I don’t know how this ended up in our possession, but at some point on our Holiday Season Travels (which included many LEGO gifts for and purchases by our first-grader, and many hours of LEGO building for all, both in new sets and sifting through the decades-old bins of LEGO at various relatives homes) my son acquired one of these little guys:
That’s a “LEGO Brick Separator Tool” and it’s worth its weight in gold. I remember many a nail bent back and tooth chipped trying to separate bricks and plates when I was a boy–but such enhanced interrogation and freelance orthodontics are a thing of the past. Just attach this little fella to the pesky LEGO (either from above or below), and you can lever it off with ease–even if you are only endowed with the scrawny musculature and soft hands of an American first grader. The added bonus on this model LEGO tool is the little poky-axle on top, which helps dislodge short rods, axles, and pins from Technic wheels and gears. As soon as it entered our house this tool reduced the calls of “Daaaaaadeeeeee: I need help getting these LEGOs apart!” by a solid 90 percent. *Bliss!*
LEGO tools currently sell new at Amazon for about $7, although I’ve seen older style tools online (ones without the axle/pin pusher on top) for as little as $2–even at the higher price, this thing is *so worth it.*
Over the Winter Holiday of Your Choosing we visited my in-laws–who live on a bunch of fallow acres in West Michigan–and I brought my pistol, a Belgian-made Browning Challenger. These .22LR target pistols were made in the ’60s and ’70s; mine was a gift from my father, the gun he learned to shoot on, and on which he subsequently taught me to shoot. He was the original owner, and bought it in the mid-1960s, back when these pistols were still hand-machined from a single block of steel by an actual human. Primarily I’d brought the pistol to my in-law’s because my father-in-law had recently purchased a Browning Buck Mark (which is descended from the Challenger, but is CNC-machined from 7075-T6 aluminum), and was curious about the comparison between the two. But also my son, who is in first grade, had taken an interest in the war games my nephews (who are older–middle school and high school) play on Xbox, and had been regaling me daily with accounts of the “HALO” games he and his friends re-enacted on the school playground. If he wanted to talk about guns, to imagine guns, to play at what guns are and do, then I wanted him to shoot a gun. He’d seen me shoot plenty of times, but had never pulled the trigger himself.
As it turned out, this foray was wonderfully instructive. We went out into the field, where my father- and brother-in-law have built their shooting range. The day was bitter cold. I hadn’t shot my .22 in several years, and it kept misfeeding, only squeezing off three rounds successfully (I later discovered that the barrel screw was a touch loose; these guns are accurate because they are built to tight tolerances, so even a little shifting will muck things up). The Buck Mark similarly misfed and misfired (although at a lower rate)–this, I think, because of the lighter aluminum unevenly contracting as it made the shift from a warm house to a cold field. But my boy got to shoot (with my father-in-law guiding his hand). And what he found was what is true: Shooting can be stressful. A gun–even a plinky little .22–is *loud*, and it jumps in your hand like something live and nervous. It’s hard to use; most of his shots sailed into the dirt two yards in front of the target, even with an adult steadying his hand. And guns are unpredictable: Many shells turned out to be bad (they were bought bulk, cheap), or were crimped useless when they were slammed crookedly by the misfeeding slide. And even though we were shooting at a steel target made for .45s, I broke the damn thing with a “lucky” shot that was a touch high and happened to catch the ironwork at its seam, sending the heavy target sailing away. Even this little gun was fearsome; it brought a touch of dread to the boy.
Because a gun isn’t a tool–it’s not a hammer or a drill that you can pick up, use to solve a problem, and put away until you have the next problem you want to solve. It’s an instrument, like a guitar or piano, it requires constant care, it requires checking and tuning before each use, it requires an intimate relationship with its mechanisms, with its parameters, with what it can do and what it should do and what it is meant for. It requires care and feeding. And it requires *practice,* near constant practice for you to be any good at doing anything with it.
It’s not a tool, and it doesn’t solve problems; it is an instrument, and it expresses feelings. When I’m shooting skeet, I have to feel that clay in my heart before I can smash it, I have to feel how it soars. The hard part isn’t the shooting–that’s just a swing of the arm and twitch of the finger; I never even think about it. The hard part is the *seeing*, really seeing the orange disk, not just assuming I see it, or thinking I see it, or seeing my idea of the disk and its location, but really and truly seeing the world for what it literarily is. It’s harder than you think, because most of us go most of our days without beginning to appreciate how little we see the world, and how completely we rely on our *ideas* about the world without checking them against what our senses are actually reporting. (In light of this, it should come as no surprises that the most natural shots I’ve ever met have all been artists, ’cause that’s the only other human endeavor that’s so much about perceiving the world as it is, rather than as we’d have it be.)
When you pick a gun up–just like when you pick up a ukulele or a violin–even if you are “just practicing,” you are saying something about yourself, about the world and your place in it, about the connectedness of things, about our human tendency to build things beautiful and destructive.
So the shooting–out in the cold, with real guns that were loud and destructive and erratic–was stressful for my son, and reminded me of the first time *I’d* gone shooting with my dad, when I was in my 20s. I’d never touched a gun–although he’d always kept them in the house–but I’d grown up an American, and so I had *ideas* about guns. And the gun I used that day was *his* preferred gun at the time, a Beretta 9mm. I couldn’t hit a thing with it–literally. As I recall, the paper target was entirely unscathed. And I’d had to force my finger to curl around the trigger each time, because each explosion was tremendous, each felt like the Worst Thing I’d Ever Done, and with each shot I couldn’t help but imagine that bullet tearing into me, piercing my chest, breaking my bones.
But afterwards, I’d wondered, and we went back with the .22–an impractical gun, in many regards, low-caliber, too bulky to conceal, the barrel long for accuracy, the grip thick for comfort and steadiness, the sights absurdly pronounced for a pistol in America. But it fit my hand like no other object I’d ever touched, and every shot went exactly where I wanted it, where my eye placed it. I never thought about my hand or my chest or my heart or my bones, just my eye and the sights and the target. Just the world.
After we were back inside and warmed up, I asked my little boy what he’d thought of the shooting, expecting he’d repeat what he’d said when he was three and watched me shooting skeet with my dad–“Too loud!” he’d cried, despite wearing my big spare ear protectors.
But he didn’t. He was thoughtful, and he smiled, and he said it was good. And since we’ve been back home, it doesn’t seem like he’s been playing “HALO” at school.
Anyway, that’s what this video got me thinking about, how maybe the most fundamental flaw in our national discussion about guns is that so many of us think of them as tools that we can–or should, or might, or must–use to solve problems, instead of seeing them for what they are: Instruments through which we express ourselves, for better or worse.
I printed these records on a UV-cured resin printer called the Objet Connex500. Like most 3D printers, the Objet creates an object by depositing material layer by layer until the final form is achieved. This printer has incredibly high resolution: 600dpi in the x and y axes and 16 microns in the z axis, some of the highest resolution possible with 3D printing at the moment. Despite all its precision, the Objet is still at least an order of magnitude or two away from the resolution of a real vinyl record. When I first started this project, I wasn’t sure that the resolution of the Objet would be enough to reproduce audio, but I hoped that I might produce something recognizable by approximating the groove shape as accurately as possible with the tools I had.
In this Instructable, I’ll demonstrate how I developed a workflow that can convert any audio file, of virtually any format, into a 3D model of a record, and how I optimized these records for playback on a real turntable. The 3D modeling in this project was far too complex for traditional drafting-style CAD techniques, so I wrote an program to do this conversion automatically. It works by importing raw audio data, performing some calculations to generate the geometry of a record, and eventually exporting this geometry straight to a 3D printable file format. . . .
This is *such* a rad project! Clearly not practical–it requires a big 3D printer with *really* high resolution in order to get a really low-resolution version of a single song–but I *love* the whopping oscillation artifact that the process introduces to the audio. *That* has some delicious sonic possibilities, in my humble.
Here’s a very brief interview/overview:
“Table of Contents” – Asimovs
What with all the seasonal hubbub, I totally forgot to shamelessly hype that my short story “The New Guys Always Work Overtime” is in the current issue of Asimov’s (technically the “Feb 2013” issue, it’s on newsstands now and will stay there until mid-January-ish). It’s your standard time-travel/labor relations/supply-chain management/crappy corporate job/boy-meets-girl story, and leverages basically every bit of German I know (Yes, *both* phrases!) It’s available in dead-tree format only, which is actually pretty quaint for a time-travel story set in an iPad factory. Better hustle on down to your local bookstore and trade paper money for paper stories. CORRECTION: Duh; things have changed a little since the last time I had a story in Asimov’s. The magazine is now available for Kindle with a *FREE* 30-day trial–so if you just wanna check out “The New Guys” you can do so with no risk *and* no leaving the house. Score one for leaving in the terrible dystopian future! Asimov’s is a pretty solid magazine–if you’re into “soft” SF–so it’s worth the $3 “risk” if you flake out on canceling the trial subscription:
This guy!
My departed grandfather (long story) gave me a Critter & Guitari Pocket Piano GR for Non-Denominational Gift-Giving Holiday (honest; it’s sort of involved. Just roll with it). Here’s a little early fiddling with it (listening with headphones will make it easier to catch the low octaves in the second half). This is a simply *delightful* instrument, the synth equivalent to the ukulele. Expect a more complete review in the New Year.
If there is an AFoL (“Adult Fan of LEGO”) in your life–or an über-nerdy LEGO kid–then No Starch Press’s two Unofficial Lego Builder’s Guides are must-buys.
I’ve lauded Allan Bedford’s UNOFFICIAL LEGO BUILDER’S GUIDE in the past; it’s an *exhaustive* treatment of all of the structural and design possibilities (both practical and theoretical) inherent to the LEGO System, as well as a handy reference work on parts, build techniques, and design styles.
This second edition offers a lightly revised text and a complete full-color makeover. It’s really, really pretty. My only beef is that it’s also almost 100 pages shorter than its predecessor, although I’m not sure how freak-out worthy that is: It’s pretty clear that the new tidier layout and slightly more compact typesetting is responsible for some of that shrink, and is balanced by the fact that No Starch has gone with a nicer semi-gloss paper stock, making this a more exciting gift item or coffee table book. That said, the second edition *did* loose several chapters–albeit ones that may have come off as filler to some readers (one was on brick storage and pre-build preparation, the other on crafting a few handy tools for building. I can see a lot of folks who aren’t sociologically interested in what’s happening in an AFoL’s head skipping these). The one omission that did bother me was the loss of the brief chapter on LEGO Technic. Fortunately, No Starch has compensated for that with: THE UNOFFICIAL LEGO TECHNIC BUILDER’S GUIDE by Pawel Kmiec (whose name’s spelling I’ve had to approximate, as it calls for several letters I can’t readily located among the Special Characters).
Oh. My. GOD! This book is simply *incredible.* Like Bedford’s book it’s in beautiful full color, but where Bedford is chatty Kmiec is concise and textbookish (in a good way). Pages are dominated by excellent illustrations. It’s the engineering textbook Technic always needed, delving in to *how* Technic builds work and the intricacies of their designs (which are wholly unexplored in the Technic sets themselves, which include pictograph LEGO build instructions with no discussion of how a mechanism works or why a design decision was made). Kmiec offers some brilliant insights into, for example, the need for (and methods of) offsetting pieces by a half-stud, or the differing reinforcement methods available to modern LEGO Technic geeks. His discussion of mating traditional Technic bricks and the newer stud-less beams for sturdy, compact, and attractive builds is both an easy and informative read.
All told, this book is *beyond* exhaustive–at 320+ pages the damn think weighs in at over two-and-a-half pounds. Heck, there are *two* chapters dedicated solely to LEGO’s awesome pneumatic system, including several full BIs (build instructions) for pneumatic engines–and that’s just one facet of this gem. There are pages upon pages of BIs for linkages, differentials, couplings, transmissions (including one for a ten-speed transmission–it runs nearly 30 pages!) and more. If there’s a LEGO Technic fan in your life, this book is just about guaranteed to knock him or her out cold.
I’m not such the Christmas Tree guy, but many of you are (statistically speaking), so I submitted for your consideration: The Christmas Tree Vibrator (a phrase that I otherwise *DO NOT* suggest googling without SafeSearch firmly in place). Christmas Tree Vibrator: Odd invention aimed to shake up your holiday tree
This 1947 patent for a “Christmas Tree Vibrator” turns out to be more confusing than risque.
The inventor, Leo R. Smith, argued that a vibrating tree was a way to make ornaments look prettier. The vibratory unit “for attachment to decorated trees” would “transmit a highly pleasing two-dimensional vibration thereto without interference with the decorations.”
Throughout the year my publisher, No Starch Press, favors me with review copies of the new and interesting additions to their catalogues. So, between now and whatever-the-last-shipping-day-before-Xmas-is, you can expect a mess of gift suggestions to pop up here.
Incidentally, if you have a book or kit that bears reviewing, feel free to drop me a line; I’m not totally married to only reviewing books by my friends or publisher, those are just the ones that show up on my mailbox.
Kicking off this season of reviews is The LEGO Adventure Book, Vol. 1: Cars, Castles, Dinosaurs & More! by Megan H. Rothrock. This is a really beautiful survey of the modern world of LEGO construction lead by our intrepid guide, minifig Megs. This hardcover (suitable for gift-giving!) is packed with glossy full-color photos, and follows Megs in comic-book style as she tours the works and worlds of a dozen top LEGO designers (both pro and hobbyist). The book includes at least 200(!) designs, with 25 full build instructions for planes, trains, dinosaurs, robots, mechs, medieval accouterments, and more. The designs themselves are brand-free (no Star Wars of Harry Potter), and focus on modularity, adaptability, and reusability. Megs highlights lots little aesthetic flourishes that go a long way (with great observations about medieval brickwork, modern commercial roofs, engines, etc.) and introduces many innovative techniques (including some neat SNOT–that’s “studs-not-on-top”–construction tricks). She’s always sure to flag how a construction can be adapted to new designs.
The book favors some pretty complex builds (the T. Rex has 75 steps!)–which would tend to put it into AFoL (“Adult Fan of LEGO”) territory–but the book design is super accessible to younger builders, making it something of an ideal “idea book” (where it’s fine to aspirational instead of actionable). I gave a copy to my six-year-old and he was *thrilled.* After a few days (during which he read it cover-to-cover each night), I checked in for a review:
Me: “Hey, kid, waddya think of this book?”
6-year-old: “It’s cool.”
Me: “What’s cool about it?”
6yo: “Megs goes everywhere and I find out new things about LEGOs that I like.”
The illustrated ebook pack is the same as the Kindle version available through Amazon, but DRM-free, and in formats suitable for almost any device. Includes mobi, ePub, PDF (in several print-ready layouts) files, and digital extras(!!!) Buying at the “Patrons” level gets you an exclusive, handmade, signed and numbered print edition (like the one in the pic)! Details on Pick-What-You-Pay options
Domestic shipping is free; international folks: we’ll have to figure that out. It’s a big, crazy world.
