What I liked about it is that it’s wrestling with the idea “How do you improve on something considered perfect?” and touches upon the important area we cover occasionally here on this blog: when is software finished?
There is also another interesting angle. Even though the game requires original game ROMs to work, it’s still in a very, very gray area:
[…] Once you strip it down, this thing is built around Nintendo’s world: the Super Mario Bros. name, the characters, the visual identity, the level concepts, the branding, the whole presentation. And the more ambitious it gets, the riskier it feels. Once a fan project starts offering not just a remake, but extra modes, editor tools, custom-level browsing, ratings, and a growing user-generated content scene, it stops looking like a small tribute and starts looking like something operating in Nintendo’s lane.
(I didn’t expect to see the original Super Mario game to come up so often on this blog – I just added a tag for it – especially since I don’t have any personal reverence for it. But it seems it’s Super Mario and Doom specifically that became timeless pieces of software that keep being resurrected, revisited, and remixed, over and over again.)
Deere is one of many companies that practice “VIN-locking,” a practice that comes from the automotive industry (“VIN” stands for “vehicle identification number,” the unique serial number that every automotive manufacturer stamps onto the engine block and, these days, encodes in the car’s onboard computers).
VIN locks began in car-engines. Auto manufacturers started to put cheap microcontrollers into engine components and subcomponents. A mechanic could swap in a new part, but the engine wouldn’t recognize it — and the car wouldn’t drive — until an authorized technician entered an unlock code into a special tool connected to the car’s internal network.
Big Car sold this as a safety measure, to prevent unscrupulous mechanics from installing inferior refurbished or third-party parts in unsuspecting drivers’ cars. But the real goal was eliminating the independent car repair sector, and the third-party parts industry, allowing car manufacturers to monopolize the repair and parts revenues, charging whatever the traffic would bear (literally).
In a decision that bolsters right-to-repair movement, John Deere and farmers reached a settlement that has the company pay $99 million to repay prior inflated repair costs, and requires it to share software required for maintenance and repair with farmers.
Just because I was curious and you might be also, here’s an example of a modern tractor interface:
The story reminded me of an ongoing battle in Poland where a train manufacturer Newag used VIN locking and coupled it with GPS hardcoding in an even more brazen attempt to prevent third-party repair: if a train spent too much time at a location of another train repair company, it’d simply stop running – not by some hardware fault, but by a simple if condition in code.
“This is quite a peculiar part of the story—when SPS was unable to start the trains and almost gave up on their servicing, someone from the workshop typed “polscy hakerzy” (“Polish hackers”) into Google,” the team from Dragon Sector, made up of Jakub Stępniewicz, Sergiusz Bazański, and Michał Kowalczyk, told me in an email. “Dragon Sector popped up and soon after we received an email asking for help.”
The (white-hat) hackers helped unbrick the train, but since European law is stricter on DRM, the case gets murkier. The article above is from 2023, and contains this quote:
Newag said that they will sue us, but we doubt they will - their defense line is really poor and they would have no chance defending it, they probably just want to sound scary in the media.
The three hackers explained their work in this 45-minute conference talk. It’s honestly not the most polished presentation, but it goes into a lot of engrossing details and if the intersection of hacking and trains hardware interests you, check it out! I had fun looking double checking this presented code by punching in the lat/long coordinates into Google Maps and verifying they’re exactly the locations of competitive repair shops:
From May last year, a 21-minute video by Linus Boman about font piracy, specifically during the era of personal computing and early internet:
The nuances of what separates font piracy from non-pirated revivals or general inspiration are too much even for me, but I liked how the video moved on from the obvious and cheap “haha, you wouldn’t pirate a font” story to cover a few of the more complex issues with panache.
My small contribution to the discourse is that I just scanned an interesting booklet from 1979 called Typeface Analogue, which catalogs various names different phototypesetting manufacturers used for their “replica” fonts – a sort of a translation table between once-relevant parallel type ecosystems.
Some are pretty uninspired: CS for Century Schoolbook, OP for Optima, Eurostyle for Eurostile, and so on. Others are more interesting: a version of Palatino called Patina, American Classic becoming Colonial, or Futura renamed to Twentieth Century. Absolute fav? Helvetica becoming Megaron.
The display fonts you see on this blog are my vector conversion and slight improvement (kerning pairs!) over a bitmap PC/GEOS font called University, which itself was inspired by the original Macintosh’s Geneva. Inspired or downright stolen? You decide:
I’m not going to spoil the surprise. Am I fully supportive of the approach? Not sure. PlayStation’s region protection complicates my feelings, and any sort of DRM-esque approach eventually backfires when it comes to software preservation. But you can’t deny what Spyro developers did is a really fascinating and weird approach.
The quote in the title of this post refers to the hackers who eventually did conquer the Spyro’s copy protection system. I guess – and I apologize in advance – game recognize game.
