Analog radio broadcasts are pretty simple, right? Tune into a given frequency on the AM or FM bands, and what you hear is what you get. Or at least, that used to be the way, before smart engineers started figuring out all kinds of sneaky ways for extra signals to hop on to mainstream broadcasts.
Subcarrier radio once felt like the secret backchannel of the airwaves. Long before Wi-Fi, streaming, and digital multiplexing, these hidden signals beamed anything from elevator music and stock tickers to specialized content for medical professionals. Tuning into your favorite FM stations, you’d never notice them—unless you had the right hardware and a bit of know-how.
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?
These days, very few of us use optical media on the regular. If we do, it’s generally with a slot-loading console or car stereo, or an old-school tray-loader in a desktop or laptop. This has been the dominant way of using consumer optical media for some time.
Early CD players, like this top-loading Sony D-50, didn’t use caddies. Credit: Binarysequence, CC BY-SA 4.0
The Compact Disc, as developed by Phillips and Sony, was first released in 1982. It quickly became a popular format for music, offering far higher fidelity than existing analog formats like vinyl and cassettes. The CD-ROM followed in 1985, offering hundreds of megabytes of storage in an era when most hard drives barely broke 30 MB. The discs used lasers to read patterns of pits and lands from a reflective aluminum surface, encased in tough polycarbonate plastic. Crucially, the discs featured robust error correction techniques so that small scratches, dust, or blemishes wouldn’t stop a disc from working.
Notably, the first audio CD player—the Sony CDP-101—was a simple tray-loading machine. Phillips’ first effort, the CD100, was a top-loader. Neither used a caddy. Nor did the first CD-ROM drives—the Phillips CM100 was not dissimilar from the CD100, and tray loaders were readily available too, like the Amdek Laserdrive-1. Continue reading “Why Did Early CD-ROM Drives Rely On Awkward Plastic Caddies?”→
When you hear the cry of “Man Overboard!” on a ship, it’s an emergency situation. The sea is unkind to those that fall from their vessel, and survival is never guaranteed—even in the most favorable conditions. Raging swell and the dark of night can only make rescue more impossible.
Over the centuries, naval tradition has included techniques to find and recover the person in the water as quickly and safely as possible. These days, though, technology is playing an ever-greater role in such circumstances. Modern man-overboard (MOB) systems are designed to give crews of modern vessels a fighting chance when rescuing those in peril.
There are a heap of cool aspects to this specific Sony Vaio. It’s outrageously cute and purse-sized, the keyboard is nice enough for typing, motherboard schematics are available (very important!), and it’s not too terribly expensive. Of course, the most motivating aspect is that I happen to own one, its mainboard is not in the best state, and I’ve been itching to make it work.
It turned out to be a pretty complicated project, and, there was plenty to learn – way more than I expected in the beginning, too. I’m happy to announce that my v1 PCB design has been working wonders so far, and there are only a few small parts of it left untested.
I know that some of you might be looking to rebuild a lovely little computer of your choice. Hell, this particular laptop has had someone else rebuild it into a Pi-powered handheld years ago, as evidenced by this majestic “mess of wires” imgur build log! In honor of every hacker who has gotten their own almost-finished piece of hardware waiting for them half-assembled on the shelf, inside a KiCad file, or just inside your mind for now, let’s go through the tricks and decisions that helped make my board real.
Nuclear fission is a powerful phenomenon. When the conditions are right, atomic nuclei split, releasing neutrons that then split other nuclei in an ongoing chain reaction that releases enormous amounts of energy. This is how nuclear weapons work. In a more stable and controlled fashion, it’s how our nuclear reactors work too.
However, these chain reactions can also happen accidentally—with terrifying results. Though rare, criticality incidents – events where an accidental self-sustaining nuclear chain reaction occurs – serve as sobering reminders of the immense and unwieldy forces we attempt to harness when playing with nuclear materials.
The cable car system of San Francisco is the last manually operated cable car system in the world, with three of the original twenty-three lines still operating today. With these systems being installed between 1873 and 1890, they were due major maintenance and upgrades by the time the 1980s and with it their 100th year of operation rolled around. This rebuilding and upgrading process was recorded in a documentary by a local SF television station, which makes for some fascinating viewing.
San Francisco cable car making its way through traffic. Early 20th century.
While the cars themselves were fairly straight-forward to restore, and the original grips that’d latch onto the cable didn’t need any changes. But there were upgrades to the lubrication used (originally pine tar), and the powerhouse (the ‘barn’) was completely gutted and rebuilt.
As opposed to a funicular system where the cars are permanently attached to the cable, a cable car system features a constantly moving cable that the cars can grip onto at will, with most of the wear and tear on the grip dies. Despite researchers at San Francisco State University (SFSU) investigating alternatives, the original metal grip dies were left in place, despite their 4-day replacement schedule.
Ultimately, the rails and related guides were all ripped out and replaced with new ones, with the rails thermite-welded in place, and the cars largely rebuilt from scratch. Although new technologies were used where available, the goal was to keep the look as close as possible to what it looked at the dawn of the 20th century. While more expensive than demolishing and scrapping the original buildings and rolling stock, this helped to keep the look that has made it a historical symbol when the upgraded system rolled back into action on June 21, 1984.
Decades later, this rebuilt cable car system is still running as smoothly as ever, thanks to these efforts. Although SF’s cable car system is reportedly mostly used by tourists, the technology has seen somewhat of a resurgence. Amidst a number of funicular systems, a true new cable car system can be found in the form of e.g. the MiniMetro system which fills the automated people mover niche.
