Month: May 2010

games games gaming games gamer games

The Humble Indie Bundle, a six-game pay-anything collection, hit $1.million, goes open-source, gets extention!

The nitty gritty: as of the time of writing, nearly 116,000 people have donated nearly $1.05 million, nearly 31 percent of which will be going to the Bundle’s selected charities the EFF and children’s hospital focused Child’s Play. Full techie stats are available here, but that amounts to roughly $137,000 to each developer in a week, all of whom had seen sales of their years-old games dwindle.

To celebrate the landmark, the devs are extending the sale for the rest of this week for any latecomers, and are beginning to make good on their GPL-licensed open source promise, beginning with Wolfire’s Lugaru HD. Gish and Penumbra will soon be following suit, and Aquaria has made the surprise announcement that they’re coming on-board with the open source promise, as well.

PORTAL, the clever game of twisty physics couched in black humour, is free for download (with the installation of Steam) until May 24th!

Portal used to cost money. Until May 24th, it’s free. End of story.
Well, technically speaking, there are some strings attached. Fortunately, they’re entirely decorative. We just like the way they look, swaying in the gentle breeze created by a million people simultanously fainting from shock at the news that Portal is free. Now you have no reason not to try Portal.
“I have a reason,” some of you are probably typing into an angry email. “You see, sir, I own a Mac.”
Well guess what: For the first time ever, Portal is also available for the Mac.

save a life, pass it on

CLOIHOUSE: Save the Life of Kiana Firouz:

Kiana Firouz, 27 years old, is an outspoken Iranian LGBT rights activist, filmmaker, and actress. When clips of her video documentary work featuring the struggle and persecution of gays and lesbians in her country were acquired by Iranian intelligence, agents began to follow Firouz around Tehran, harassing and intimidating her. She fled for England where she could safely continue her work and studies. […]

Firouz, understandably, has requested asylum from the British government. Much to everyone’s shock and dismay, the British Home Office has rejected her application for refugee status. Yes, they know she’s gay. Yes, they know she could be deported back to Iran at any time, and that if this happens, Firouz will most likely be sentenced to torture and death after being found guilty of the “unspeakable sin of homosexuality” because she has participated in explicit lesbian sex scenes in the movie, and been a fierce proponent for human rights in her country.

In Iran, the punishment for lesbianism involving mature consenting women consists of 100 lashes. This punishment can be applied up to three times. After a fourth violation of Iranian law, a woman convicted of “unrepentant homosexuality” is finally executed by hanging, often publicly, in front of a howling mob.[…]

The EveryOne activists invite concerned readers to send protest e-mail messages to the British Home Office (public.enquiries@homeoffice.gsi.gov.uk) requesting that Kiana receive refugee status as soon as possible, for she is a symbol of the international fight against homophobia and repression of gays and lesbians in Islamic countries.

Here is the official Cul de Sac website.

Here is the petition endorsed by Kiana Firouz herself.

And this is her story.

Let’s make some noise, comrades.

trying to put the pin back into the grenade

  • An Animated Description Of Mr Maps
  • Animated x-ray examinations of speech

    It was a rough weekend, tumbled dry, scratchy eyed. I spent a night on the couch, tapping at computer keys, unable to sleep, singing my sorrow to the sky. The next day I packed, putting all of my things into a case, slamming doors while wrapping objects in paper, the better to save the glass. I felt lost, an army of emotion without will to fight.

    We went out, we walked, visited with friends and did not touch. The sun was out, the weather sweet as feathers, but things were not resolved. Returning home, suffering spiraled in again, wanting another twelve hours to be driven out. We do not argue in ritual. It is exceptional, infrequent, strange. Uncomfortable like our struggles are against nature. He is auto-defensive, I am as vulnerable as a weapon. There are cycles. Patterns of past relationships, themes of thrown history, locked doors, and memories of faces.

    In retrospect, we are growing to understand how to rarify the process. Quicken it, speed ourselves to closure, comfort, and need. If, world forbid, it happens again, we will not find pain as sharp an obstacle. This is twice, yet already we are faster. Fourty-eight hours is better than a month of weeks. I am wrung out, exhausted, and I’m sure he feels the same, but we found ways to mend what was broken, as well as affection. I am thankful for our effort, for our love. There is no better victory.

    • More than a couch, less than a rocket ship.

    I pulled back. Wait. With one hand on his chest, I reached down with the other and plucked our favourite caramel from the small, expensive box on the bed. Here, so we’ll always know what our first kiss tastes like. I put it between my teeth and held it there in my mouth, then leaned forward to his, and broke the dark chocolate into gooey citrus caramel just as our lips began to meet.

    The last few days have felt like a wonderful vacation from the various crushing worries that have been become the fabric of my recent life. Instead of worrying about rent or groceries or perpetually postponed photo sessions, I’ve been floating, spending time in Seattle with Tony, celebrating our one year anniversary with whatever pops into our heads. I arrived to find chocolates on the bed from Chocopolis, the place on Capitol Hill where the flavour of our unbelievably delicious first kiss came from. They no longer sell that particular sweet, but Tony bought approximations, and we fed them to each other like little bullets of joyful reminder, coated in smooth, delicious happiness.

    He also presented me with a copy of Taxidermia, so Friday night we stayed in, made supper, and let wonder unfold on the screen. Neither one of us had seen it before, but I’ve been quietly lusting after it for years, since seeing this clip when it was first posted. I warn you now, it’s one of the most beautiful films I’ve ever seen, but it’s relentless. I’ve been trying to think of a way to recommend it to people for days now, except I want to do so safely, so no one ends up traumatized. Describing it would ruin it. Telling everyone to see it would be a mistake. I mean, it’s heart-stoppingly gorgeous, but there is a man with a flame thrower penis within the first ten minutes. It needs one of those old thriller movie posters that didn’t bother with anything but NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART!! in 89 point bright red type. Nothing else would be appropriate. I will say this, though, if you’re a squeamish sort of body, either watch it with someone who will tell you when to look or simply avoid it altogether, excluding the scene I’ve already posted.

    Since then, we’ve wandered downtown, had dinner at the Space Needle, saw lightning, practiced our massage skills with ebony current cream, enjoyed at least one sleep-in of epic proportions, played peek-a-boo with a baby giraffe at the Seattle Zoo, fed popcorn to squirrels, been rained on with some red pandas, were pleasantly defeated by steaks at Morton’s, and fallen asleep in front of Sonny Chiba movies and seriously vintage cartoons. Our love is awesome.

    ps. I also got him a present, but it’s not here yet, so mum’s the word until it arrives. Shh.