David July's shared items

A sordid tale, starting in the bedroom, involving batteries, deceit, cheap tricks, LEDs, and a pot.

It started innocently enough. A family member hinted that a good way to keep warm on cold winter nights was with a heated mattress pad-- more sensible than heating the whole house.

Winter came, it got cold, and we got our mattress pad.

The heated pad has a simple digital controller, where you rotate the dial to set the temperature, on a scale of 1-10, or really, L-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-H. So far, so good. (And it's comfy warm, too.)

But, then we took a closer look at that LED display:

What seems to be a digital seven-segment LED display is actually a rear-lit cutout in the shape of a seven-segment display, with one cutout in the shape of each number. The rotating dial just masks the other shapes so that you only see one at a time.

In other words, it's about as digital as blip.

The whole bezel is rear lit by an LED driven directly off of the AC-- you can tell from the blinking. (Driving LEDs from line voltage is common in consumer electronics; it works reasonably well if you have a big series resistor.)

Somewhere around this point we went from saying "WTF?" to "What the heck!" -- because it's a clever cheap trick, and if they can do it, so can we.

Sure, we can imagine a few cases where something like this could be genuinely useful, either as a front panel indicator or perhaps as a stage prop. But mainly we just wanted to make our own it because it's hilarious.

We'll scale our dial to turn a standard 5 k pot, so that our fake digital display can do something useful.

Next, to design the bezel:

We laser cut the parts-- black and clear plastic for the number plate and plywood for the dial/knob. The black plate fits over the threads of the pot, and the big wooden knob press fits onto the shaft of the pot; the pot turns when you turn this dial, revealing a single number beneath.

You can download our pattern here (8 kB PDF document). It's pretty simple, but if you want to play with the mechanism, you can print out both parts, grab a pair of scissors and a brass brad, and assemble it like we did in this project.

Next, we need the LEDs. For maximum fancy (without using actual seven segments!) we got out the fat LEDs:

Two LEDs each, blue, green, yellow, orange, and red, to backlight the positions between L and H. We powered it from a 3xAAA battery box, and hooked it up on a breadboard to figure out the right resistor values to drive the LEDs efficiently. (Also, looks neat in the dark.) The four blue and green LEDs are independently driven off of the 4.5 V with their own series resistors. The two red LEDs are driven in series with a resistor, and that setup is used for the yellow and orange LEDs as well.

Then, we wire up the LEDs in a circle, using the same circuit:

And then we can install the black and clear number plate:

And there you have it: A five-color LED-lit fake-seven-segment pseudo-digital pot, based on advanced mattress pad technology.

The sign on the left is familiar to Americans, but other countries think it is a horrible design, preferring the green running man on the right or a variation of it. Julia Turner of Slate has an in-depth article on the 25-year international fight over exit signs. It's one of a terrific six-part series about sign history and design.

Fans of Ota's running man point to two key advantages: It's a pictogram, and it's green. The sign's wordlessness means it can be understood even by people who don't speak the local language. And the green color, they argue, just makes sense. Green is the color of safety, a color that means go the world over. Red, on the other hand, most often means danger, alert, halt, please don't touch. Why confuse panicked evacuees with a sign that means right this way in a color that means stop? International designers tend to think our system is illogical and consider our rejection of the running man to be as dumb as our refusal to adopt that other sensible international norm, the metric system.

Are the running-man advocates right? This battle over the exit sign has been brewing for 25 years now, and the little green guy is slowly making inroads in the States. But to understand whether he should triumph, we must first understand America's skepticism toward pictograms and symbols, which have long been more popular in the rest of the world than they are here.

The Big Red Word vs. the Little Green Man: The international war over exit signs

In the 1990s Bill Geerhart was an unemployed, not-so aspiring screenwriter in his 30s. To pass the time, he channeled his inner child, 10-year-old Billy, and started writing letters to famous and infamous people and institutions. These letters, written in pencil on elementary school ruled paper, asked funny but relevant questions to politicians, serial killers, movie stars, lobbyists, CEOs, and celebrity lawyers.

Geerhart saved copies of his letters and the replies he got back. This week, Harper Collins published them in a book called Little Billy's Letters: An Incorrigible Inner Child's Correspondence with the Famous, Infamous, and Just Plain Bewildered. The publisher gave us permission to run some of our favorites. Enjoy!

Buy Little Billy's Letters on Amazon | Visit Harper Collins site for Little Billy's Letters

The National Hobo Association believes that "unlike tramps or bums, the hoboes are usually very resourceful, self reliant and appreciative people."

Susan Atkins is a convicted murderer former member of the Manson Family. When she died in prison in 2009, she was the longest-incarcerated female inmate in the California penal system, having been denied parole 18 times.

Robert Shapiro was a member of O.J. Simpson's "dream team" of defense lawyers.

The Catholic Church is the world's largest Christian church, with more than a billion members.

Caesars Palace is a hotel and casino in Las Vegas, Nevada.

From A Hamburger Today

Today we bring you a giant burger report from Arkansas-based food writer Kat Robinson, who writes for the Arkansas Times' blog Eat Arkansas, and for her own blog, Tie Dye Travels. After contributing to Slice's Arkansas pizza roundup, she told us she had burgers up her sleeves as well. Thanks to Kat for bringing more Arkansas to AHT! —The Mgmt.

[Photographs: Kat Robinson]

The old fashioned red and white diner on Towson doesn't seem all that different from any other dive you might come across in Arkansas. Indeed, it prides itself on a mean and savory French Dip sandwich that's been around since the '40s. It's also the only place in Arkansas where you can get a beer delivered to your car—curb service grandfathered in for a place that's been around longer than a lot of the blue laws in this state.

But Ed Walker's has a big secret—a really big secret. That would be its Giant Hamburger: five pounds of hand-patted meat cooked to perfection on a griddle and served up on a custom made bun. A burger so big it comes with a side platter (not a plate—a platter) of condiments and accoutrements. And a side of fries, or onion rings if you want to spend a little more (and you will).

Back in late December 2007 my good friends Beth and Grav took me out to lunch at this place. They knew I was interested in writing about cool places around Arkansas, and just had to show me this burger. Between us, Beth's sweetie George, and a couple of kids, we couldn't finish the darn thing. Since my little camera at the time couldn't quite do the burger justice, I ventured back this past January with my husband, father-in-law, and daughter for another go at the burger.

I informed my father-in-law that for once, he had no choice: I was ordering and paying for the colossal repast we'd be consuming. We ordered a French Dip as an appetizer, just so everyone at the table could try it. At the same time I ordered a Giant Cheeseburger with a side of onion rings, knowing full well it'd be a while.

Our French Dip came out first, and I divvied it up for us to try. The thinly sliced beef falls apart on the doughy roll. I'd gone ahead and got it with the suggested Swiss Cheese, a good choice not only in that its slightly bitter flavor just enhanced the meat, but that it also held the meat in place on the bun. The au jus is salty and savory, and unlike au jus I've tried at other places it's very clear that this broth is the same as what the meat has been dissolving in. It's chopped barbecue, soft and tasty.

We knew it was going to take a while—20 minutes, according to our waitress. And just about on the dot, she came to our table balancing the plated burger on one arm and the condiments on the other. I asked her if she'd take it to another booth, just so I could give it the proper reverence and show it the celebrity treatment it deserved. A couple dozen photographs later (complete with the delivery of the onion rings) and I had what I needed.

Almost. Looking through my viewfinder, I discovered that I didn't quite have it. After all, though I showed off the booth and the photos behind it, there was nothing in my photograph that truly conveyed the scale of the mammoth burger. I looked around, and found what I needed.

My daughter Hunter, 13 months old at the time, looked at me quizzically as I picked her up in the highchair and moved her over to the other table. She looked at the burger, looked back at me, and at first appeared to be a bit distressed. After conquering her momentary fear, she held up a finger and reached out to almost touch the burger. She pulled her finger back, then did it again. She seemed to be thinking, "Something doesn't look right. Are my eyes working correctly?"

I sat down and snapped more photos across the table of her looking over the burger. My husband started to complain that it was dinner, not a fashion shoot, and I acquiesced. He pulled Hunter back over to our table and I brought over the burger and fixings.

It comes out sliced into eighths like a pizza, and comes with its own pie server. Condiments are served on the side so each person can choose what they want to put on their slice. It's an exercise in sharing, not stomach stuffing. The serving method is probably the reason why Ed Walker's Giant Hamburger and Cheeseburger aren't that famous: This burger isn't a competition burger.

The burger meat is seasoned lightly with salt and pepper, and perhaps a little house seasoning. The American cheese glues the top bun down, the bottom bun attached by sheer gravity. It's a tasty burger, made even more awesome by its size and the care and time taken to cook it right. It's cooked through, and you know you're getting a fresh hand-patted burger.

I've been doing research and asking lots of questions, and though one other Arkansas eatery does have a burger that comes close in weight (Cotham's Quadruple Hubcap Burger has four one-pound patties on it), no one else in the state is serving up a bigger burger.

Oh, and the question you may be asking yourself now is, did we finish it off this time? Heck, the four of us only got halfway through. Not to worry: Ed Walker's also has cake boxes for you to take home your leftovers in.

About the Author: Kat Robinson is a travel and food writer living in Little Rock, Arkansas. She writes the Arkansas-based blog Tie Dye Travels and is the primary contributor for the Arkansas Times Eat Arkansas blog. She's also a hobbyist photographer specializing in non-adultered restaurant and surprise still life photography.

Mission photographer ::novocainated:: recently sat down a bunch of random strangers above the 24th Street BART stop and took their portraits.

Were you one of them?

Also, apparently the guy above was merely off to a party and doesn’t wear a kilt all the time.  Too bad!

Previously: Cops are Good Listeners

Filed under: BART, Life in the Mission, Photography Tagged: 24th street, portrait

Comedy Central sources confirm to HitFix that Thursday, June 24 at 10:00 p.m. will be the premiere of the first new half-hour episode of "Futurama"since 2003.

Life has a list of 30 dumb inventions, including the Hubbard Electrometer (invented by L Ron Hubbard to measure pain in tomatoes), the fast-draw robot, TV glasses, and the rainy day cigarette holder.

Tags: lists

Forget "Topeka"—as of yesterday, Topeka, Kansas will be referred to as "Google, Kansas" for the month of March.

Bizarre publicity stunt? Sure, but it's got nothing on the time in 1998 that Topeka became the US launch city for Pokemon games from Nintendo—and changed its name to "ToPikachu" (groan) for the day. At least this time, the city has a serious goal: get Google to bring in a 1Gbps fiber-to-the-home network.

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