[HU2 Design via Inhabitat]

Electric heating elements could be inserted into roads or inside the structure of bridges, warming the roads enough so the snow doesn't reside—much like subways help the snow to melt in New York. Various ways have been trialled by the students working on the project, with sheets of carbon nanofibres proving to be the fastest way to clear snow from the roads. In just two hours the concrete block they tested it on, measuring 25 square cm, warmed the roads from -10 °C to 0 °C (14 °F to 32 °F) , and used 6 watts of power—which could potentially prove to be the downfall to the University of Houston's work, as with wide-spread use the power consumption would be vast. [New Scientist]

Image Credit: Martin Pettitt

Kill-A-Watt's latest version lets you see three stats at once: the current voltage, elapsed time, and cumulative use (which has an unfortunate abbreviation). You also get the programmable functionality, letting you set up unique times for each day of the week and 96 on/off settings per day. It's also a surge protector, which I'm not sure the old one had.

You'll have to pay $70 for this updated version, which still only supports one outlet at once, as opposed to the $10-$20 that you can get the original for. [ThinkGeek]

Tokyo company HiBot is developing a robot to transfer the dangerous duties of high-voltage wire inspection from meat-based humans metal-based robots, in a move intended not just to decrease the likelihood of flash-frying technicians, but to make the inspection process—vital, now that many countries' electrical infrastructures have components approaching 100 years old—more efficient.

The HiBot Exliner, pictured above and set to deploy in Japan, is the second such robot, and the most ambitious: while the LineScout, pictured at top and currently in trials in Canada, only inspects one line at a time, the Expliner will cover four. And unlike their human counterparts, Exliner and LineScout don't even care if the lines are left active while they're doing their respective things, because they ain't got nothin' to lose, y'know? Also: because they're properly insulated.

UPDATE: For anyone wondering why these robots are necessary (or depending on how you look at it, why they aren't) watch this video, starting at around 2:00. —Thanks, winshape![IEEE via Make]

There's no real info on this thing, but it appears to offer most major plug types by spinning the three segments around. It'd be the perfect thing to put in hotels, where people are continually unable to charge up their razor or laptop. [GadgetLab]

The more you look at the writhing orgy of plugs in the world, the sillier it seems. If you buy a phone charger at the airport in Florida, you won't be able to use it when your flight lands in France. If you buy a three-pronged adapter for le portable in Paris, you might not be able to plug it in when your train drops you off in Germany. And when your flight finally bounces to a stop on the runway in London, get ready to buy a comically large adapter to tap into the grid there. But that's cool! You can take the same adapter to Singapore with you! And parts of Nigeria! Oh yeah, and if said charger doesn't support 240v power natively, make sure you buy a converter, or else it might explode.

And aside from a few oases, like the fledgling standardization of the Type C Europlug in the European Union, this is the picture all across the world.

I'd hesitate to refer to power sockets as a part of a country's culture, because they're plugs—they don't really mean anything. But in the sense that they're probably not going to change until they're forcefully replaced with something wildly new, it's kind of what they are.

What's Out There

Click for larger

There are around 12 major plug types in use today, each of which goes by whatever name their adoptive countries choose. For our purposes, we're going to stick with U.S. Department of Commerce International Trade Administration names (PDF), which are neat and alphabetical: America uses A and B plugs! Turkey uses type C! Etc. Thing is, these names are arbitrary: the letters are just assigned to make talking about these plugs less confusing—they don't actually mandate anything. They're not standards, in any meaningful sense of the word.

And even worse, these sockets are divided into two main groups: the 110-120v fellas, like the the ones we use in North America, and the 220-240v plugs, like most of the rest of the world uses. It's not that the plugs and sockets themselves are somehow tied to one voltage or another, but the devices and power grids they're attached to probably are.

How This Happened

The history of the voltage split is a pretty short story, and one you've probably heard bits and pieces of before. Edison's early experiments with direct current (DC) power in the late 1800s netted the first useful mainstream applications for electricity, but suffered from a tendency to lose voltage over long distances. Nonetheless, when Nikola Tesla invented a means of long-distance transmission with alternating current (AC) power, he was doing so in direct competition with Edison's technology, which happened to be 110v. He stuck with that. By the time people started to realize that 240v power might not be such a bad idea for the US, it was the 1950s, and switching was out of the question.

Words were exchanged, elephants were electrocuted, and eventually, the debate was settled: AC power was the only option, and national standardization started in earnest. Westinghouse Electric, the first company to buy Tesla's patents for power transmission, settled on an easy standard: 60Hz, and 110v. In Europe—Germany, specifically—a company called BEW exercised their monopoly to push things a little further. They settled somewhat arbitrarily on a 50Hz frequency, but more importantly jacked voltages up to 240, because, you know, MORE POWER. And so, the 240 standard slowly spread to the rest of the continent. All this happened before the turn of the century, by the way. It's an old beef.

For decades after the first standards, newfangled el-ec-trick-al dee-vices had to be patched directly into your house's wiring, which today sounds like a terrifying prospect. Then, too, it was: Harvey Hubbell's "Separable Attachment Plug"—which essentially allowed for non-bulb devices to be plugged into a light socket for power—was designed with a simple intention:

My invention has for its object to...do away with the possibility of arcing or sparking in making connection, so that electrical power in buildings may be utilized by persons having no electrical knowledge or skill.

Thanks, Harvey! He later adapted the original design to include a two-pronged flat-blade plug, which itself was refined into a three-pronged plug—the third prong is for grounding—by a guy named Philip Labre in 1928. This design saw a few changes over the years too, but it's pretty much the type Americans use now.

Here's the thing: Stories like that of Harvey Hubbell's plug were unfolding all over the world, each with their own twist on the concept. This was before electronics were globalized, and before country-to-country plug compatibility really mattered. The voltage debate had been pared down to two(ish) which made life a bit easier for power companies to set up shop across the world. [Note: There are technically more than two voltages in use, which reader Michael clarifies rather wonderfully here]. But once they were set up, who cared what style plug their customers used? What were you gonna do, lug your new vacuum cleaner across the ocean on a boat? Early efforts to standardize the plug by organizations like the International Electrotechnical Commission (IEC) had trouble taking hold—who were they to tell a country which plug to adopt?—and what little progress they did make was shattered by the Second World War.

Take the British plug. Today, it's a huge, three-pronged beast with a fuse built right into it—one of the weirder plugs in the world, to anyone who's had a chance to use one. But it isn't Britain's first plug, or even their first proprietary plug. In the early 1900s the Isles' cords were capped with the British Standard 546, or Type D hardware, which actually include six subversions of its own, all of which were physically incompatible with one another. This worked out fine until the Second World War, when they got the shit bombed out of them by Germany, and had to rebuild entire swaths of the country in the midst of a severe shortage of basic building supplies— copper, in particular. This made rewiring stuff an expensive proposition, so the government was all, "we need a new plug, stat!"

Here was the pitch: Instead of wiring each socket to a fuseboard somewhere in the house, which would take quite a bit of wire, why not just daisy-chain them together on one wire, and put the fuses in each plug? Hey presto, copper shortage, solved. This was called the British Standard 1363, and you can still find them dangling from wires today. Notice how even in the 1940s and '50s—practically yesterday!—the UK was devising a new type of plug without any regard for the rest of the world.

Now imagine every other developed country in the world doing the same thing, with a totally different set of historical circumstances. That's how we ended up here, blowing fuses in our Paris hotel rooms because our travel adapters' voltage warning were inexplicably written in Cyrillic. Oh, and it gets worse.

You know how the British had control over India for, like, ninety years? Well, along with exporting cricket and inflicting unquantifiable cultural damage, they showed the subcontinent how to plug stuff in, the British way! Problem is, they left in 1947. The BS 1363 plug—the new one—wasn't introduced until 1946, and didn't see widespread adoption until a few years later. So India still uses the old British plug, as does Sri Lanka, Nepal and Namibia. Basically, the best way to guess who's got which socket is to brush up on your WW1/WW2 history, and to have a deep passion for postcolonial literature. No, really.

Is There Any Hope for the Future?

No. I talked to Gabriela Ehrlich, head of communications for the International Electrotechnical Commission, which is still doing its thing over in Switzerland, and the outlook isn't great. "There are standards, and there is a plug that has been designed. The problem is, really, everyone's invested in their own system. It's difficult to get away from that."

When Holland's International Questions Commission first teamed up with the IEC to form a committee to talk about this exact problem in 1934. Meetings were stalled, there was some resistance, blah blah blah, and the committee was delayed until 1940. Then a war—a World War, even!—threw a stick in the committee's spokes, (or a fork in their socket? No?), and the issue was effectively dropped until about 1950, when the IEC realized that there were "limited prospects for any agreement even in this limited geographical region (Europe)." It'd be expensive to tear out everyone's sockets, and the need didn't feel that urgent, I guess.

Plus, the IEC can't force anyone to do anything—they're sort of like the UN General Assembly for electronics standards, which means they can issue them, but nobody has to follow them, no matter how good they are. As time passed, populations grew, and hundred of millions of sockets were installed all over the world. The prospect of switching hardware looked more and more ridiculous. Who would pay for it? Why would a country want to change? Wouldn't the interim, with mixed plug standards in the same country, be dangerous?

But the IEC didn't quite abandon hope, quietly pushing for a standard plug for decades after. And they even came up with some! In the late 80s, they came up with the IEC 60906 plug, a little, round-pronged number for 240v countries. Then they codified a flat-pronged plug for 110-120v countries, which happened to be perfectly compatible with the one we already use in the US. As of today, Brazil is the only country that plans to has adopt[ed] the IEC 60906, so, uh, there's that.

I asked Gabriela if there was any hope, any hope at all, for a future where plugs could just get along:

Maybe in the future you'll have induction charging; you have a device planted into your wall, and you have a [wireless] charging mechanism.

Last time I saw a wireless power prototype was at the Intel Developer Forum in 2008, and it looked like a science fair project: It consisted of two giant coils, just inches apart, which transmitted enough electricity to light a 40w light bulb. So yeah, we'll get this power plug problem all sorted by oh, let's say, 2050?

She took care to emphasize that the standards are still there for people to adopt, so countries could jump onboard, but even in a best-case scenario, for as long as we use wires we'll have at least two standards to deal with—a 110-120v flat plug and the 240-250v round plug. For now, the Commission is taking a more practical approach to dealing with the problem, issuing specs for things like laptop power bricks, which can handle both voltages and come with interchangeable lead wires, as well as as something near and dear to our hearts: "We have to move forward into plugs we can really control," Gabriela told me. She means new stuff like USB, which is turning into the de facto gadget charging standard. The most we can hope for is a future where AC outlets are invisible to us, sending power to newer, more universal plugs. My phone'll charge via USB just as well in Sub-Saharan Africa as it will in New York City; just give me the port.

In the meantime, this means that things really aren't going to change. Your Walmart shaver will still die if you plug it into a European socket with a bare adapter, Indians will still be reminded of the British Empire every time they unplug a laptop, Israel will have their own plug which works nowhere else in the world, and El Salvador, without a national standard, will continue to wrestle with 10 different kinds of plug.

In other words, sorry.

Many thanks to Gabriela Ehrlich and the IEC, as well as the Institute for Engineering and Technology and Wiring Matters (PDF), and USC Viterbi's illumin review. Map adapted from Wikimedia Commons by Intern Kyle

Still something you wanna know? Still can't figure out how to plug in your Bosnian knockoff iPhone? Send questions, tips, addenda or complaints to tips@gizmodo.com, with "Giz Explains" in the subject line.

Actually, that's 4-hours on a 3-phase 400V/32 source. It takes 28 hours on a standard, European 220V outlet. To put the benefits of an electric-powered boat in perspective, consider this: a full charge only runs about 5 Euros (about $7.40). The boat may be priced 30 or 40 percent higher than an equivalent diesel powered craft, but you could save money over the 10 year life of the battery on fuel costs.

If you have the means it's probably a good idea to wait a bit longer for Nimbus to improve the technology. Apparently, a new generation of batteries that can double the range will be available "soon". That would make it a serious competitor will diesel boats in terms of performance while offering you more juice to rig up a way to electrocute fish. [Nimbus via Luxist]

UPDATE: Nimbus claims that E-Power is the "world's first electrically powered boat for the commercial market", but it appears that there are other companies out there that have been selling electric boats for decades. However, the E-Power seems to be bigger than previous models.

Nothing in this world can take the place of persistence, and William Kamkwamba has it in spades. At age fourteen, while many of us were sneaking out of classrooms, William was struggling to sneak into them—his family was unable to afford the $80 annual tuition. As is bound to happen to most students, he was caught. But instead of being sent to detention, he was barred from the school. In a show of the driven man he would become, he didn't allow that to hinder him and instead started spending his days in the local library. While there, he encountered a book called Using Energy:

Using Energy described how windmills could be used to generate electricity. Only two percent of Malawians have electricity, and the service is notoriously unreliable. William decided an electric windmill was something he wanted to make. Illuminating his house and the other houses in his village would mean that people could read at night after work. A windmill to pump water would mean that they could grow two crops a year rather than one, grow vegetable gardens, and not have to spend two hours a day hauling water. "A windmill meant more than just power," he wrote, "it was freedom."

This book is what changed his life. And I don't mean that as an exaggeration. It was truly what made a difference in his life. Because of that book, and the potential he saw in its ideas, William began to build:

William scoured trash bins and junkyards for materials he could use to build his windmill. With only a couple of wrenches at his disposal, and unable to afford even nuts and bolts, he collected things that most people would consider garbage-slime-clogged plastic pipes, a broken bicycle, a discarded tractor fan-and assembled them into a wind-powered dynamo. For a soldering iron, he used a stiff piece of wire heated in a fire. A bent bicycle spoke served as a size adapter for his wrenches.

Imagine that. A young boy being so motivated by ideas and the sheer need to build something life-changing that he discovered materials and uses for them which most of us wouldn't even dream of. As Mark Frauenfelder put it:

For an educated adult living in a developed nation, designing and building a wind turbine that generates electricity is something to be proud of. For a half-starved, uneducated boy living in a country plagued with drought, famine, poverty, disease, a cruelly corrupt government, crippling superstitions, and low expectations, it's another thing altogether. It's nothing short of monumental.

After completing his first windmill, William "went on to wire his house with four light bulbs and two radios, installing switches made from rubber sandals, and scratch-building a circuit breaker to keep the thatch roof of his house from catching fire." His project had the attention of village locals early on, but at this point he gained the attention of TED, Technology Entertainment Design, through whom he was introduced to individuals willing to contribute to his plans to "electrify, irrigate, and educate his village, as well as pay his tuition at the prestigious African Leadership Academy in Johannesburg."

In short: A young man struggled to educate himself, to build something his village needed, and in the end made a difference to the entire locale and gained the education he'd always wanted. Yes, it's a fluffy, feel-good story with a happy ending. What should you take from the it? Maybe that there's hope in the bleakest of situations, maybe that your teachers and parents were right about the power of education, maybe just that I'm a sappy bookworm with a soft spot for happy endings. No matter, if you wish to learn more, you can read the recently released The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind, check out William's blog, or peek at this video from before he ever wrote his autobiography. [GOOD via Boing Boing]

Sugimoto has a new exhibition of photographs called "Lightning Fields" on view at Fraenkel Gallery in San Francisco from 9/10 to 10/31. Go check it out if you're in the area! And for somewhat similar photos, check out Robert Buelteman's electrified flower photos. [PDN Photo of the Day via Kottke]

So if you notice that you use a lot of energy around 7pm, maybe it's time to turn off the TV, lower the thermostat or eat that steak raw rather than using the Earth's dwindling natural resources to char it all fancy-like.

The only real design flaw with the Energy Aware Clock is that the face only looks more interesting by displaying your corpulent energy spikes. So while your data could be handy, the end product positively reinforces wastefulness. A better idea, and I'm just spit-balling here, would be a clock that kicked you in the nuts every time you left a room without turning off all the lights while running a hairdryer, or something. [designboom via DVICE via geek via BBG]

Solar Roadways, a single-purpose startup, just snagged a $100,000 grant from the DoE to design and build a 12-by-12-foot super-tough solar panel, intended to be laid as sections of road. As it's been optimistically imagined, the panels would also have a layer of low-res LED lights, so they could display changing signage.

Given how expensive and inefficient regular solar panels are, this whole plan sounds a little far-fetched, but the benefits could be huge: the company says that they could meet the entire country's energy needs if the interstate system was replaced with its (still theoretical) panels. Neat, but there's a minor issue of cost.

To pull this into perspective, Solar Roadways say they could take 500 homes off the grid with just one mile of four lane solar highway. They also say their 12x12 panels will cost about $6900 apiece. Assuming a width of four panels, a mile of highway need to be made up of 1760 panels, which comes to over twelve million dollars before construction costs, which usually make up the bulk of the sum anyway.

I mean, they managed to coax $100k out of the government already, so maybe there's more to this than meets the eye. Or maybe, the Deptartment of Energy just wants to give this plan a fair shot, just make sure this won't work. Spaghetti, walls, etc. [Solar Roadways via Inhabitat via PopSci]

[There I Fixed It]

Meanwhile, take a trip pretty much anywhere else in the world and things change:

Looking at an EU dishwasher label...The machine is rated not only on total energy and water consumption, but also on cleaning performance, drying performance, size and noise. At a glance, consumers get a sense of how this dishwasher stacks up against every other dishwasher on the market....The American EnergyGuide label lists the manufacturer-submitted annual kilowatt-hours consumption estimate, compares that to the other manufacturer-submitted estimates, then crunches those numbers with another set of assumptions to project how much money it might cost to operate the machine for a year. It's up to the shopper standing on the dishwasher aisle to figure out whether 100 or 1000 kilowatt-hours per year is a reasonable cost for clean plates.

Basically, the rest of the world gets a free issue of Consumer Reports on the label of every appliance they're about to buy. We're left needing a subscription. [Popular Mechanics]

People love cheating death by standing right under some Tesla Coils going crazy, protecting themselves in Faraday Cages.

They also like playing music through Tesla Coils, especially super nerdy music like the Zelda theme song.

And people even use his toys to protect their computers, although that ones isn't all to practical. You can see that one in action above.

So for all that you've done for us, we thank you Mr. Tesla. Here's to another couple of centuries of shocking fun.

His process is a refined, high art version of Kirlian Photography—a photographic technique popularized in the 1930s. Buelteman places a whittled, near translucent flower directly onto color film, then he sandwiches the subject between sheet metal and plexiglass—all of which is submerged in liquid silicone. Using jumper cables, the flower is pumped full of electricity which ionizes the surrounding air and leaves a glowing corona on the film (the blue outline).

Then, Buelteman "paints" the film with a single fiber optic strand, adding an almost divine white glow to the image (which can take as many as 150 attempts to execute perfectly).

Buelteman argues that without lens glass distorting colors, his flowers have an unparalleled chromatic accuracy. You can judge for yourself in his new book Signs of Life and read more on the story over at: [Wired]

Boing Boing Video went and checked out Omega Recoil, a group of crazies who put on performances with gigantic Tesla Coils. And while I'm sure you'd love to read me opine about what their performances are like, why don't you just watch the video and see for yourself? [Boing Boing Gadgets]

If you live in the US or Japan, that is. [Metaphys via BBG]

During the presentation, they provide some background on Nikola Tesla's experiments and attempt to recreate them by powering a light bulb wirelessly at various distances. It works of course—in 1899 Tesla managed to transmit 100 million volts of power over a distance of 26 miles where it lit up a bank of 200 light bulbs and an electric motor. So why haven't figured out how to do this on a large scale over the last 100 years? [Fora]

Google has announced its first partners for the project, who either do or will provide their customers with the "smart meters" necessary for Google widget to work:

* San Diego Gas & Electric® (California)
* TXU Energy (Texas)
* JEA (Florida)
* Reliance Energy (India)
* Wisconsin Public Service Corporation (Wisconsin)
* White River Valley Electric Cooperative (Missouri)
* Toronto Hydro–Electric System Limited (Canada)
* Glasgow EPB (Kentucky)

With more to follow.
Of course, PowerMeter doesn't provide much information that you couldn't get by just reading your meter every once in a while, but it does present the data in a slick, easy-to-read way that makes the effects of power-saving measures readily apparent. If it takes a Google analytics interface to teach people to teach people to turn off stuff they're not using, that's fine with me. [Google Blog—Thanks, Ben!]