Ed Nisley's Blog: Shop notes, electronics, firmware, machinery, 3D printing, laser cuttery, and curiosities. Contents: 100% human thinking, 0% AI slop.
The LCD gibberish comes from an interaction with the camera shutter. It scrolls a lengthy set of instructions, but the peeling labels demonstrate ain’t nobody got time for that.
You were supposed to figure out how to use this thing with no instructions other than the scrolling display. In particular, the multi-multi-function keypad has no labels.
I suspect most folks just haul out their phones and call the tenant.
Spotted on a walk along the Mighty Wappingers Creek after a storm with plenty of gusty winds:
Tree-smashed guide rail
The tangle of branches and logs came from a tree that fell across the road from the far right side and put that crease into the guide rail. The vertical stump seems unrelated to that incident.
A bit of rummaging at the base of one post produced a victim:
Tree-smashed guide rail – sheared bolt – side
The impact produced enough force to turn the rail brackets into guillotine metal shears against the posts:
Tree-smashed guide rail – sheared bolt – end
It’s not a clean shear cut, which isn’t surprising under the circumstances.
The outline traces a scanned image of my father’s tag, fitting a few hand-laid splines around the curves:
John Q Public – WWII dog tag – spline curves
I generated a random serial number based on my father’s draftee status (he was in his early 30s during his South Sea Island tour) and state of residence; my apologies to anyone carrying it for real. His blood type was A and (I think) the religion code marks him as “Brethren”, a common group in my ancestry.
Given the outline, various plastics, and a laser, other effects become possible:
I can’t tell whether the bollard stands in more concrete this time, but the gray pipe to the left of the gas meter is definitely new.
In round numbers, it took less than a week for the first impact, a week for the first repair, and … we shall see.
The white disk just behind it is a rat trap, with a subtle explanatory sign directly above it. The building has three such traps, so they’re apparently trying to stay ahead of a known problem; we find similar traps around most commercial establishments.
Being that type of guy, I wanted to salvage a loooong square-head bolt from the utility pole stub formerly holding up the mailboxes, which would require a few gazillion turns of its square head with the Adjustable Elephant Wrench. After verifying I couldn’t just hammer the mumble thing through the pole, I gave a few turns of the Universal Socket on a ratchet:
Universal Socket Wrench
It’s intended for goobered hex heads up to 1-¼ inch, but the pins slide down around pretty much anything that sticks out and jam against the shell, so it’s handy for those last-ditch extraction events.
After verifying doing this by hand would occupy me until just before the heat death of the universe, I followed Mad Phil’s signal connector adage: “If you can get to BNC, you can get to anything.”
Some rummaging produced this unsteady mechanical ziggurat:
Universal Socket to quarter-inch hex – adapter stack
From bottom to top:
Universal Socket with ½ inch square drive socket
1/2 inch square drive to ¾ inch hex
19 mm (close enough to ¾ inch) 12-point socket to ⅜ inch square drive socket
⅜ inch square drive to ¼ inch square drive socket
¼ inch square drive to ¼ inch hex drive
Then stick the teeny end into the hand drill, rig engines for reverse running, and whine away on that bolt, which obligingly backed right out.
After the fact, I found the obviously missing ¼ to ½ inch square drive adapter hiding in the Drawer o’ Sockets:
Universal Socket – short adapter stack
Which doesn’t make any more sense, but is less likely to fall apart under normal use.
Aaaaand one more adapter makes this possible:
Improper square drive adapter stack
That’s a 50 mm socket turned by ¼ inch hex drive in four easy steps, although I’m reasonably sure it still won’t get the idler bogies off my armored personnel carrier.
The stray adapter steps down from ½ square to ⅜ square, should a need for a breaker bar occur during eyeball surgery.
I can’t vouch for their accuracy, but finding recommended baking temperatures and times printed exactly where they will come in handy seems like a great idea.
It’s another example of the rule Eks taught me: When you must look up something, write it where you will need it the next time.
A LightBurn forum discussion about problems making Z-scale (1:220) bricks led me to trying a few ideas on the way to figuring out what was going wrong.
Each brick is about 1.0×0.5 mm, so an entire wall doesn’t cover much territory:
Z-scale bricks – assortment
Yes, those are millimeters along the scale.
The kerf on my 60 W CO₂ laser seems slightly wider than the “mortar” lines should be, so I made a layout with the vertical lines slightly inset from the horizontal ones:
Z Scale Brick Wall – LB layout
That let the kerf complete the lines without burning into the adjacent bricks:
Z Scale Brick Wall – laser lines
The cuts are obviously too wide (and deep!), but just for fun I colored the chipboard with red marker and rubbed a pinch of flour into the lines:
Z Scale Brick Wall – color and flour
Which looks chunky, but not terrible, for what it is. Maybe concrete blocks would look better?
The next attempt started with a raster bitmap scaled at 254 dpi = 10 pix/mm, so that single-pixel “mortar” lines between 10×5 pixel bricks would be 0.1 mm wide:
Raster Z-Scale Bricks
Scanning the image at 100 mm/s makes each pixel 1 ms “wide” and, because the power supply risetime is on the order of 1 ms, the laser won’t quite reach the 10% power level across the vertical lines:
Raster Z-Scale Bricks – LB layer settings
The raster lines come out lighter and (IMO) better looking:
Z Scale Brick Wall – raster lines
The horizontal lines are darker because the beam remains on at 10% across their full length, but the overall result seems much closer to the desired result.
The original poster will use a diode laser and, combining all the ideas we came up with, now has a path toward making good, albeit invisibly small, bricks.