Tiny Laptop Gets A New Case And An Unlocking

Unless you’ve got an especially small lap, calling the Toshiba Libretto a laptop is a bit of a stretch. The diminutive computers from the mid-1990s had a lot of the usual laptop features, but in an especially compact and portable case that made them a great choice for anyone with an on-the-go lifestyle.

Fast-forward thirty years or so, and the remaining Librettos haven’t fared too well. Many of them have cases that crumble at the slightest touch, which is what led [polymatt] to undertake this meticulous case replacement. The effort started with a complete teardown; luckily, the lower aluminum-alloy shell was in fine shape, but the upper case parts were found to be almost too deteriorated to handle. Still, with a little patience and the judicious application of tape, [polymatt] was able to scan the case pieces on a flatbed scanner and import them into his CAD package. Great tip on the blue-tack for leveling the parts for accurate scanning, by the way.

After multiple rounds of printing and tweaking, [polymatt] had a case good enough to reassemble the Libretto. Unfortunately, the previous owner left an unwanted gift: a BIOS password. Disconnecting the CMOS battery didn’t reset it, but a little research told him that shorting a few pins on the parallel port on the machine’s dock should do the trick. It was a bit involved, requiring the design and subsequent bodging of a PCB to fit into the docking port connector, but in the end he was able to wake up a machine to all its Windows 95 glory. Better get patching.

In a time when laptops were more like lap-crushers, the Libretto was an amazing little machine, and thirty years on, they’re well worth saving from the scrap heap. Hats off to [polymatt] for the effort to save this beauty, and if he needs tips on reading data from any PCMCIA cards that may have come with it, we’ve got him covered.

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Red and gold bakelite Philco farm radio on a workbench

Hacking A Heavyweight Philco Radio

There’s something magical about the clunk of a heavy 1950s portable radio – the solid thunk of Bakelite, the warm hum of tubes glowing to life. This is exactly why [Ken’s Lab] took on the restoration of a Philco 52-664, a portable AC/DC radio originally sold for $45 in 1953 (a small fortune back then!). Despite its beat-up exterior and faulty guts, [Ken] methodically restored it to working condition. His video details every crackling capacitor and crusty resistor he replaced, and it’s pure catnip for any hacker with a soft spot for analog tech. Does the name Philco ring a bell? Lately, we did cover the restoration of a 1958 Philco Predicta television.

What sets this radio hack apart? To begin with, [Ken] kept the restoration authentic, repurposing original capacitor cans and using era-appropriate materials – right down to boiling out old electrolytics in his wife’s discarded cooking pot. But, he went further. Lacking the space for modern components, [Ken] fabbed up a custom mounting solution from stiff styrofoam, fibreboard, and all-purpose glue. He even re-routed the B-wiring with creative terminal hacks. It’s a masterclass in patience, precision, and resourcefulness.

If this tickles your inner tinkerer, don’t miss out on the full video. It’s like stepping into a time machine.

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Transceiver Reveals Unusual Components

[MSylvain59] likes to tear down old surplus, and in the video below, he takes apart a German transceiver known as a U-600M. From the outside, it looks like an unremarkable gray box, especially since it is supposed to work with a remote unit, so there’s very little on the outside other than connectors. Inside, though, there’s plenty to see and even a few surprises.

Inside is a neatly built RF circuit with obviously shielded compartments. In addition to a configurable power supply, the radio has modules that allow configuration to different frequencies. One of the odder components is a large metal cylinder marked MF450-1900. This appears to be a mechanical filter. There are also a number of unusual parts like dogbone capacitors and tons of trimmer capacitors.

The plug-in modules are especially dense and interesting. In particular, some of the boards are different from some of the others. It is an interesting design from a time predating broadband digital synthesis techniques.

While this transceiver is stuffed with parts, it probably performs quite well. However, transceivers can be simple. Even more so if you throw in an SDR chip.

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Dismanteled Hallicrafters radio on workbench

Shortwave Resurrection: A Sticky Switch Fix On A Hallicrafters

Shortwave radio has a charm all its own: part history, part mystery, and a whole lot of tech nostalgia. The Hallicrafters S-53A is a prime example of mid-century engineering, but when you get your hands on one, chances are it won’t be in mint condition. Which was exactly the case for this restoration project by [Ken’s Lab], where the biggest challenge wasn’t fried capacitors or burned-out tubes, but a stubborn band selector switch that refused to budge.

What made it come to this point? The answer is: time, oxidation, and old-school metal tolerances. Instead of forcing it (and risking a very bad day), [Ken]’s repair involved careful disassembly, a strategic application of lubricant, and a bit of patience. As the switch started to free up, another pleasant surprise emerged: all the tubes were original Hallicrafters stock. A rare find, and a solid reason to get this radio working without unnecessary modifications. Because some day, owning a shortwave radio could be a good decision.

Once powered up, the receiver sprang to life, picking up shortwave stations loud and clear. Hallicrafters’ legendary durability proved itself once before, in this fix that we covered last year. It’s a reminder that sometimes, the best repairs aren’t about drastic changes, but small, well-placed fixes.

What golden oldie did you manage to fix up?

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Make Your Own Air Knife And Air Amplifier

Want to make your own air knife to cut things with? Unfortunately that’s not what these devices are intended for, but [This Old Tony] will show you how to make your own, while explaining what they are generally intended for.  His version deviates from the commercial version which he got his hands on in that he makes a round version instead of the straight one, but the concept is the same.

In short, an air knife is a laminar pressurized airflow device that provides a very strong and narrow air pattern, using either compressed air or that from a blower. Generally air knives will use the Coandă effect to keep the laminar flow attached to the device for as long as possible to multiply the air pressure above that from the laminar flow from the air knife itself. These are commonly used for cleaning debris and dust off surfaces in e.g. production lines.

As [Tony] shows in the disassembly of a commercial device, they are quite basic, with just two aluminium plates and a thin shim that creates the narrow opening through which the air can escape. The keyword here is ‘thin shim’, as [Tony] discovers that even a paper shim is too thick already. Amusingly, although he makes a working round air knife this way, it turns out that these are generally called an air amplifier, such as those from Exair and are often used for cooling and ventilation, with some having an adjustable opening to adjust the resulting airflow.

Some may recognize this principle for those fancy ‘bladeless’ fans that companies like Dyson sell, as they use essentially the same principle, just with a fan providing the pressure rather than a compressor.

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Over The Counter Glucose Monitor Dissected

If you deal with diabetes, you probably know how to prick your finger and use a little meter to read your glucose levels. The meters get better and better which mostly means they take less blood, so you don’t have to lacerate your finger so severely. Even so, taking your blood several times a day is hard on your fingertips. Continuous monitoring is available, but — until recently — required a prescription and was fairly expensive. [Andy] noticed the recent introduction of a relatively inexpensive over-the-counter sensor, the Stelo CGM. Of course, he had to find out what was inside, and thanks to him, you can see it, too.

If you haven’t used a continuous glucose monitor (CGM), there is still a prick involved, but it is once every two weeks or so and occurs in the back of your arm. A spring drives a needle into your flesh and retracts. However, it leaves behind a little catheter. The other end of the catheter is in an adhesive-backed module that stays put. It sounds a little uncomfortable, but normally, it is hardly noticeable, and even if it is, it is much better than sticking your finger repeatedly to draw out a bunch of blood.

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Close up of Zenit 19 camera

Behind The Lens: Tearing Down A Rare Soviet Zenit 19

If you’re into Soviet-era gear with a techy twist, you’ll love this teardown of a rare Zenit 19 camera courtesy of [msylvain59]. Found broken on eBay (for a steal!), this 1982 made-in-USSR single-lens reflex camera isn’t the average Zenit. It features, for example, electronically controlled shutter timing – quite the upgrade from its manual siblings.

The not-so-minor issue that made this Zenit 19 come for cheap was a missing shutter blade. You’d say – one blade gone rogue! Is it lost in the camera’s guts, or snapped clean off? Add to that some oxidized battery contacts and a cracked viewfinder, and you’ve got proper fixer-upper material. But that’s where it gets intriguing: the camera houses a rare hybrid electronic module (PAPO 074), complete with epoxy-covered resistors. The shutter speed dial directly adjusts a set of resistors, sending precise signals to the shutter assembly: a neat blend of old-school mechanics and early electronics.

Now will it shutter, or stutter? With its vertical metal shutter – uncommon in Zenits – and separate light metering circuitry, this teardown offers a rare glimpse into Soviet engineering flair. Hungry for more? We’ve covered a Soviet-era computer and a radio in the past. If you’re more into analog camera teardowns, you might like this analog Pi upgrade attempt, or this bare minimum analog camera project.

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