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Feb 6
Here is how to write assembly instructions for a neural prosthesis (in the form of cat ears).

First, look through all the pictures you took while you made the first prototype. This will take forever. You figured taking lots of process photos would make things easier, so now you get to wade through several months worth of images.

Once you sort through all these images, realize that they are completely unsuitable for build instructions. That’s because when you built the damn prototype the first time, you ended up changing the design and going back to modify existing hardware, so that there’s no consistent story of building the thing from beginning to end.

Swear a lot. This will not make you feel better, but it’s expected.

Now you have to build an entirely new set of ears in order to write instructions. You will think this will be easy, especially since you have already started working on another headset. This is wrong, but enjoy your delusions while they last.

Write up an outline of the steps required to build the headset. This will be an amusing reminder of how poorly your memory works.

As an added incentive, promise your girlfriend that you will make this set of ears for her in time for an event a few weeks away.

Print out a new set of parts for the ears. For extra fun, have your Makerbot’s heated build platform malfunction, making it impossible to finish any prints. Waste a week trying to troubleshoot your Makerbot, while it laughs silently at you.

Give up.

Realize you can’t give up.

Scrounge existing parts from your semi-final pieces. Breathe a sigh of relief. Set up a tripod and makeshift photo booth, and begin assembly, photographing along with your build steps as you go.

Discover that your goddamn design can only be built by four-armed monkey people from the planet Maxi-Megalon. Consider changing the design. Remember that your Makerbot still isn’t working.

Swear a lot.

Change the build instructions to show how you can use vises and third-hand tools to hold things in place. Wonder why anyone in their right mind would even follow these instructions. Keep going anyhow. Finish the first stage of assembly to the point where the ears need to be programmed, and their movement adjusted.

This is when you will face the fact that your existing code makes it ridiculously hard to adjust the position and movement of the ears, and that you’re going to need to completely re-think the software portion of the design.

Assure your girlfriend that the ears will be done on time.

Re-write the tuning code. Get the ears moving properly. Get cocky and re-factor the movement code for the final set of ears. Feel smug.

Wake up in the middle of the night and realize that you still haven’t solved the problem of making the ears run on a rechargeable battery.

Write some code to stress-test the ear power circuit. Connect both sets of ears to different power supplies and run them for four hours. Breathe a sigh of relief when the LiPo battery works (for now). Stay up half the night. Get brain-fried.

Post a picture of the semi-complete second set of ears to your blog with an un-funny set of pseudo-instructions for writing the instructions.

Do not give up.

Here is how to write assembly instructions for a neural prosthesis (in the form of cat ears).

First, look through all the pictures you took while you made the first prototype. This will take forever. You figured taking lots of process photos would make things easier, so now you get to wade through several months worth of images.

Once you sort through all these images, realize that they are completely unsuitable for build instructions. That’s because when you built the damn prototype the first time, you ended up changing the design and going back to modify existing hardware, so that there’s no consistent story of building the thing from beginning to end.

Swear a lot. This will not make you feel better, but it’s expected.

Now you have to build an entirely new set of ears in order to write instructions. You will think this will be easy, especially since you have already started working on another headset. This is wrong, but enjoy your delusions while they last.

Write up an outline of the steps required to build the headset. This will be an amusing reminder of how poorly your memory works.

As an added incentive, promise your girlfriend that you will make this set of ears for her in time for an event a few weeks away.

Print out a new set of parts for the ears. For extra fun, have your Makerbot’s heated build platform malfunction, making it impossible to finish any prints. Waste a week trying to troubleshoot your Makerbot, while it laughs silently at you.

Give up.

Realize you can’t give up.

Scrounge existing parts from your semi-final pieces. Breathe a sigh of relief. Set up a tripod and makeshift photo booth, and begin assembly, photographing along with your build steps as you go.

Discover that your goddamn design can only be built by four-armed monkey people from the planet Maxi-Megalon. Consider changing the design. Remember that your Makerbot still isn’t working.

Swear a lot.

Change the build instructions to show how you can use vises and third-hand tools to hold things in place. Wonder why anyone in their right mind would even follow these instructions. Keep going anyhow. Finish the first stage of assembly to the point where the ears need to be programmed, and their movement adjusted.

This is when you will face the fact that your existing code makes it ridiculously hard to adjust the position and movement of the ears, and that you’re going to need to completely re-think the software portion of the design.

Assure your girlfriend that the ears will be done on time.

Re-write the tuning code. Get the ears moving properly. Get cocky and re-factor the movement code for the final set of ears. Feel smug.

Wake up in the middle of the night and realize that you still haven’t solved the problem of making the ears run on a rechargeable battery.

Write some code to stress-test the ear power circuit. Connect both sets of ears to different power supplies and run them for four hours. Breathe a sigh of relief when the LiPo battery works (for now). Stay up half the night. Get brain-fried.

Post a picture of the semi-complete second set of ears to your blog with an un-funny set of pseudo-instructions for writing the instructions.

Do not give up.


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