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There are many clever Lego things on the Web that might encourage grown-ups to drag those dusty boxes out of the attic and make their own tiny Sydney Opera House, PC case, or even alarmingly realistc dissected frog.

You could just about manage a small orrery, or explore the interesting mechanical possibilities of some new non-Technic pieces, or make a zombie diorama or Moonbase module. Or, conceivably, even make a dual-rotor helicopter. It'd even be within the bounds of human belief that you could make a Lego ukelele, which is both easier to build and better-sounding (MP3) than the Lego harpsichord.

And, of course, just building a packaged set isn't very difficult, even if it's one of the Star Wars giants or the upcoming monster Technic Unimog.

But then, there's the stuff people build that clearly makes anything you could possibly create look like the Lego models small children make, of which you have to say "wow, that's a really great, um..." to prompt the child to tell you whether you're looking at a spaceship or a giraffe.

Look at this model of the Jeep Hurricane concept car, for instance. It doesn't have as many features as the actual car, but it has about as many as are physically possible.

Or this StarCraft Siege Tank with working deploy function.

Or this Pilatus PC-21, which would probably actually fly if Buzz Lightyear asked it to.

Or this little roadster, which contains some remarkably compact mechanisms.

Or this minifig-scale Sand Crawler.

Or this working Super 8 movie projector.

Or this outrageous sports car.

Or this gigantic Porsche.

Or this quad-delta-robot brick-sorting workcell.

(As you may have noticed, many of the above links lean very hard on the excellent TechnicBricks blog.)

But perhaps these models are like Raven from Snow Crash. They just relieve you of the vague dissatisfied uncertainty that you might, given the right set of circumstances, become the world's greatest Lego badass, if you tried really really hard.

Now, you can be happy as one of the crowd, with the heights of Lego achievement as safely out of reach as a three-minute fifty-second mile, climbing all of the eight-thousanders without oxygen, or memorising a shuffled deck of cards in 22 seconds.

And then you can get on with making something fun. Possibly out of only two pieces.

"Omni wheels" are wheels whose rims are made out of rollers, installed with their axles perpendicular to the wheel's axle.

If you install the omni wheels so their axles point out diagonally from the vehicle's chassis, as is the case in the above Lego construction, you get full 2D maneuverability, unexciting drive efficiency, and a vehicle that won't roll sideways down a hill.

If you install the omni wheels parallel to the sides of the chassis, then the vehicle will want to roll sideways down a hill. But you may be willing to accept this, in return for something that handles like this demented little beastie:

(Note the camera car, also made from Lego!)

It's called "Metal Grudge" (on account of having the same cartoonish proportions as the tanks in the Metal Slug games), and it's basically just a skid-steer machine, like a tank or "Bobcat" loader.

Plenty of motor power and those crazy flailing omni wheels make it a lot funnier than standard skid steer, though.

Metal Grudge was made by prolific Lego builder Peer Kreuger (so was the slow omniwheel platform).

He's here on Flickr, and here on YouTube.

The fellow who made the Lego 3D scanner that worked by poking things with a needle has now made the more conventional kind of 3D scanner.

With a laser.

As with the last scanner, he's using it to import funny-shaped Lego pieces, like Fabuland heads and trees from 1969, into LDraw.

And, needless to say, the new scanner is once again made out of Lego. It's less of a mechanical achievement than the last one, because the Lego isn't much more than a supporting framework for the DAVID 3D Scanner software, that works with a line laser and a webcam.

It's way faster than the pokey-scanner, though, and has startlingly good resolution. Lego isn't generally much use for making precision mechanisms, but this one seems to work great.

I'll just leave this here.

Design a model in LDD using any of 95 brick types, send it to this "factory", and it makes it.

(Via, needless to say.)

There are two silly-sounding musical instruments whose names I keep forgetting. With any luck, this post will fix them in my memory.

The first one makes a sort of tinkling "sproing" noise, and the second sounds like someone squeaking a cleaning cloth on a drinking glass, or window. They're both surprisingly common - considering how weird they sound by themselves - in Latin music.

This much information wasn't quite enough, however, for Google to lead me directly to the answers. (Not the first time, and not either of the later times when I forgot again, and looked them up again.) But I got there in the end.

The sproinger, frequently heard in the sort of 1970s cop-movie music that opens with frantic bongo drumming, is called a "Flexatone", or "Flex-a-tone" to give it its full original 1920s-patent trademarked name.

The Flexatone is as unlikely-looking a device as its sound (OGG audio sample) would suggest. It's essentially a percussion variant of the musical saw; the Wikipedia article explains how it's played.

A "genuine" Flex-A-Tone will set you back at least $US26.99 (or $US34.50, for the deluxe version!). But this eBay seller (who's here on eBay.com.au) has, among a variety of other instruments that look absolutely ideal for giving to the small children of people whom you do not like, a "Flexitone" for only $US24.99 delivered within the USA, or $US33.99 including delivery to Australia.

Speaking as a man who already owns a siren whistle (not nearly as good as the expensive Acme version), a melodica and two Stylophones (the old analogue type, of course), I can't say I'm not tempted.

[UPDATE: I just noticed that a Flexatone is part of the striking apparatus of one of Tim Hunkin's ramshackle clocks! It's featured at the start of the quartz-watch episode of The Secret Life of Machines.]

And then there's that rubbing-glass-sounding drum.

It's called a Cuíca, and it actually is played by squeaking a cloth on something. There's a stick inside the little drum, anchored to the middle of its single head. You rub the stick with a damp cloth to play the instrument, and alter pitch by pressing on the outside of the head with your other hand.

Here's a 4.6Mb video tutorial, which makes clear that certain jokes about the motions involved...

...are far, far too easy to be worth making.

The Cuíca is also known as a "laughing gourd" or "laughing drum" (not to be confused with the various kinds of talking drum). That's a fairly straightforward name, which made the Cuíca easier to look up than the Flexatone. Many other novelty instruments also have names deducible from their sound, like the humble "slide whistle", here demonstrated...

...in Ben Cowden's inimitable "Wayward Calliope" (via).

That box that just wants to be left alone was not the only excellent thing I just found by scanning the recent Lugnet news updates.

There was also a dog sculpture that’s the opposite of Studs Not On Top, and an unassuming little church, and some forced-perspective Star Wars, to warm you up for…

“The Fastest and Funniest LEGO Star Wars story ever told“, from “dzine123“.

Shannon's Ultimate Machine, aka the "Most Useless Machine", has become something of a fad.

So of course, people have made Lego versions.

I think this one, announced in this Lugnet post, is my favourite.

Yep - it's clockwork!

The clockwork motor it uses is either this one or this one. There's also this rather rare see-through one. You could probably also use one of the many pull-back motors.

(Bonus points go to anyone who makes a Useless Machine that's powered by the clock escapement from the #8888 Idea Book.)

OK, so you've got your Lego automatic transmissions, and they're pretty awesome. And there are a number of Lego continuously-variable transmissions, some of elegantly simple design, and those are impressive too.

And then somebody comes along and makes a seven-speed-plus-reverse sequential Lego gearbox, and puts it in a fully remote-controlled Lego Veyron.

With, of course, working steering, engine pistons, disc brakes...

Oh, and it's the targa-top version of the Veyron too, just to pack another darn mechanism in there.

Like someone whose unsettling dreams about becoming the world's greatest badass have been dissipated by an encounter with Raven, all of the rest of us are now under no pressure at all for high achievement in Lego engineering.

(The gearbox is only an expanded and improved version of the 8448 gearbox, mind you, so clearly this is not really that much of a big deal. Also, I think you'll find that Mount Rushmore isn't actually a very large mountain.)

The moment I discovered that “Inanimate Reason” sell Lego-compatible components machined from aluminium, I knew I had to get at least a couple of pieces. If only to gaze upon, and sigh happily.

The two long beams are aluminium; the other pieces are standard Lego.

As you can see, everything fits. The holes are the right diameter and have the right little rebate around the edges; they’re distinctly tighter to push pegs through than standard ABS pieces, but everything works as it should, and axles don’t bind.

If you’re a Lego purist, of course, then it is heresy to use “compatible” pieces of any sort - even Mega Bloks, the best of the usually-woeful Lego clones. It’s a sin even worse than gluing pieces together (though probably not as bad as cutting them up). And if you’re making something to enter in some sort of Lego contest, then non-Lego parts probably break the rules.

But if all you want to do is make cool things out of Lego, and you need, for instance, some long beams that won’t bend as much for robot frame rails or something, these things are great.

(If you make large structures out of normal Lego, you have to use engineering skill to work around its limitations, which is a very educational exercise. Plastic in model-crane scales works not unlike steel in real-crane scales, so it takes real skill to build a huge crane or bridge (or, yes, short-lived house). Or, at least, a great deal of good old pre-scientific trial and error. But if you just want to knock together a chassis for a Lego Roomba or something, and no offensively gigantic Lego piece suits your needs, aluminium pieces are just what the doctor ordered.)

Inanimate Reason’s products aren’t even very expensive, by the standards of custom-machined gear. The smaller pieces only cost a few bucks each; my two 25-stud-length, 25-hole “liftarm” beams - the longest Inanimate Reason currently make - were $US11.99 each, plus a modest shipping fee.

The 25-length beams are not just stronger, but also about ten studs longer than any plastic beam Lego have ever made. I think the longest modern “studless” beam is the 15, unless you count the oddball 11-Duplo-stud-long one that came with this brilliant set. The longest old-style beam-with-studs is the 16. (And just because I know I’ll get letters if I don’t mention them, this very macho Scala building component is 18 studs long, and this recent bridge-frame piece is a gigantic 31 studs in length.)

Inanimate Reason have a Web shop here, and a BrickLink shop here. (Click “Show All Custom Items” for the metal parts - they sell normal Lego as well.)

Besides ordinary beams, they offer a variety of pieces in shapes and/or hole configurations that Lego don’t make. You can get curved beams, beams with an even number of holes, holes with varying spacing to allow otherwise-impossible gear arrangements, beams with lockable hinges in the middle, heavy-duty shafting and gears for high-power drive applications, and adapters to let you easily use standard hobby servos in Lego machines.

(The abovementioned bizarre Early Science and Technology “Duplo Technic” line offers other possibilities for heavy-duty geartrains, but I think it’s impossible to connect the chunky Duplo components to normal-sized Technic, and the sets are so rare and expensive that unless your intention is to force some Lego-robot-sumo contest to change their rules next year, you might as well buy the aluminium pieces anyway.)

Lego is already a surprisingly capable robotics prototyping system…

…but the bendiness of plastic means it can’t get anywhere near the somewhat unsettling capabilities of “proper” modern robots.

Today, aluminium beams and drive components. Tomorrow, an all-stainless 8880!

(Or 928, of course.)

UPDATE: And now TechnicBricks has alerted me to the existence of Lego-compatible linear actuators, from this company. They integrate a motor and a linear actuator, come in two lengths, and work with both NXT and Power Functions.

They’re expensive, though; one 100mm actuator costs as much as a whole 8294 Excavator.

The other day I wrote about a knife switch that might actually be an antique.

Today, allow me to present a knife that could be 2000 years old!

It’s not, though. It was probably beaten out of a bit of old leaf spring or something by some bloke in China only a few months ago.

It’s about 235mm (9.25 inches) long when open, and cost me $AU11.50 delivered (about $US10.50, as I write this) from eBay dealer “The Medieval Shoppe” here in Australia. Here they are on ebay.com; here’s a search that finds this “Rustic Foldable Iron Knife” in their ebay.com.au store, and here it is on ebay.com.

The wood of the handle was a bit rough and splintery, so I sanded it a little and applied some home-made beeswax polish.

The blade came with a usable edge on it. I straightened the edge a bit on a steel, then touched it up with my fancy sharpening doodads. It took longer than usual to remove a tiny amount of material, so the blade is probably pretty high-carbon steel. I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a lot of variation in the steel used to make these things, though.

(I cordially invite readers to start a religious war in the comments about What The One True Knife-Sharpening System is. I’ll start: If you’re a beginner and/or clumsy, get a sharpening kit with some sort of angle guide, like the CRKT Slide Sharp or, for blunter blades that need more material removed, a Gatco sharpening kit.)

Even without extra sharpening, this slightly-mad-slasher-looking thing’s not just a bit of renaissance-faire costume kit. It’s a perfectly practical tool, with a nice slim blade profile that makes it good for slicing tasks, though not a great choice for really heavy cutting, and no use at all for prying things open. And if you were to hop in your time machine with it and go back to the Roman Republic, nobody would find it particularly remarkable.

Well, actually I suspect the cap on the hinge rivet may be a bit of aluminium or stainless steel, which’d be a giveaway if someone examined the knife closely. But apart from that, this is a decent ancient replica.

(You could be onto a nice little earner there, actually. Scour handle and blade with dirt for a while, soak it in wine, soak it in oil, put it in a low oven for a little while, then bury it in the garden and water it daily for a week. And then dig it up and put it on eBay with a $500 reserve as Roman Pocket Knife Miraculously Preserved In Peat Bog. Just hope they don’t carbon-date the wood.)

More intelligent readers may have figured out, from this, that folding pocket knives have been around for a surprisingly long time. Fixed-blade knives are stronger (provided they have a decent-sized tang), and simpler, and so have always been much more common. But the ancient Romans did indeed have folding pocket knives - some of quite sophisticated design.

The ancient folding knives, and indeed every known folding knife until about the 15th century, don’t “lock”. The blade is only held open, or closed, by friction between itself and the handle. This design makes it easy for the knife to close unexpectedly and seriously injure you if you push the blade hard into something (or someone), or if you’re cutting something and the blade jams on a push stroke. A simple friction-joint knife can also come open in your pocket; hilarity may ensue.

For this reason, it’s now possible to get a variety of Swiss Army knives (find more with the SOSAK “SAK Selector”!) that have a proper lock for their main blade, and not just the standard “slipjoint” arrangement that resists opening or closing of the blade, but doesn’t positively lock the blade in either position.

(And yes, I am aware that some law-and-order geniuses in the UK decided to one-up the similar geniuses here in Australia and make it illegal to carry any knife with a locking blade in a public place, unless you have a “good reason”. The list of acceptable “good reasons” does not appear to include “not wanting to cut my own fingers off, or stab myself in the scrotum while running for a bus”.)

I wouldn’t be surprised if someone 2000 years ago came up with at least a simple locking mechanism for a folding knife - like the rotating collar on the classic Opinel knife, for instance. A sliding ring, a peg that goes through holes in the handle and a slot in the blade; there are lots of possibilities that wouldn’t require the precision fabrication techniques and tough steels upon which modern locking knives depend. But if someone did come up with a locking folder in 100 BC, it apparently didn’t catch on.

(It’s possible that many such knives were made, but didn’t survive to the present day. Iron and steel items of all sorts are hard to find in archaeological digs, because iron easily rusts away to nothing over time, leaving archaeologists puzzling over the stain the rust left, and whatever parts remain, to figure out what the now-lost iron parts looked like. Older bronze-bladed knives and swords often fare a lot better. Early iron blades were actually clearly inferior to the bronze alternatives; iron was much more common than the copper-and-tin used to make bronze, but until we figured out how to make proper steel, iron swords were made of wrought iron. That material makes dandy door hinges, but lousy blades.)

My replica has a neat pseudo-lock system, though:

There’s a flattened spike on the back of the blade that stops it from opening too far, and is also easy to grip when you grip the handle, and thereby prevent the blade from closing. It’s not a real lock, and it sticks out awkwardly when the knife is closed, but as a safety feature it’s a lot better than nothing.

(The spike also has a little hole in it, through which you could tie a lanyard.)

Making your own knife, often from some cast-off piece of steel like an old file or a railroad spike, is a popular simple metalworking/blacksmithing project. I think a lot of people are put off the idea, though, by thinking they have to make something that’s somewhere near modern commercial quality, or at least as good as a Douk-Douk or K55K.

You don’t, though. You can make a knife like this with basic hand tools, a gas stove and the very cheapest of eBay Anvil-Shaped Objects, if you’ve already got a chunk of steel.

Or you can just buy one, of course. Either way, it’s another very satisfying object.