Posts Tagged Memo to Self
For reasons not relevant here, I recently conjured a pair of tables to support an injured arm (ours are OK!) in the bathroom: one table fitting in the narrow space adjacent to a toilet and the other across the threshold of a walk-in / sit-down shower.
The raw material came from a plastic side table intended for outdoor use:
That’s the Patriotic Blue version, which seemed the least offensive of the colors on offer at the local store.
The plastic pieces unsnap easily enough:
The legs also come apart by pulling outward at the crossover points. You may need to clean the flashing from all the joints, as they’re only as finished as absolutely necessary.
A table about half the width seemed about right, so I sawed the two top plates off their struts, then angled the strut ends to match the new leg angle:
Because it’s now completely floppy, I drilled holes for 5 mm screws through the struts:
In the process, I discovered stainless steel nyloc nuts tend to gall on stainless steel screws:
I lost a pair of screws + nuts before I got a clue and began adding a drop of machine oil to each screw before tightening the nuts. Haven’t had that problem with the 3 mm SS screws, so there’s always something new to learn.
With all the screws in place, the half-table becomes a rigid contraption:
The top looks like it’s suffering from severe barrel distortion, but it really started out looking that way:
The slat sides are all curved, except the far edge that was once in the middle of the table and now fits against the wall.
It may be slightly too short, but we can stack foam slabs on the top, probably held in place with cable ties.
Memo to Self: lube all the stainless steel screws!
A bag of 100 nF ceramic caps arrived from across the continent (“US Stock”) and failed incoming inspection:
The capacitor mark says 104, which is what you’d expect on a 100 nF cap, but the first half-dozen out of the bag measured around 55 nF, far outside even the loosest -20%/+50% tolerance.
Stipulated: the factory can ship every capacitor it makes with a proper mark.
Given their (lack of) provenance, they could be mis-marked 47 nF caps.
Somewhat to my surprise, a refund occurred instantly after I reported the problem.
Trust, but verify.
The maximum current drops from 20 A for frequencies above 20 kHz:
There’s a 100 A·μs pulse charge limit:
Because the probe is actually a pulse transformer, its internal termination imposes a (small) load on the input circuit:
The specs are 100 mΩ at 1 MHz and 500 mΩ at 50 MHz, which means the load is essentially zilch for the circuits and signals I deal with.
The Tektronix Probes for Current Measurement Systems has some useful descriptions.
Memo to Self: Should any of those limits matter, rethink what you’re doing.
An interesting story about the AM503 design from someone who lived through it.
Although the pair of Ortlieb Back-Roller packs on Mary’s bike make her look like a long-distance tourist, we’re actually on our way to her garden plot:
The left-side pack suddenly seemed unusually floppy:
One second later:
Another second and it’s visible under my right hand:
The view from her bike at about the same time:
I’m expecting to fall to my right, but it’d have been better if I hadn’t kicked the bag:
The pack went under the rear wheel and out the far side:
Where it came to rest in the middle of the trail:
Elapsed time from the first picture: just under 5 s.
Did you notice the other cyclist in the other pictures? She’s why I veered so hard to my right!
A pair of these latches hold the pack onto the rear rack:
When they’re properly engaged, they look like this:
When they’re not, they look like this:
Which is obvious in the picture and inconspicuous in real life.
The strap emerging from the top of the latch serves as both a carrying handle and latch release: pull upward to open the latches and release them from the bar, lift to remove the pack, and carry it away as you go. Installing the pack proceeds in reverse: lower the pack onto the rack bar, release the handle, and the latches engage.
Unless the pack is empty enough to not quite fully open the latches as you carry it, in which case the closed latches simply rest on the bar. We’ve both made that mistake and I generally give her packs a quick glance to ensure sure they’re latched. In this case, the plastic drawer atop the racks (carrying seedling pots on their way to the garden) completely concealed the pack latches.
Tree roots have been creasing the asphalt along that section of the rail trail: the bike finally bounced hard enough to lift the drawer and fall off the rack rod.
Memo to Self: In addition to the visual check, lift the packs using the strap across the middle holding the rolled-down top in place. Remember, don’t check by lifting the carrying handle, because it just releases the latches; another easy mistake to make.
When I rewired the guts of the digital tattoo power supply to eliminate the series foot switch, I kept the original wiring polarity, with the black wire to the sleeve and the red wire to the tip:
It’s the same color code I (strongly) recommend in the Squidwrench Electronics Workshops: use any color for the ground / common wire as long as it’s black, then, if you have a red wire, use it for the positive supply. You can use yellow for the higher supply voltage, but stop being clever.
I put suitably colored Powerpoles on the far end of the cable to replace the standard tattoo machine spring clip connector, so I can attach clip leads, battery test fixtures, and so forth and so on.
We wired the supply into a clip-leaded diode measurement setup with a current limiting resistor and a pair of multimeters to measure the diode current and forward voltage, whereupon we noticed all the meters displayed negative voltages and currents.
After a frenzy of wire-checking verified their setup was all good, I forced the simplest possible test, herein recreated on my bench:
Which produced this display:
After a brief exploration of “Trust, but verify” territory, we swapped the clip leads from the power supply and continued the mission.
Back on my bench, I pulled the supply apart and measured the voltage at the jack terminals:
Still negative. Huh.
The bottom of the power supply PCB shows exactly what you should expect by now:
The red wire near the top of the board is, indeed, soldered to the trace labeled GND and goes to the jack’s tip terminal; the adjacent black wire goes to the front-panel LED. Similarly, the black wire just below it, soldered to the same trace as the yellow wire, goes to the jack’s sleeve terminal; that trace also connects to a resistor leading to the trace labeled LED+ and the LED’s red wire.
Although tattoo machines run from DC supplies, their motors or vibrators don’t depend on any particular polarity and will run fine with a backwards supply.
Resoldering the red and black wires where they should go produces the expected sign at the jack:
Although measuring and plotting diode voltages and currents may seem tedious, actually wiring stuff together and taking data reveals how difficult the real world can be.
I trusted the supply’s internal color code and, although I’m certain I tested the Powerpoles, I obviously didn’t notice the meter’s sign.
Memo to self: Sheesh.
Spotted while in the midst of replacing my Tour Easy’s rear grip shifter:
As you might expect, the cable saws through the side of its ferrule and the brazed-on frame fitting, because it’s been basically impossible (for me, anyhow) to find a replacement derailleur duplicating whatever the good folks at Easy Racers shipped back in 2001.
On the upside, this derailleur’s cable entry has a nicely rounded ramp eliminating the need for my brass cable pulley widget.
Memo to Self: Perhaps running the cable around a bearing anchored to the frame fitting would help?
I’ve obviously forgotten to fix this for several years, so putting it here may serve as a Round Tuit.
Speaking of automotive fuses, our 2015 Subaru Forester has a pair of fuse boxes, hereby documented in case of need.
One under the hood:
Note the white fuse puller near the top.
The layout chart doesn’t say what “SBF” might be, but we have a lot of whatever it is:
The spare fuses line up along the lower edge of the cover.
Another under the dashboard:
And their functions:
The string of fuses down the right side of the main block looks like a line of spares, but they’re not. What they might be isn’t documented anywhere, which seems to be very deliberate.
Memo to Self: Having never replaced an automotive fuse, I shouldn’t start worrying now.