Somewhere in the universe, there’s a place that lists every x86 operating system from scratch. Not just some bootloaders, or just a kernel stub, but documentation to build a fully functional, interrupt-handling, multitasking-capable OS. [Erik Helin and Adam Renberg] did just that by documenting every step in The Little Book About OS Development.
This is not your typical dry academic textbook. It’s a hands-on, step-by-step guide aimed at hackers, tinkerers, and developers who want to demystify kernel programming. The book walks you through setting up your environment, bootstrapping your OS, handling interrupts, implementing virtual memory, and even tackling system calls and multitasking. It provides just enough detail to get you started but leaves room for exploration – because, let’s be honest, half the fun is in figuring things out yourself.
Completeness and structure are two things that make this book stand out. Other OS dev guides may give you snippets and leave you to assemble the puzzle yourself. This book documents the entire process, including common pitfalls. If you’ve ever been lost in the weeds of segmentation, paging, or serial I/O, this is the map you need. You can read it online or fetch it as a single 75-page long PDF.
Detecting single photons can be seen as the backbone of cutting-edge applications like LiDAR, medical imaging, and secure optical communication. Miss one, and critical information could be lost forever. That’s where FPGA-based instrumentation comes in, delivering picosecond-level precision with zero dead time. If you are intrigued, consider sitting in on the 1-hour webinar that [Dr. Jason Ball], engineer at Liquid Instruments, will host on April 15th. You can read the announcement here.
Before you sign up and move on, we’ll peek into a bit of the matter upfront. The power lies in the hardware’s flexibility and speed. It has the ability to timestamp every photon event with a staggering 10 ps resolution. That’s comparable to measuring the time it takes light to travel just a few millimeters. Unlike traditional photon counters that choke on high event rates, this FPGA-based setup is reconfigurable, tracking up to four events in parallel without missing a beat. From Hanbury-Brown-Twiss experiments to decoding pulse-position modulated (PPM) data, it’s an all-in-one toolkit for photon wranglers. [Jason] will go deeper into the subject and do a few live experiments.
Back in the early 1900s, before calculators lived in our pockets, crunching numbers was painstaking work. Adding machines existed, but they weren’t exactly convenient nor cheap. Enter Wilken Wilkenson and his Maximal Multi-Divi, a massive multiplication and division table that turned math into an industrialized process. Originally published in Sweden in the 1910’s, and refined over decades, his book was more than a reference. It was a modular calculating instrument, optimized for speed and efficiency. In this video, [Chris Staecker] tells all about this fascinating relic.
What makes the Multi-Divi special isn’t just its sheer size – handling up to 9995 × 995 multiplications – but its clever design. Wilkenson formatted the book like a machine, with modular sections that could be swapped out for different models. If you needed an expanded range, you could just swap in an extra 200 pages. To sell it internationally, just replace the insert – no translation needed. The book itself contains zero words, only numbers. Even the marketing pushed this as a serious calculating device, rather than just another dusty math bible.
While pinwheel machines and comptometers were available at the time, they required training and upkeep. The Multi-Divi, in contrast, required zero learning curve – just look up the numbers for instant result. And it wasn’t just multiplication: the book also handled division in reverse, plus compound interest, square roots, and even amortizations. Wilkenson effectively created a pre-digital computing tool, a kind of pocket calculator on steroids (if pockets were the size of briefcases).
Of course, no self-respecting hacker would take claims of ‘the greatest invention ever’ at face value. Wilkenson’s marketing, while grandiose, wasn’t entirely wrong – the Multi-Divi outpaced mechanical calculators in speed tests. And if you’re feeling adventurous, [Chris] has scanned the entire book, so you can try it yourself.
Radio waves travel fast, and they can bounce, too. If you are able to operate a 25-meter dish, a transmitter, a solid software-defined radio, and an atomic clock, the answer is: yes, they can go all the way to Venus and back. On March 22, 2025, the Dwingeloo telescope in the Netherlands successfully pulled off an Earth-Venus-Earth (EVE) bounce, making them the second group of amateurs ever to do so. The full breakdown of this feat is available in their write-up here.
Bouncing signals off planets isn’t new. NASA has been at it since the 1960s – but amateur radio astronomers have far fewer toys to play with. Before Dwingeloo’s success, AMSAT-DL achieved the only known amateur EVE bounce back in 2009. This time, the Dwingeloo team transmitted a 278-second tone at 1299.5 MHz, with the round trip to Venus taking about 280 seconds. Stockert’s radio telescope in Germany also picked up the returning echo, stronger than Dwingeloo’s own, due to its more sensitive receiving setup.
Post-processing wasn’t easy either. Doppler shift corrections had to be applied, and the received signal was split into 1 Hz frequency bins. The resulting detections clocked in at 5.4 sigma for Dwingeloo alone, 8.5 sigma for Stockert’s recording, and 9.2 sigma when combining both datasets. A clear signal, loud and proud, straight from Venus’ surface.
The experiment was cut short when Dwingeloo’s transmitter started failing after four successful bounces. More complex signal modulations will have to wait for the next Venus conjunction in October 2026. Until then, you can read our previously published article on achievements of the Dwingeloo telescope.
If you ever wished electrons would just behave, this one’s for you. A team from Tohoku, Osaka, and Manchester Universities has cracked open an interesting phenomenon in the chiral helimagnet α-EuP3: they’ve induced one-way electron flow without bringing diodes into play. Their findings are published in the Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences.
The twist in this is quite literal. By coaxing europium atoms into a chiral magnetic spiral, the researchers found they could generate rectification: current that prefers one direction over another. Think of it as adding a one-way street in your circuit, but based on magnetic chirality rather than semiconductors. When the material flips to an achiral (ferromagnetic) state, the one-way effect vanishes. No asymmetry, no preferential flow. They’ve essentially toggled the electron highway signs with an external magnetic field. This elegant control over band asymmetry might lead to low-power, high-speed data storage based on magnetic chirality.
If you are curious how all this ties back to quantum theory, you can trace the roots of chiral electron flow back to the early days of quantum electrodynamics – when physicists first started untangling how particles and fields really interact.
There’s a whole world of weird physics waiting for us. In the field of chemistry, chirality has been covered by Hackaday, foreshadowing the lesser favorable ways of use. Read up on the article and share with us what you think.
In the heart of Manchester, UK, a groundbreaking event took place in 1948: the first modern computer, known as the Manchester Baby, ran its very first program. The Baby’s ability to execute stored programs, developed with guidance from John von Neumann’s theory, marks it as a pioneer in the digital age. This fascinating chapter in computing history not only reshapes our understanding of technology’s roots but also highlights the incredible minds behind it. The original article, including a video transcript, sits here at [TheChipletter]’s.
So, what made this hack so special? The Manchester Baby, though a relatively simple prototype, was the first fully electronic computer to successfully run a program from memory. Built by a team with little formal experience in computing, the Baby featured a unique cathode-ray tube (CRT) as its memory store – a bold step towards modern computing. It didn’t just run numbers; it laid the foundation for all future machines that would use memory to store both data and instructions. Running a test to find the highest factor of a number, the Baby performed 3.5 million operations over 52 minutes. Impressive, by that time.
Despite criticisms that it was just a toy computer, the Baby’s significance shines through. It was more than just a prototype; it was proof of concept for the von Neumann architecture, showing us that computers could be more than complex calculators. While debates continue about whether it or the ENIAC should be considered the first true stored-program computer, the Baby’s role in the evolution of computing can’t be overlooked.
Laser microphones have been around since the Cold War. Back in those days, they were a favorite tool of the KGB – allowing spies to listen in on what was being said in a room from a safe distance. This project by [SomethingAbtScience] resurrects that concept with a DIY build that any hacker worth their soldering iron can whip up on a modest budget. And let’s face it, few things are cooler than turning a distant window into a microphone.
At its core this hack shines a laser on a window, detects the reflected light, and picks up subtle vibrations caused by conversations inside the room. [SomethingAbtScience] uses an ordinary red laser (visible, because YouTube rules) and repurposes an amplifier circuit ripped from an old mic, swapping the capsule for a photodiode. The build is elegant in its simplicity, but what really makes it shine is the attention to detail: adding a polarizing filter to cut ambient noise and 3D printing a stabilized sensor mount. The output is still a bit noisy, but with some fine tuning – and perhaps a second sensor for differential analysis – there’s potential for crystal-clear audio reconstruction. Just don’t expect it to pass MI6 quality control.
While you probably won’t be spying on diplomats anytime soon, this project is a fascinating glimpse into a bygone era of physical surveillance. It’s also a reminder of how much can be accomplished with a laser pointer, some ingenuity, and the curiosity to see how far a signal can travel.
If you’re the sort who finds beauty in symmetry – and I’m not talking about your latest PCB layout – then you’ll appreciate this clever take on the long-tailed pair. [Kevin]’s video on this topic explores boosting common mode rejection by swapping out the old-school tail resistor for a current mirror. Yes, the humble current mirror – long underestimated in DIY analog circles – steps up here, giving his differential amplifier a much-needed backbone.
So why does this matter? Well, in Kevin’s bench tests, this hack more than doubles the common mode rejection, leaping from a decent 35 dB to a noise-crushing 93 dB. That’s not just tweaking for tweaking’s sake; that’s taking a breadboard standard and making it ready for sensitive, low-level signal work. Instead of wrestling with mismatched transistors or praying to the gods of temperature stability, he opts for a practical approach. A couple of matched NPNs, a pair of emitter resistors, and a back-of-the-envelope resistor calculation – and boom, clean differential gain without the common mode muck.
When your homebrew Yagi antenna only sort-of works, or when your WiFi cantenna seems moody on rainy days, we can assure you: it is not only you. You can stop doubting yourself once and for all after you’ve watched the Tech 101: Antennas webinar by [Dr. Jonathan Chisum].
[Jonathan] breaks it all down in a way that makes you want to rip out your old antenna and start fresh. It goes further than textbook theory; it’s the kind of knowledge defense techs use for real electronic warfare. And since it’s out there in bite-sized chunks, we hackers can easily put it to good use.
The key takeaway is that antenna size matters. Basically, it’s all about wavelength, and [Jonathan] hammers home how tuning antenna dimensions to your target frequency makes or breaks your signal. Whether you’re into omnis (for example, for 360-degree drone control) or laser-focused directional antennas for secret backyard links, this is juicy stuff.
If you’re serious about getting into RF hacking, watch this webinar. Then dig up that Yagi build, and be sure to send us your best antenna hacks.
Imagine a time before Discord servers and cheap long-distance calls. Back in the 1950s, a curious and crafty group of enthusiasts invented their own global social network: on reels of magnetic tape. They called it tapesponding (short for tape corresponding), and it was a booming hobby for thousands of radio hams, tinkerers, and audio geeks. Here’s the original video on this analog marvel.
These folks weren’t just swapping mixtapes. They crafted personal audio letters, beamed across the globe on 3-inch reels. DIY clubs emerged everywhere: World Tape Pals (Texas-based, naturally) clocked 5,000 members from “every Free Nation” – which frames it in a world in terms of East vs. West. Some groups even pooled funds to buy shared tape decks in poorer regions – pure hacker spirit. The tech behind it: Speeds of 3¾ IPS, half-track mono, round-robin reels, and rigorous trust networks to avoid ghosters. Honestly, it makes IRC net ops look soft. Tapesponding wasn’t just for chatty types. It fostered deep friendships, even marriages. It was social engineering before that term was coined. The video is below the break.
What are your thoughts on this nostalgic way of long-distance communication? The warm whirring of a spinning tape reel? The waiting time before your echo is returned? Or are have you skipped all the analog mechanics and shouted out into the LoRaWAN void long ago?
There’s something magical about the clunk of a heavy 1950s portable radio – the solid thunk of Bakelite, the warm hum of tubes glowing to life. This is exactly why [Ken’s Lab] took on the restoration of a Philco 52-664, a portable AC/DC radio originally sold for $45 in 1953 (a small fortune back then!). Despite its beat-up exterior and faulty guts, [Ken] methodically restored it to working condition. His video details every crackling capacitor and crusty resistor he replaced, and it’s pure catnip for any hacker with a soft spot for analog tech. Does the name Philco ring a bell? Lately, we did cover the restoration of a 1958 Philco Predicta television.
What sets this radio hack apart? To begin with, [Ken] kept the restoration authentic, repurposing original capacitor cans and using era-appropriate materials – right down to boiling out old electrolytics in his wife’s discarded cooking pot. But, he went further. Lacking the space for modern components, [Ken] fabbed up a custom mounting solution from stiff styrofoam, fibreboard, and all-purpose glue. He even re-routed the B-wiring with creative terminal hacks. It’s a masterclass in patience, precision, and resourcefulness.
If this tickles your inner tinkerer, don’t miss out on the full video. It’s like stepping into a time machine.
If you’ve ever fancied building a ZX Spectrum clone without hunting down ancient ULAs or soldering your way through 60+ chips, [Alex J. Lowry] has just dropped an exciting build. He has recreated the Leningrad-1, a Soviet-built Spectrum clone from 1988, with a refreshingly low component count: 44 off-the-shelf ICs, as he wrote us. That’s less than many modern clones like the Superfo Harlequin, yet without resorting to programmable logic. All schematics, Gerbers, and KiCad files are open-source, listed at the bottom of [Alex]’ build log.
The original Leningrad-1 was designed by Sergey Zonov during the late Soviet era, when cloning Western tech was less about piracy and more about survival. Zonov’s design nailed a sweet spot between affordability and usability, with enough compatibility to run 90-95% of Spectrum software. [Alex]’ replica preserves that spirit, with a few 21st-century tweaks for builders: silkscreened component values, clever PCB stacking with nylon standoffs, and a DIY-friendly mechanical keyboard hack using transparent keycaps.
While Revision 0 still has some quirks – no SCART color output yet, occasional flickering borders with AY sound – [Alex] is planning for further improvements. Inspired to build your own? Read [Alex]’ full project log here.
Getting a robot to stand on two wheels without tipping over involves a challenging dance with the laws of physics. Self-balancing robots are a great way to get into control systems, sensor fusion, and embedded programming. This build by [mircemk] shows how to make one with just a few common components, an Arduino, and a bit of patience fine-tuning the PID controller.
At the heart of the bot is the MPU6050 – a combo accelerometer/gyroscope sensor that keeps track of tilt and movement. An Arduino Uno takes this data, runs it through a PID loop, and commands an L298N motor driver to adjust the speed and direction of two DC motors. The power comes from two Li-ion batteries feeding everything with enough juice to keep it upright. The rest of the magic lies in the tuning.
PID (Proportional-Integral-Derivative) control is what makes the robot stay balanced. Kp (proportional gain) determines how aggressively the motors respond to tilting. Kd (derivative gain) dampens oscillations, and Ki (integral gain) helps correct slow drifts. Set them wrong, and your bot either wobbles like a confused penguin or falls flat on its face. A good trick is to start with only Kp, then slowly add Kd and Ki until it stabilizes. Then don’t forget to calibrate your MPU6050; each sensor has unique offsets that need to be compensated in the code.
Once dialed in, the result is a robot that looks like it defies gravity. Whether you’re hacking it for fun, turning it into a segway-like ride, or using it as a learning tool, a balancing bot is a great way to sharpen your control system skills. For more inspiration, check out this earlier attempt from 2022, or these self-balancing robots (one with a little work) from a year before that. You can read up on [mircemk]’s project details here.
Imagine cooling your building with the same principle that kept Victorian-era icehouses stocked with lake-frozen blocks, but in modern form. That’s the idea behind ice batteries, a clever energy storage hack that’s been quietly slashing cooling costs across commercial buildings. The invention works by freezing water when energy is cheap, and using that stored cold later, they turn major power hogs (air conditioning, we’re looking at you) into more efficient, cost-effective systems.
Pioneers like Nostromo Energy and Ice Energy are refining the tech. Nostromo’s IceBrick modules pack 25 kWh of cooling capacity each, install on rooftops, and cost around $250 per kWh—about half the price of lithium-ion storage. Ice Energy’s Ice Bear 40 integrates with HVAC systems, shifting up to 95% of peak cooling demand to off-peak hours. And for homes, the Ice Bear 20 replaces traditional AC units while doubling as a thermal battery.
Unlike lithium-ion, ice batteries don’t degrade chemically – their water is endlessly reusable. Combining the technology with this hack, it’s even possible in environments where water is scarce. But the trade-off? They only store cooling energy. No frozen kilowatts for your lightbulbs, just an efficient way to handle the biggest energy drain in most buildings.
Could ice batteries help decentralize energy storage? They’re already proving their worth in high-demand areas like California and Texas. Read the full report here and let us know your thoughts in the comments.
For those who love systems and structure, owning a 19-inch rack with just one slot filled is just not it. But what if the rest of your gear isn’t 19-inch? Well, then you go out and make it so, just like [Cal Bryant] did recently.
The goal was to consolidate multiple devices — DAC, input selector, streamer, and power routing — into a single 2U rackmount unit. His first attempts involved drilling 1U panels to attach gear with removable faceplates. That worked, but not all devices played nice. So his next step became a fully custom enclosure with CAD-modeled brackets and front panels.
OpenSCAD turned out to be a lifesaver, letting [Cal] design modular mounting solutions. Exporting proper circles for CNC turret punching however appeared to be a nightmare. It was FreeCAD to the rescue for post-processing. After some sanding and auto-shop painting, the final faceplate looked factory-made.
Custom switch boxes for power and audio routing keep things tidy, housing everything from USB to XLR inputs. A 4-pole switch even allows seamless swapping between his DAC and DJ controller, while UV-printed graphics bring the finishing touch to this project. For those looking to clean up their Hi-Fi setup (or just love modding for the sake of it), there’s a lot to learn from this build.
Shortwave radio has a charm all its own: part history, part mystery, and a whole lot of tech nostalgia. The Hallicrafters S-53A is a prime example of mid-century engineering, but when you get your hands on one, chances are it won’t be in mint condition. Which was exactly the case for this restoration project by [Ken’s Lab], where the biggest challenge wasn’t fried capacitors or burned-out tubes, but a stubborn band selector switch that refused to budge.
What made it come to this point? The answer is: time, oxidation, and old-school metal tolerances. Instead of forcing it (and risking a very bad day), [Ken]’s repair involved careful disassembly, a strategic application of lubricant, and a bit of patience. As the switch started to free up, another pleasant surprise emerged: all the tubes were original Hallicrafters stock. A rare find, and a solid reason to get this radio working without unnecessary modifications. Because some day, owning a shortwave radio could be a good decision.
Once powered up, the receiver sprang to life, picking up shortwave stations loud and clear. Hallicrafters’ legendary durability proved itself once before, in this fix that we covered last year. It’s a reminder that sometimes, the best repairs aren’t about drastic changes, but small, well-placed fixes.
What do you do when you need to choose an OS at boot but aren’t physically near your machine? [Dakhnod]’s inventive solution is a mix of GRUB, Wake-on-LAN (WOL), and a lightweight ESP8266 running a simple HTTP server. In the past, [dakhnod] already enlightened us with another smart ESP hack. This one’s a clever combination of network booting and remote control that opens up possibilities beyond the usual dual-boot selector.
At its core, the hack modifies GRUB to fetch its boot configuration over HTTP. The ESP8266 (or any low-power device) serves up a config file defining which OS should launch. The trick lies in adding a custom script that tells GRUB to source an external config:
Since GRUB itself makes the HTTP request, the system needs a running web server. That could be a Raspberry Pi, another machine, or the ESP itself. From there, a WOL-enabled ESP button can wake the PC and set the boot parameters remotely.
Is it secure? Well, that depends on your network. An open, unauthenticated web server dishing out GRUB configs is risky, but within a controlled LAN or a VLAN-segmented environment, it’s an intriguing option. Automation possibilities are everywhere — imagine remotely booting test rigs, toggling between OS environments for debugging, or even setting up kiosk machines that reconfigure themselves based on external triggers.
For those looking to take it further, using configfile instead of source allows for more dynamic menu entries, although it won’t persist environment variables. You could even combine it with this RasPi hack to control the uptime of the HTTP server. The balance between convenience and security is yours to strike.
If you’ve got your own wild GRUB customisation, let’s hear it!
If you’re into Soviet-era gear with a techy twist, you’ll love this teardown of a rare Zenit 19 camera courtesy of [msylvain59]. Found broken on eBay (for a steal!), this 1982 made-in-USSR single-lens reflex camera isn’t the average Zenit. It features, for example, electronically controlled shutter timing – quite the upgrade from its manual siblings.
The not-so-minor issue that made this Zenit 19 come for cheap was a missing shutter blade. You’d say – one blade gone rogue! Is it lost in the camera’s guts, or snapped clean off? Add to that some oxidized battery contacts and a cracked viewfinder, and you’ve got proper fixer-upper material. But that’s where it gets intriguing: the camera houses a rare hybrid electronic module (PAPO 074), complete with epoxy-covered resistors. The shutter speed dial directly adjusts a set of resistors, sending precise signals to the shutter assembly: a neat blend of old-school mechanics and early electronics.
Now will it shutter, or stutter? With its vertical metal shutter – uncommon in Zenits – and separate light metering circuitry, this teardown offers a rare glimpse into Soviet engineering flair. Hungry for more? We’ve covered a Soviet-era computer and a radio in the past. If you’re more into analog camera teardowns, you might like this analog Pi upgrade attempt, or this bare minimum analog camera project.
Did you know that the land of flat-pack furniture and Saab automobiles played a serious role in the development of minicomputers, the forerunners of our home computers? If not, read on for a bit of history. You can also go ahead and watch the video below, which tells it all with a ton of dug up visuals.
Sweden’s early computer development was marked by significant milestones, beginning with the relay-based Binär Aritmetisk Relä-Kalkylator (BARK) in 1950, followed by the vacuum tube-based Binär Elektronisk SekvensKalkylator (BESK) in 1953. These projects were spearheaded by the Swedish Board for Computing Machinery (Matematikmaskinnämnden), established in 1948 to advance the nation’s computing capabilities.
In 1954, Saab ventured into computing by obtaining a license to replicate BESK, resulting in the creation of Saab’s räkneautomat (SARA). This initiative aimed to support complex calculations for the Saab 37 Viggen jet fighter. Building on this foundation, Saab’s computer division, later known as Datasaab, developed the D2 in 1960 – a transistorized prototype intended for aircraft navigation. The D2’s success led to the CK37 navigational computer, which was integrated into the Viggen aircraft in 1971.
Datasaab also expanded into the commercial sector with the D21 in 1962, producing approximately 30 units for various international clients. Subsequent models, including the D22, D220, D23, D5, D15, and D16, were developed to meet diverse computing needs. In 1971, Datasaab’s technologies merged with Standard Radio & Telefon AB (SRT) to form Stansaab AS, focusing on real-time data systems for commercial and aviation applications. This entity eventually evolved into Datasaab AB in 1978, which was later acquired by Ericsson in 1981, becoming part of Ericsson Information Systems.
Parallel to these developments, Åtvidabergs Industrier AB (later Facit) produced the FACIT EDB in 1957, based on BESK’s design. This marked Sweden’s first fully domestically produced computer, with improvements such as expanded magnetic-core memory and advanced magnetic tape storage. The FACIT EDB was utilized for various applications, including meteorological calculations and other scientific computations. For a short time, Saab even partnered with the American Unisys called Saab-Univac – a well-known name in computer history.
These pioneering efforts by Swedish organizations laid the groundwork for the country’s advancements in computing technology, influencing both military and commercial sectors. The video below has lots and lots more to unpack and goes into greater detail on collaborations and (missed) deals with great names in history.
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