50-Cent Origami Microscope Could Help Fight Malaria

When Manu Prakash, PhD, wants to impress lab visitors with the durability of his Origami-based paper microscope, he throws it off a three-story balcony, stomps on it with his foot and dunks it into a water-filled beaker. Miraculously, it still works.

Even more amazing is that this microscope — a bookmark-sized piece of layered cardstock with a micro-lens — only costs about 50 cents in materials to make.

Prakash’s dream is that this ultra-low-cost microscope will someday be distributed widely to detect dangerous blood-borne diseases like malaria, African sleeping sickness, schistosomiasis and Chagas.

“I wanted to make the best possible disease-detection instrument that we could almost distribute for free,” said Prakash. “What came out of this project is what we call use-and-throw microscopy.”

The Foldscope can be assembled in minutes, includes no mechanical moving parts, packs in a flat configuration, is extremely rugged and can be incinerated after use to safely dispose of infectious biological samples. With minor design modifications, it can be used for bright-field, multi-fluorescence or projection microscopy.

One of the unique design features of the microscope is the use of inexpensive spherical lenses rather than the precision-ground curved glass lenses used in traditional microscopes. These poppy-seed-sized lenses were originally mass produced in various sizes as an abrasive grit that was thrown into industrial tumblers to knock the rough edges off metal parts. In the simplest configuration of the Foldscope, one 17-cent lens is press-fit into a small hole in the center of the slide-mounting platform. Some of his more sophisticated versions use multiple lenses and filters.

To use a Foldscope, a sample is mounted on a microscope slide and wedged between the paper layers of the microscope. With a thumb and forefinger grasping each end of the layered paper strip, a user holds the micro-lens close enough to one eye that eyebrows touch the paper. Focusing and locating a target object are achieved by flexing and sliding the paper platform with the thumb and fingers.

Because of the unique optical physics of a spherical lens held close to the eye, samples can be magnified up to 2,000 times. (To the right are two disease-causing microbes, Giardia lamblia and Leishmania donovani, photographed through a Foldscope.)

The Foldscope can be customized for the detection of specific organisms by adding various combinations of colored LED lights powered by a watch battery, sample stains and fluorescent filters. It can also be configured to project images on the wall of a dark room.

In addition, Prakash is passionate about mass-producing the Foldscope for educational purposes, to inspire children — our future scientists — to explore and learn from the microscopic world.

In a recent Stanford bioengineering course, Prakash used the Foldscope to teach students about the physics of microscopy. He had the entire class build their own Foldscope. Then teams wrote reports on microscopic observations or designed Foldscope accessories, such a smartphone camera attachment.

http://scopeblog.stanford.edu/2014/03/10/stanford-bioengineer-develops-a-50-cent-paper-microscope/
Thanks to Kebmodee for bringing this to the attention of the It’s Interesting community.

Traffic ticket paid with 137 origami pigs

A miffed motorist who received a $137 traffic ticket stuck it to the police when he paid the fine with 137 origami pigs made of  $1 bills in a couple of Dunkin’ Donuts boxes.

With a phone propped in his shirt pocket to record the transaction, a man that uses that moniker “Bacon Moose” on YouTube arrived to make a municipal court payment for a ticket that he thought was unfair. The video does not indicate the man’s name, the court jurisdiction or when the fine was paid.

“I got this ticket in a town where the cops (and absurd red light cameras) are pretty much a money trap and that’s it. I decided to pay in an appropriate manner — 137 origami pig $1 bills, put in a pair of dozen Dunkin’ Donuts boxes,” he wrote on YouTube.

In the video, which has now been viewed over 180,000 times on YouTube, “Bacon Moose” approaches the counter, where an office worker tries to accept the payment for the ticket, only to find that it presented in a very unique fashion. He refuses to accept it as “Bacon Moose” insists that its legal tender.

“I understand that, but the way that you have it folded, I’m not going to sit here and unfold all of that,” the employee says.

“Bacon Moose” continued to protest, insisting that his payment be accepted.

“How different is this then if I had crumpled bills in my pocket? I am offering you to pay in cash right now. I would have paid by card, but you offer a 5 percent fee for that,” he said.

The officer worker is baffled.

“Why would you do that? Times are tough. Why would you take the time to fold all of these up?” the employee asks.

Eventually, the clerk brings over a uniformed police officer to assess the situation. That officer quite politely asks “Bacon Moose” to step over to the counter and unfold the bills.

“Bacon Moose” finally agrees. Moments later in the clip, it suddenly dawns on that officer what he is looking at.

“Little piggies in a donut box! I got it, I got it!” he laughs.

Eventually while counting the bills, the officer worker begins to see the humor, particularly as “Bacon Moose” identifies one of the origami pigs as Admiral Ackbacon, the sole survivor of a great pig massacre of 2012.

“I will give you props,” the clerk says. “You have made me laugh for the day. I will give you mad props on you taking your time to do each and every one of these.”

“Bacon Moose” added a title to the clip noting that it took eight minutes to count the money, but it only took three minutes to unfold it.  He notes that he lost track after four hours of how long it took him to fold all the dollar bills.  He documented the process here.

 

Personalized Origami in the New York City Subway

At the foot of a Union Square subway platform staircase, an artist focused on his delicate work, maneuvering a fold of black origami paper along half-open scissor blades.

“Scissor doesn’t move, only paper moves,” he said to the rider posing for him. “Nice young man,” he bantered. “How old are you? Like your hair.”

The paper’s border flutters to the dirty, gum-tacked floor. He peeled open the fold to reveal an intricate, slightly caricatured portrait of the rider’s face, down to the hairs and wrinkles. He taped it to a white-tiled wall beside him, joining it with others, oblivious to the gusts from the passing trains that threatened to blow his frail creations onto the tracks.

On a foam board below were dozens more subway characters: man with dreadlocks, woman with hoop earrings, bald man with spectacles. He offered to repeat the feat without looking at the rider’s face. “In America, just me,” he said of his skill. “In China, just me. This unique.”

In the congested world of subway performers, where dance troupes, conga circles and violin players blur, Ming Liang Lu, 57, is an alluring presence. A self-described “master paper portrait cutter,” he has the ability to trim facial portraits out of frail paper within minutes, compelling some riders to willingly miss their trains.

Mr. Lu practices several ancient Chinese art forms, and says he hails from a noted Shanghai teaching lineage. On weekends, he teaches calligraphy, painting and cutting at the New York Chinese Cultural Center. He said that in Shanghai, his birth city, he was renown for stone sculpture and stamp seal carving. He credits the facial portraits to his formative training in a three-dimensional form.

Paper-cutting dates to the Han dynasty but it is traditionally associated with designs like animals and flowers. But Mr. Lu has adapted the technique for facial portraits. “You’re not going to see anybody doing the faces,” said Alex Gombach, one of Mr. Lu’s oldest students. “That’s really his own thing.”

“When you see those subway faces in their totality, it’s a New York portrait,” Mr. Gombach continued. “You’ve got a young black woman, an Orthodox Jew, a white guy. It’s a New York story.”

On a recent Thursday night, Mr. Lu, Chinese-language newspapers scattered at his feet, trimmed the visage of a rider while Jason Kraut, 39, filmed it on his smartphone. An L train blasted off into the tunnel, threatening to dislodge his works, but Mr. Lu swiveled the folded paper through his scissors, paying no attention to the ruckus.

Mr. Kraut, who often passes Mr. Lu on the L platform on his commute to Park Slope, Brooklyn, analyzed the cutting as if he were in a museum. “This makes me think of Chet Baker blowing those changes,” he said, referring to the jazz trumpeter. “I have no idea what’s going on. Same with this.” He decided: “I need to have one.”

Mr. Lu is pleased if a rider wants a portrait — he accepted $20 for a small, live portrait — but he is also content just cutting an interesting face.

“Not about money,” he said. “About face.”

Another session drew a crowd of backpack-wearing riders, complete with shushes and quiet faces of awe. Mr. Lu recognized one of the audience members, Kristen Mucci, and gave her a hug.

“How’s your husband?” he asked her before returning to his work. Two years ago, Ms. Mucci hired Mr. Lu for her birthday.

“He was a big hit,” she said. “We had it at a bar in Williamsburg. Something different. Half the payoff is watching him create such frail, delicate things. It looks like he’s just touching a piece of paper, but they all come out different. It’s not canned.”

Mr. Lu is not as dainty as his creations. He has cropped black hair, and a scent of cigarettes follows him. His English is rudimentary, but effective enough to plant disarming compliments to charm riders into modeling for him.

He resumed his routine the following night, turning from his Sing Tao Daily upon noticing a possibly trim-worthy face. “I love your face,” he said as he started trimming the likeness of the bearded man’s face. The rider abandoned Mr. Lu when his train arrived. Mr. Lu completed the portrait accurately without visual aid. He taped it to his wall and returned to his newspaper.

Later, Raymond Colletti, intrigued by the three-dimensional portraits popping up from the subway wall, approached.

Mr. Lu turned from his newspaper. “How you, my friend?” he said. “How old? Very nice young man.”

Mr. Colletti had little say in the matter. Mr. Lu started cutting as a rackety train dashed past.

http://www.nytimes.com/2012/05/16/nyregion/ming-liang-lu-makes-faces-in-the-subway-using-paper-and-scissors.html?_r=1&nl=todaysheadlines&emc=edit_th_20120516

ocused on his delicate work, maneuvering a fold of black origami paper along half-open scissor blades.