERTY keyboard and an 800×480 DSI display, and while it currently exists at the final prototype stage there is a pre-order page upon which you can reserve an early production model for yourself. We’ve been lucky enough to be invited to give one a close-up inspection, so it was time to hot-foot it on the train to a Dutch hackerspace in order to bring you a preview.
A Little History, And First Impressions
Recesses in the case fit well against the hands.
Before looking at the device, it’s time for a little history. The Tanmatsu has its origin in badge.team, the Netherlands-based group that has produced so many European event badges over the years, and it was destined to eventually become the badge for the upcoming WHY2025 hacker camp. As sometimes happens in any community there has been a significant difference of opinion between the event orga and the badge.team folks that it’s inappropriate to go into here, so now it exists as a standalone project. It’s destined to be open-source in its entirety including hardware and software (and we will hold them to that, never fear), but because of the events surrounding its conception the full repositories will be not be made public until some time late in the summer.
Picking the Tanmatsu up and holding it, it’s a rectangular slab a bit larger and thicker than a CD case with that QWERTY keyboard and display on its front face, an array of ports including an SMA socket for a LoRA antenna on its sides, and an expansion connector on its rear. It has a sandwich construction, with a PCB front face, a 3D printed spacer, the PCB itself, and a 3D printed back cover all held together with a set of screws. The recesses on its bottom edge and the lower halves of the sides locate neatly with fingers and thumbs when it’s held in two hands for two-thumb typing. The keyboard is a silicone moulding as is common on this type of device, and while the keys are quite small it was not difficult to type on it. The display meanwhile feels of much higher quality than the SPI parts previously seen on badges. Continue reading “A Closer Look At The Tanmatsu”→
With 2024 now officially in the history books, it’s time to take our traditional look back and reflect on some of the top trends and stories from the past twelve months as viewed from the unique perspective Hackaday affords us. Thanks to the constant stream of tips and updates we receive from the community, we’ve got a better than average view of what’s on the mind of hardware hackers, engineers, and hobbyists.
This symbiotic relationship is something we take great pride in, which is why we also use this time of year to remind the readers just how much we appreciate them. We know it sounds line a line, but we really couldn’t do it without you. So whether you’ve just started reading in 2024 or been with us for years, everyone here at Hackaday thanks you for being part of something special. We’re keenly aware of how fortunate we are to still be running a successful blog in the era of YouTube and TikTok, and that’s all because people like you keep coming back. If you keep reading it, we’ll keep writing it.
So let’s take a trip down memory lane and go over just a handful of the stories that kept us talking in 2024. Did we miss your favorite? Feel free to share with the class in the comments.
Social media microblogging has brought us many annoying things, but some of the good things that have come to us through its seductive scrolling are those ad-hoc interest based communities which congregate around a hashtag. There’s one which has entranced me over the past few years which I’d like to share with you; the Shitty Camera Challenge. The premise is simple: take photographs with a shitty camera, and share them online. The promise meanwhile is to free photography from kit acquisition, and instead celebrate the cheap, the awful, the weird, and the wonderful in persuading these photographic nonentities to deliver beautiful pictures.
Where’s The Hack In Taking A Photo?
Of course, we can already hear you asking where the hack is in taking a photo. And you’d be right, because any fool can buy a disposable camera and press the shutter a few times. But from a hardware hacker perspective this exposes the true art of camera hacking, because not all shitty cameras can produce pictures without some work.
The #ShittyCameraChallenge has a list of cameras likely to be considered shitty enough, they include disposables, focus free cameras, instant cameras, and the cheap plastic cameras such as Lomo or Holga. But also on the list are models which use dead film formats, and less capable digital cameras. It’s a very subjective definition, and thus in our field everything from a Game Boy camera or a Raspberry Pi camera module to a home-made medium format camera could be considered shitty. Ans since even the ready-made shitty cameras are usually cheap and unloved second-hand, there’s a whole field of camera repair and hacking that opens up. Finally, here’s a photography competition that’s fairly and squarely on the bench of Hackaday readers. Continue reading “Release Your Inner Ansel Adams With The Shitty Camera Challenge”→
We talk a lot about patent disputes in today’s high-tech world. Whether it’s Wi-Fi, 3D printing, or progress bars, patent disputes can quickly become big money—for lawyers and litigants alike.
Where we see less of this, typically, is the world of sports. And yet, a recent football innovation has seen plenty of conflict in this very area. This is the controversial story of vanishing spray.
Patently Absurd
Vanishing spray has quickly become a common sight on the belts of professional referees. Credit: Balkan Photos, CC BY-SA 2.0
You might have played football (soccer) as a child, and if that’s the case, you probably don’t remember vanishing spray as a key part of the sport. Indeed, it’s a relatively modern innovation, which came into play in international matches from 2013. The spray allowed referees to mark a line with a sort of disappearing foam, which could then be used to enforce the 10-yard distance between opposing players and the ball during a free kick.
The product is a fairly simple aerosol—the cans contain water, butane, a surfactant, vegetable oil, and some other minor constituents. When the aerosol nozzle is pressed, the liquified butane expands into a gas, creating a foam with the water and surfactant content. This creates an obvious white line that then disappears in just a few minutes.
The spray was created by Brazilian inventor Heine Allemagne in 2000, and was originally given the name Spuni. He filed a patent in 2000, which was then granted in 2002. It was being used in professional games by 2001, and quickly adopted in the mainstream Brazilian professional competition.
The future looked bright for Allemagne and his invention, with the Brazilian meeting with FIFA in 2012 to explore its use at the highest level of international football. In 2013, FIFA adopted the use of the vanishing spray for the Club World Cup. It appeared again in the 2014 World Cup, and many competitions since. By this time, it had been renamed “9.15 Fair Play,” referring to the metric equivalent of the 10-yard (9.15 meter) distance for free kicks.
After its first use by FIFA, the use of vanishing spray quickly spread to other professional competitions, making its first appearance in the Premier League in 2014. Credit: Egghead06, CC BY-SA 4.0
The controversy came later. Allemagne would go on to publicly claim that the global sporting body had refused to pay him the agreed price for his patent. He would go on to tell the press he’d knocked back an initial offer of $500,000, with FIFA later agreeing to pay $40 million for the invention. Only, the organization never actually paid up, and started encouraging the manufacture of copycat products from other manufacturers. In 2017, the matter went to court, with a Brazilian ruling acknowledging Allemagne’s patent. It also ordered FIFA to stop using the spray, or else face the risk of fines. However, as is often the way, FIFA repeatedly attempted to appeal the decision, raising questions about the validity of Allemagne’s patent.
The case has languished in the legal system for years since. In 2020, one court found against Allemagne, stating he hadn’t proven that FIFA had infringed his products or that he had suffered any real damages. By 2022, that had been overturned on appeal to a higher court, which found that FIFA had to pay material damages for their use of vanishing spray, and for the loss of profits suffered by Allemagne. The latest development occurred earlier this year, with the Superior Court of Justice ruling that FIFA must compensate Allemagne for his invention. In May, CNN reported that he expected to receive $40 million as a result of the case, with all five ministers on the Superior Court ruling in his favor.
Ultimately, vanishing spray is yet another case of authorities implementing ever-greater control over the world of football. It’s also another sad case of an inventor having to fight to receive their due compensation for an innovative idea. What seems like an open-and-shut case nevertheless took years to untangle in the courts. It’s a shame, because what should be a simple and tidy addition to the world of football has become a mess of litigation that cost time, money, and a great deal of strife. It was ever thus.
Recently there was a bit of a panic in the media regarding a very common item in kitchens all around the world: black plastic utensils used for flipping, scooping and otherwise handling our food while preparing culinary delights. The claim was that the recycled plastic which is used for many of these utensils leak a bad kind of flame-retardant chemical, decabromodiphenyl ether, or BDE-209, at a rate that would bring it dangerously close to the maximum allowed intake limit for humans. Only this claim was incorrect because the researchers who did the original study got their calculation of the intake limit wrong by a factor of ten.
This recent example is emblematic of how simple mistakes can combine with a reluctance to validate conclusions can lead successive consumers down a game of telephone where the original text may already have been wrong, where each node does not validate the provided text, and suddenly everyone knows that using certain kitchen utensils, microwaving dishes or adding that one thing to your food is pretty much guaranteed to kill you.
How does one go about defending oneself from becoming an unwitting factor in creating and propagating misinformation?
The London Underground is an iconic piece of Victorian era engineering. What started in 1863 quickly became a core piece of infrastructure that would define the modern character of the British capital. It’s grown and changed immensely in the many years that have passed. Sadly, increasing patronage and more trains have created problems that the original designers never envisaged.
Deep in those London tunnels lies an engineering challenge. The Tube is literally cooking itself. Every day, millions of commuters descend into a network of tunnels that have been absorbing heat since the reign of Queen Victoria. Those clay-lined tubes have been soaking up excess thermal energy like a giant underground radiator, and now they’re giving it back with interest. The tunnels are simply too hot, and cooling them down is inordinately difficult.
The Perfect Storm of Thermal Chaos
The Tube’s heat problem isn’t just about one thing gone wrong – it’s about everything gone wrong at once. When Victorian engineers designed these tunnels, cooling wasn’t a major consideration. The tight, compact tunnels were built deep, nestled in the clay beneath London. In the early days, temperatures in the Underground were considered comfortably low.
“The Underground’s the only spot for comfort when the days are hot; it is cooler below.” – London Underground poster, 1926
Originally, the clay surrounding the tunnels sat at around 14°C, acting as a heat sink for the network. However, over the years, with more trains coming and going and more heat pouring in, the temperature has risen. It now typically sits anywhere from 19° to 26 °C. That’s just the earth around the tunnels, though. Air temperatures are worse—hitting as high as 47°C during a 2006 heatwave. The problem has been a continual bugbear of the beloved Tube, with concerns that future heatwaves could see temperatures rise ever higher. Continue reading “The London Underground Is Too Hot, But It’s Not An Easy Fix”→
