TechyMagThings

[Michel Jean] asked a question few others might: what exactly is going on under the hood of a classic HP scientific calculator when one presses the ∫ key? A numerical integration, sure, but how exactly? There are a number of useful algorithms that could be firing up when the integral button is pressed, and like any curious hacker [Michel] decided to personally verify what was happening.

[Michel] implemented different integration algorithms in C++ and experimentally compared them against HP calculator results. By setting up rigorous tests, [Michel] was able to conclude that the calculators definitely use Romberg-Kahan, developed by HP Mathematician William Kahan.

Selected by HP in 1979 for use in their scientific calculators, the Romberg-Kahan algorithm was kept in service for nearly a decade. Was it because the algorithm was fast and efficient? Not really. The reason it was chosen over others was on account of its robustness. Some methods are ridiculously fast and tremendously elegant at certain types of problem, but fall apart when applied to others. The Romberg-Kahan algorithm is the only one that never throws up its hands in failure; ideal for a general-purpose scientific calculator that knows only what its operator keys in, and not a lick more.

It’s a pretty neat fact about classic HP calculators, and an interesting bit of historical context for these machines. Should you wish for something a bit more tactile and don’t mind some DIY, it’s entirely possible to re-create old HP calculators as handhelds driven by modern microcontrollers, complete with 3D-printed cases.

Thanks to [Stephen Walters] for the tip!

IBM Selectric typewriters have a lot of unique parts that can be tricky to source, but one we didn’t think of was the clear acrylic(?) dust covers, that are apparently very hard to find in good shape. [Eric Strebel] has a few Selectrics that all have issues with these parts. While you could come close to recreating this piece with acrylic sheeting carefully bent to match the original shape, [Eric] has a different hammer to try in a new video: replicating it with a resin casting.

He uses de-gassed tin-cure silicone to create a mold for the original, with a bit of 3D printed PLA and foam board to hold the silicone to create the mold. That’s done in two steps to create a two-part mold, which is separated and cleaned before the resin goes in. The original part is actually a smoky plastic, rather than fully clear, but [Eric] is able to match it perfectly using a colourant in his clear epoxy resin. The resin is put into the mold with a simple gravity pour, though he does have a vibrator on it to help it flow. Curing is done under heat and pressure– 60 PSI. The results are amazing; once he adds a touch of paint to match the black finish on one face of the original, it’s very difficult to tell [Eric]’s casting from his master piece, except that the cast replicas are in better shape.

This particular part works very well for casting and not much else. While you could match the large curve by heat-bending a piece of smoky acrylic, there are lips along the edges of the part that would be tricky to reproduce. [Eric] also needed several, for his multiple typewriters, and this method is very efficient at producing multiple units since the mold is reusable.

While you might not have an IBM Selectric that needs a dust cover, this technique is equally applicable to all sorts of clear shapes. If you’re new to resin casting, we have a handy guide to replicating plastic parts to get you started in this kind of work. It’s not just large parts that can be replicated: you can even copy phonograph records, such is the fidelity of resin casting.

This unusual clock by [Moritz v. Sivers] looks like a holographic dial surrounded by an LED ring, but that turns out to not be the case. What appears to be a ring of LEDs is in fact a second hologram. There are LEDs but they are tucked out of the way, and not directly visible. The result is a very unusual clock that really isn’t what it appears to be.

The face of the clock is a reflection hologram of a numbered spiral that serves as a dial. A single LED – the only one visibly mounted – illuminates this hologram from the front in order to produce the sort of holographic image most of us are familiar with, creating a sense of depth.

The lights around the circumference are another matter. What looks like a ring of LEDs serving as clock hands is actually a transmission hologram made of sixty separate exposures. By illuminating this hologram at just the right angle with LEDs (which are mounted behind the visible area), it is possible to selectively address each of those sixty exposures. The result is something that really looks like there are lit LEDs where there are in fact none.

[Moritz] actually made two clocks in this fashion. The larger green one shown here, and a smaller red version which makes some of the operating principles a bit more obvious on account of its simpler construction.

If it all sounds a bit wild or you would like to see it in action, check out the video (embedded below) which not only showcases the entire operation and assembly but also demonstrates the depth of planning and careful execution that goes into multi-exposure of a holographic plate.

[Moritz v. Sivers] is no stranger to making unusual clocks. In fact, this analog holographic clock is a direct successor to his holographic 7-segment display clock. And don’t miss the caustic clock, nor his lenticular clock.

Debugging an application crash can oftentimes feel like you’re an intrepid detective in a grimy noir detective story, tasked with figuring out the sordid details behind an ugly crime. Slogging through scarce clues and vapid hints, you find yourself down in the dumps, contemplating the deeper meaning of life and  the true nature of man, before hitting that eureka moment and cracking the case. One might say that this makes for a good game idea, and [Jonathan] would agree with that notion, thus creating the Fatal Core Dump game.

Details can be found in the (spoiler-rich) blog post on how the game was conceived and implemented. The premise of the game is that of an inexplicable airlock failure on an asteroid mining station, with you being the engineer tasked to figure out whether it was ‘just a glitch’ or that something more sinister was afoot. Although an RPG-style game was also considered, ultimately that proved to be a massive challenge with RPG Maker, resulting in this more barebones game, making it arguably more realistic.

Suffice it to say that this game is not designed to be a cheap copy of real debugging, but the real deal. You’re expected to be very comfortable with C, GDB, core dump analysis, x86_64 ASM, Linux binary runtime details and more. At the end you should be able to tell whether it was just a silly mistake made by an under-caffeinated developer years prior, or a malicious attack that exploited or introduced some weakness in the code.

If you want to have a poke at the code behind the game, perhaps to feel inspired to make your own take on this genre, you can take a look at the GitHub project.

Admit it. If you haven’t created your own little programming language, you’ve probably at least thought about it. [Muffed] decided to create a unique — and sweet — programming language that uses M&M (or, at least, M&M-like) candies as the building block of programs.

If this sounds strange, it is because, honestly, it is. It all started when a packet of GEMS (the Cadbury’s version of M&Ms)  spilled and randomly fell in the shape of an arrow. There are only six symbols corresponding to the colors in a package. You create your program by arranging the candies and creating a digital image of the result. In practice, you’ll probably use ASCII text to represent your candy layout and let the compiler render the image for you.

The main way of encoding things is by the number of colored candy pixels in a row. So three blue morsels in an opcode, while four is a different opcode. Red candies encode integer literals with one candy being zero, two being one, and so on. Blue indicates control flow, green candy handles variables and stack operations, yellow is for math, and so on.

Since building things like strings. So, sadly, the M&M program isn’t complete without a run-time data file in JSON format. The title graphic shows a Hello World program that you can run in the web page, but it doesn’t show the JSON file. That’s here:

{
   "strings": ["Hello, world!"],
   "variables": [],
   "inputs": {
      "int": [],
      "str": []
   }
}

We don’t know of any other language where you can literally eat your mistakes. There’s something to be said for that. If you want to try it, you can just write over one of the examples on the web page. Or download from GitHub.

We have seen graphic input languages before. Plus many other weird languages.

Most people see that garden shed as little more than a place to store some gardening tools in, but if you’re like [Dr. Semiconductor], then what you see is a potential cleanroom for semiconductor manufacturing. As ridiculous as this may sound, the basic steps behind the different levels of cleanrooms work just as well for a multi-million dollar fab as they do for for a basic shed.

Key to everything is HEPA filtration along with positive pressure, to constantly push clean air into the cleanroom, while preventing dirty air from flowing in. The shed was also split into two sections, the first room once you enter it being the the gowning room. This is where you change into cleanroom gear before you transition into the cleanroom.

In addition to the flame-resistant drywalls, a water-based epoxy coating was applied to the insides of the cleanroom walls to make it smooth and free of debris. The HEPA filtration system constantly filters the shed’s air along with some fresh outside air, while an airconditioning unit ensures that the temperature remains constant.

The measured >0.5 µm particle contamination inside the shed turned out to be enough for a FED STD 209E equivalent of Class 100, which is ISO 5 class with a maximum of 3,520 particles/m³. For comparison, room air is ISO 9 with max 35,200,000 particles/m³. At ISO 5 it’s good enough to do some semiconductor R&D laboratory things, which is what [Dr. Semiconductor]’s channel is – shockingly – about.

Thanks to [Thayer] for the tip.

What hardware hacker doesn’t have a soft spot for transparent cases? While they may have fallen out of mainstream favor, they have an undeniable appeal to anyone with an interest in electronic or mechanical devices. Which is why the Orbigator built by [wyojustin] stands out among similar desktop orbital trackers we’ve seen.

Conceptually, it’s very similar to the International Space Station tracking lamp that [Will Dana] built in 2025. In fact, [wyojustin] cites it specifically as one of the inspirations for this project. But unlike that build, which saw a small model of the ISS moving across the surface of the globe, a transparent globe is rotated around the internal mechanism. This not only looks gorgeous, but solves a key problem in [Will]’s design — that is, there’s no trailing servo wiring that needs to be kept track of.

For anyone who wants an Orbigator of their own, [wyojustin] has done a fantastic job of documenting the hardware and software aspects of the build, and all the relevant files are available in the project’s GitHub repository.

The 3D printable components have been created with OpenSCAD, the firmware responsible for calculating the current position of the ISS on the Raspberry Pi Pico 2 is written in MicroPython, and the PCB was designed in KiCad. Incidentally, we noticed that Hackaday alum [Anool Mahidharia] appears to have been lending a hand with the board design.

As much as we love these polished orbital trackers, we’ve seen far more approachable builds if you don’t need something so elaborate. If you’re more interested in keeping an eye out for planes and can get your hands on a pan-and-tilt security camera, it’s even easier.