Ed Nisley's Blog: Shop notes, electronics, firmware, machinery, 3D printing, laser cuttery, and curiosities. Contents: 100% human thinking, 0% AI slop.
So this device showed up in an envelope with a letter telling us we’d won a contest if, of course, the number on the device matched the number in the letter:
CodeKase device
I wonder if anybody else had second thoughts about pulling what’s obviously an insulating sheet holding two contacts apart? In this day and age, getting the victim to blow his own fingers off probably counts as a win.
Maybe it comes from having read The White Plague at an impressionable age. Who could resist getting a Nice Thing in the mail?
The number matched, of course, but the letter’s finer print said the prize would be one of:
A new car of some sort
A flat screen TV
A cheap electronic trinket
A three-day / two night vacation
In order to claim your prize, you had to call an 800 number. The much finer print revealed the odds of winning the first three of those prizes was somewhere around 300,000:1. “Winning” the vacation was essentially a slam-dunk proposition, of course, and probably tells you everything you need to know about the course of the phone call.
It’s apparently economical to send out this much hardware to reel in new “customers”:
CodeKase device – parts
Using the metal disk from a membrane switch as a spring to push the coin cell against the contact wires is a nice touch. This is apparently the optimized version that uses a single lithium cell in place of two alkaline buttons; the cell “socket” on the other end consists of vestigial lumps.
I harvested the lithium cell and the blue LED, of course…
More about CodeKase, direct from the source. I like “Step Five: Recycle Your CodeKase”…
After donating the never–sufficiently-to-be-damnedSamsungvacuumcleaner (and all its remaining bags & doodads) to a nonprofit’s tag sale, we picked up a Sears Kenmore Progressive vacuum cleaner that seemed to be the least awful of the current offerings. Unlike all previous vacuum cleaners, its tools & doodads have complex plastic fittings with latches and keyways and all manner of gimcrackery. The designers seem to have hands and legs of far-above-average size, but that’s another rant.
All this came to a head when I attempted to vacuum the fuzz out of the refrigerator’s evaporator coils, because the long snout that reaches the back of the refrigerator doesn’t fit the aperture in the giant handle.
Well, at least I can fix that…
The first step involved modeling the plastic fitting that snaps into the handle:
Which spits out two suitable shapes with the proper positions and alignments:
Kenmore Male Fitting – Latch detail – Solid model
The magic wand for the refrigerator originally slid into the Samsung’s metal pipe, so I put a slightly tapered cylinder inside a somewhat more tapered exterior (which seems chunky enough to withstand my flailing around under the refrigerator), then topped it off with the male fitting:
Refrigerator Coil Wand Adapter
The Kenmore crevice tool snaps under the gargantuan plastic handle, which limits it to being 6.5 inches long, totally unable to reach into any of the nontrivial crevices around here, and in the way when it’s not being used. Some rummaging turned up a longer crevice tool from the Electrolux That Came With The House™, an old-school tool that slipped over its pipe. Modeling a straight cylinder inside a tapered cylinder that fits the tool didn’t take long:
Crevice Tool Adapter
Flushed with success, I found a smaller floor brush than the new Kenmore, with dimensions similar to the Electrolux snout, so another module appeared:
Floor Brush Adapter
All of them build with the latch end upward to avoid needing support structure, with a 5 mm brim for good platform adhesion:
Floor Brush Adapter – Slic3r preview
I printed them during the PDS Mini Maker Faire as examples of Useful Things You Can Do With a 3D Printer:
Kenmore Vacuum Cleaner – Tool Adapters
As I pointed out to nearly everybody, the Big Lie about 3D printing is that you’ll just download somebody else’s model to solve your problem. In general, that won’t work, because nobody else has your problem; if you can’t do solid modeling, there’s no point in you having a 3D printer. There’s also no point in going to Kinko’s to get a standardized 3D printed doodad, because you can just order a better-looking injection-molded part directly from Sears (or an aftermarket source) and be done with it.
I loves me some good OpenSCAD action on my Makergear M2, though…
The OpenSCAD source code:
// Kenmore vacuum cleaner nozzle adapters
// Ed Nisley KE4ZNU November 2015
// Layout options
Layout = "CreviceTool"; // MaleFitting CoilWand FloorBrush CreviceTool
//- Extrusion parameters must match reality!
// Print with +1 shells and 3 solid layers
ThreadThick = 0.25;
ThreadWidth = 0.40;
HoleWindage = 0.2;
function IntegerMultiple(Size,Unit) = Unit * ceil(Size / Unit);
Protrusion = 0.1; // make holes end cleanly
//----------------------
// Dimensions
ID1 = 0; // for tapered tubes
ID2 = 1;
OD1 = 2;
OD2 = 3;
LENGTH = 4;
OEMTube = [35.0,35.0,41.7,40.5,30.0]; // main fitting tube
EndStop = [OEMTube[ID1],OEMTube[ID2],47.5,47.5,6.5]; // flange at end of main tube
FittingOAL = OEMTube[LENGTH] + EndStop[LENGTH];
$fn = 12*4;
//----------------------
// Useful routines
module PolyCyl(Dia,Height,ForceSides=0) { // based on nophead's polyholes
Sides = (ForceSides != 0) ? ForceSides : (ceil(Dia) + 2);
FixDia = Dia / cos(180/Sides);
cylinder(r=(FixDia + HoleWindage)/2,
h=Height,
$fn=Sides);
}
//-------------------
// Male fitting on end of Kenmore tools
// This slides into the end of the handle or wand and latches firmly in place
module MaleFitting() {
Latch = [40,11.5,5.0]; // rectangle latch opening
EntryAngle = 45; // latch entry ramp
EntrySides = 16;
EntryHeight = 15.0; // lower edge on *inside* of fitting
KeyRadius = 1.0;
translate([0,0,6.5])
difference() {
union() {
cylinder(d1=OEMTube[OD1],d2=OEMTube[OD2],h=OEMTube[LENGTH]); // main tube
hull() // insertion guide
for (i=[-(6.0/2 - KeyRadius),(6.0/2 - KeyRadius)],
j=[-(28.0/2 - KeyRadius),(28.0/2 - KeyRadius)],
k=[-(26.0/2 - KeyRadius),(26.0/2 - KeyRadius)])
translate([(i - (OEMTube[ID1]/2 + OEMTube[OD1]/2)/2 + 6.0/2),j,(k + 26.0/2 - 1.0)])
sphere(r=KeyRadius,$fn=8);
translate([0,0,-EndStop[LENGTH]]) // wand tube butts against this
cylinder(d=EndStop[OD1],h=EndStop[LENGTH] + Protrusion);
}
translate([0,0,-OEMTube[LENGTH]]) // main bore
cylinder(d=OEMTube[ID1],h=2*OEMTube[LENGTH] + 2*Protrusion);
translate([0,-11.5/2,23.0 - 5.0]) // latch opening
cube(Latch);
translate([OEMTube[ID1]/2 + EntryHeight/tan(90-EntryAngle),0,0]) // latch ramp
translate([(Latch[1]/cos(180/EntrySides))*cos(EntryAngle)/2,0,(Latch[1]/cos(180/EntrySides))*sin(EntryAngle)/2])
rotate([0,-EntryAngle,0])
intersection() {
rotate(180/EntrySides)
PolyCyl(Latch[1],Latch[0],EntrySides);
translate([-(2*Latch[0])/2,0,-Protrusion])
cube(2*Latch[0],center=true);
}
}
}
//-------------------
// Refrigerator evaporator coil wand
module CoilWand() {
union() {
translate([0,0,50.0])
rotate([180,0,0])
difference() {
cylinder(d1=EndStop[OD1],d2=42.0,h=50.0);
translate([0,0,-Protrusion])
cylinder(d1=35.0,d2=35.8,h=100);
}
translate([0,0,50.0 - Protrusion])
MaleFitting();
}
}
//-------------------
// Refrigerator evaporator coil wand
module FloorBrush() {
union() {
translate([0,0,60.0])
rotate([180,0,0])
difference() {
union() {
cylinder(d1=EndStop[OD1],d2=32.4,h=10.0);
translate([0,0,10.0 - Protrusion])
cylinder(d1=32.4,d2=30.7,h=50.0 + Protrusion);
}
translate([0,0,-Protrusion])
cylinder(d1=28.0,d2=24.0,h=100);
}
translate([0,0,60.0 - Protrusion])
MaleFitting();
}
}
//-------------------
// Crevice tool
module CreviceTool() {
union() {
translate([0,0,60.0])
rotate([180,0,0])
difference() {
union() {
cylinder(d1=EndStop[OD1],d2=32.0,h=10.0);
translate([0,0,10.0 - Protrusion])
cylinder(d1=32.0,d2=30.4,h=50.0 + Protrusion);
}
translate([0,0,-Protrusion])
cylinder(d1=28.0,d2=24.0,h=100);
}
translate([0,0,60.0 - Protrusion])
MaleFitting();
}
}
//----------------------
// Build it!
if (Layout == "MaleFitting")
MaleFitting();
if (Layout == "CoilWand")
CoilWand();
if (Layout == "FloorBrush")
FloorBrush();
if (Layout == "CreviceTool")
CreviceTool();
20 oz Starbucks City Mug (got ’em cheap at a tag sale)
Preparation
Microwave the generous cup o’ milk for 1 minute
Mix dry ingredients in the giant mug
Stir in just enough cold milk to make a thick mud (*)
Add peppermint drops using 1/4 tsp measure
Rinse 1/4 tsp measure with vanilla
Blend the extracts into the mud (*)
Stir in warm milk, scraping mud off the mug
Microwave for another 45 s or so
Stir to blend
What’s going on:
More cocoa = more flavor, pure & simple
Less sugar = more cocoa bite
Vietnamese cinnamon adds the aroma & zip of those old Atomic Fireballs
Vanilla smooths the taste
Peppermint reminds you it’s winter
Sipping a cup in the afternoon banishes the urge to power-nosh anything else until suppertime…
* Update: non-alkalized / non-Dutch-process cocoa doesn’t blend well. Mix up the mud, let it set for 15 minutes, blend again, pause for 5 minutes, then proceed. Wonderfully smooth with no powder bombs.
The south- and snowplow-facing numbers on the mailbox weren’t up to the challenge:
Mailbox – faded numbers
I wiped the crud off the reflective labels with denatured alcohol before painting, but that was the extent of the surface preparation.
I’m not getting graded on my ability to paint within the lines using a foam brush and that’s a Good Thing:
Mailbox – repainted numbers
That’s Rustoleum Rusty Metal Primer, chosen entirely because it was oil-based, outdoor-rated, and near the front of the shelf. I’m not going to topcoat it; that stuff is on its own. The slight color variations show still-wet primer here & there.
The north-facing numbers were in better shape, so a few dabs covered the obvious problems.
Hey, I wiped that peeling paint off the top of the box, too…
The really good thing about having torsion springs on the garage door is that when one breaks, not much happens:
Garage door torsion spring – broken end
We decided to spray money on the problem and make it go away; the Dutchess Overhead Doors tech was here the morning after I called: quicker than Amazon Prime and he works much faster than I can.
As nearly as I can tell from the checkbook (remember checkbooks?), an original (to us, anyway) spring broke shortly after we moved in. If so, that spring lasted nearly 17 years; at two open-shut cycles per day, let’s call it 12,000 cycles.
For the record, the springs are:
29 inches long
1-3/4 inch ID
0.250 wire
7 foot tall door
He cranked in seven full turns, corresponding to the “one turn per foot of door height” rule, although the door doesn’t quite balance on its own. I’d have done one more quarter-turn to match the chalk above the door (a good example of write it where you use it), plus maybe another for good measure, but I’m reluctant to mess with success:
Perhaps the 1955 springs were 32 inches long, but the tech replaced what he found both times. It’s a brute of a door, two generous cars wide, with plywood panels in heavy wood framing, plus a few pounds of filler I applied to the rather crazed surface before painting it some years ago.
I’m mildly surprised none of the dimensions changed in the last 60 years: the springs, end caps, pulleys, and hardware directly interchanged.
It has a number of shortcomings (notice the padding taped to the corner of the useless drawers), but the most pressing problem was that it didn’t quite line up with the table top in the Basement Sewing Room. After some pondering, we decided to shorten the legs and install leveling screws.
The first problem was figuring out how to dismantle the thing. It turns out the legs have completely hidden joint hardware:
Sears Sewing Table – leg joint hardware
They’re obviously intended as assemble-only fittings, but prying from the inside of the corners will put the tool marks where they can’t be seen:
Sears Sewing Table – leg removal
The legs taper below the fittings and require shims to prevent horrible saw accidents:
Sears Sewing Table – leg shortening
Another in my continuing series of Why You Can Never Have Too Many Clamps shows the square section of the leg aligned with the saw fence:
Sears Sewing Table – leg clamps
And when the cuttin’ were done, it turned out that the table had two different types of legs with (at least) two different lengths:
Sears Sewing Table – leg cutoffs
I have a bunch of 5/16 inch feet from some random industrial hardware, so I drilled a 5/16 inch hole into the legs, using a doweling jig and more shims:
Sears Sewing Table – leg drilling setup – overview
Normally, you’d bang a T-nut into each leg, but I thought those spikes would split the minimal wood remaining around the hole, so I turned the corners off a quartet of ordinary hex nuts and laid a coarse groove along their length:
Sears Sewing Table – preparing nut inserts
The modified nuts are 1/2 inch OD and you should drill that hole before the longer 5/16 inch clearance hole. I’ll eventually dab some epoxy in the holes, seat the nuts, and that’ll be a permanent installation with no risk of cracking the legs.
The snippet of tape on the doweling jig remembers the drill guide position, but the legs were sufficiently different that each one required different shims and some hand-tuning:
Sears Sewing Table – leg drilling setup – detail
I dry-assembled the table in anticipation of more modifications. Basically, you wiggle-jiggle the leg studs into their latches, then whack the end of the leg with a rubber mallet to seat it against the underside of the tabletop.
Slicing another half inch off the legs seems like a Good Idea that should better match the upstairs table. Mary also wants to round off the drawers and remove a bit of the front panel, which will require dismantling the entire table, but that can wait for a pause in the quilting.
The burner in our oven failed in December 2006, probably because the charred remains of an insect produced a hotspot:
Burned Oven Tube Overview
That replacement burner came with its own igniter that failed after 8.5 years, with symptoms of slow oven ignition and the occasional smell of propane.
In normal operation, the igniter element glows yellow-hot for a minute or so before the valve opens, gas flows over the igniter, there’s a muffled whoomf, and the oven begins heating. The igniter remains powered as long as the oven is on, emitting a baleful yellow glare through the slots in the oven’s lower cover.
It consists of a ceramic base holding a stout resistance heater that apparently suffers from increasing resistance as it ages, reducing the current to the point where it won’t activate the gas valve.
I didn’t know that, either, but Google sees all, knows all, and tells most.
The gas valve label says it requires 3.3 to 3.6 A from the heater to turn on the gas:
Kenmore range oven gas valve – data plate
But the old heater was good for barely 2.6 A (there’s a bit of parallax in this view):
Kenmore range oven gas valve – weak igniter current
Igniters range from $18 to upwards of $60 on Amazon, so I picked the cheapest one, waited two days, installed it, and measured 3.5 A at First Light, down to a bit over 3.0 A at running temperature. That’s on the low side of the valve’s spec, but it seems happier with an extra half amp.
We’ll see how long this igniter lasts; maybe next time I’ll double my spend…
The Smell of Molten Projects in the Morning 