Lunar Obverse - Page 3 of 276 - The bright side of a Moon

One Hundred and Fifty Days In A Row

My first year with XOXO

General

Still processing XOXO and the profound effect it has had on me since I first learned about it. Which was way back in 2013, the second year for it. I’d missed the first incarnation entirely despite being, even back then, chronically online. I knew who Andy Baio was: chief technology officer (CTO) for Kickstarter, an amazing crowdfunding platform, and also the blogger behind Waxy.org. To me, he was the guy who creates and finds cool things on the internet. Finding out that he lived in my hometown, and that he was behind an art-tech festival, I knew I needed to see it and maybe be a small part of it.

In August of 2013 I had quit my job out of depression and grief and had no plans to go back to work. I emailed the info email account for this festival, XOXO, and asked if it was too late to volunteer and help. I got no answer, but I resolved to watch for it again next year.

For the year after that, I tried scraping nickels off the internet using Mechanical Turk, a far more exploitative crowd-sourcing app, only falling farther and farther behind on rent and other expenses. But in the summer of 2014, I saw on Twitter that they were again asking for volunteers for this festival, and I immediately emailed. I got a response from Andy McMillan almost immediately, and I was in. I could be with the cool kids. I wasn’t a cool kid, but at least I could help them run their show.

It’s funny to me now that I have almost no blog posts about that. I have one, and it focuses on one single lesson I learned: do the things you love often, make it a habit. That lesson is one I have learned from many different sources, and clearly, as I blog here for the 149th day in a row, a lesson I am still putting to good use. If for nothing else, Jonathan Mann, the Song-A-Day guy, thank you for reinforcing that drive in me.

But holy cats the other speakers that year! Dan Harmon, who I only knew as the creator of Community, inventor of the Story Circle, and Harmontown host, was there, doing a version of his podcast live from the stage at XOXO. Before the show, wandering around, I saw him talking to a woman, and screwed up my courage to go tell him that I loved his work. I politely waited while they exchanged some kind of tense argument, and the woman pointed at me and said something about me being his typical fan.

I mean, sure, I was (and am) a chubby, bald, cis, white dude. Fair, I suppose. I considered myself a feminist and socialist at the time, although many miles of travel down those roads still stretched before me (and still do) so it stung a little. But then Dan Harmon defended me. “What is that supposed to mean?” he challenged her. “This guy is just some random guy, he’s here at this festival the same as you. What is it you’re trying to say?”

I didn’t stick around and I don’t remember how the conversation went. It is entirely possible my memory is incomplete or a fuzzy confabulation. But I remember Dan being argumentative, I recall the woman being dismissive, and I remember feeling awkward. I was glad I got to tell Dan I loved his work though. I still do. He taught me to acknowledge my failings, because that’s the only way to overcome them.

That year I told many creators and writers and artists that I loved their work. What’s funny is, I never saw myself as a creator, writer, or artist. Not then, even with 10 years of blog posts and two first drafts of novels under my belt. I didn’t think what I was doing was on the same level as the folk at XOXO 2013, because my blog traffic was tiny, and I never published those drafts, and the only drawing I did was for myself.

But I am a writer, creator, and artist. I do it because I can’t not do it. I blog here. I make amazing maps for my D&D game and craft stories and lore that my players tell me is deep, rich, and engaging. I do it because I love doing it, and have fun doing it. I’ve been living the XOXO dream, whether I allowed myself to admit it or not. Thank you, Andy B. and Andy M. Your inspriation and energy are a positive force in the world.

The Dragon’s Defense

DnD

Because of the uncertainty around D&D 2014 v. 2024, D&D Beyond, and the greedy/stupid folks at Hasbro that own all of that, my players and I have been discussing how to continue with our campaign, using the 2014 rules, while still playing online since several of us live inconveniently far to drive for a biweekly game. When Wizards of the Coast announced that they would be updating character sheets to the new ruleset, it caused an outcry among players who wanted to keep using the rules they have, even though they’re using a tool owned and maintained by the company that has to make money on selling more stuff.

I don’t intend to update the rules for my game until at least all the core rulebooks are released. Some of my players are buying the books but, again, the specific campaign isn’t changing yet. To my mind, that means we need to stop relying on WoTC-owned tools. Luckily for us, there are plenty of other options out there for online play.

The one that most interests me, however, is the least expensive and least complicated. Let’s just keep using Discord for video chat, but move dice rolling over to the tool we use for maps and notes. That tool is Owlbear Rodeo, the lightweight VTT that we’ve been using but not to its full potential.

I’m going to add an initiative tracker, and try out a couple of different dice extensions. I’d like some automation if possible but I have not found anything that works with the 5E 2014 rule set and character sheets. But that’s fine. Everyone can track their character sheet as a PDF, we can roll virtual dice and do our own addition and subtraction, and I’m sure it will all work out fine.

I would like to test that first, though.

So I created a scenario to use as a one-shot, based on a vague idea I’ve had rolling around in my head, and pitched it to my players. In the campaign, there’s a legend about a party of epic heroes who killed the last known ancient red dragon. A dragon that old, by the rules, is one of the toughest mortal monsters in the game, a powerful and intelligent creature that has a slew of amazing abilities, attacks, and defenses. By the rules, using Challenge Rating, that monster is a deadly encounter for a party of four Level 20 characters, which is the highest official level attainable.

Would it be, though? With the powers of demigods or superheroes, with smart players controlling them, and with a little bit of prep, I bet it would be at least an even fight. 5E characters at that level are essentially demigods. This fight could be over quickly, due to shenanigans, or it could last for many many rounds, also due to shenanigans. I’m excited to find out how it goes!

My players are creating the characters. I’ve set some restrictions on class, race, and magic items, sticking to official rules. I expect some of my players to try some bonkers builds and abilities. But Rule Zero is: we’re doing this to have fun. Is your metagaming fun? Then I’ll allow it!

I will update y’all once it’s played out. Stay tuned.

A story of three hands, sort of

Portland and XOXO

Portland

I would have to do a search to confirm it, but I think I have said that, to me, XOXO is a reflection of the best parts of Portland, in so many ways. As a native Portlander who has spent the vast majority of my nearly 6 decades of life here, I feel somewhat qualified to speak on the topic of what is Portland? And if you accept my premise that XOXO reflects Portland values, I can speak to that, as well.

This is a first draft so it may be a bit rambly and disorganized. That’s a reflection of me, the author, because I am pulling together some of the thoughts and dreams this past weekend stirred in me, along with the duty and desire to keep posting at least 500 words a day here. My streak is reaching 150 days, which feels great but not enough, somehow. Anywho, bear with me.

Portland, to me, is intentional. For good or bad, everyone here has an idea of how the world should be. The best parts of that, then, would be intentions to make the world a better place for as many people as possible. Some examples of Portland’s intentionality would be the Urban Growth Boundary, and the regional governmental agency of Metro. The idea was to limit sprawl and to make sure that city growth did not encroach on farm or natural lands. It’s a progressive goal to prevent using up natural resources necessary for everyone living in the city.

Another aspirational part of Portland is the drive to create. Curiosity, a drive to build something cool and new, the hope to see what works and what doesn’t. I could cite examples like our 1% for Art law, or the Regional Arts and Culture Council (RACC), but the better examples, to me, are the artists and musicians who live here. Portland has always had a thriving local music scene, art galleries tiny and large, neighborhood festivals and street fairs. The tech industry liked Oregon and proximity to Portland for many reasons. There are at least three large comic publishers in and around Portland, challenging the Big Two of DC and Marvel: Image Comics, Dark Horse Comics, and Oni Press.

The stereotypical view of Portland is as a leftist utopia, and I admit that I am a leftist, politically. Our city government, however, has not been very progressive for a while now. In fact, I acknowledge that the Oregon territories were settled in large part to create a white utopia. White supremacy exists on the streets and in our city halls, and I condemn it with my whole chest. And that brings me to another Portland value: we are not afraid to see the pitfalls, the dangers, and the destructive elements, and we speak up about them. Daddy Bush called Portland “Little Beirut” because we were never afraid to speak truth to power. Protest is in our blood. I know it can be a bad thing when used to punch down, but again, I am speaking of the best parts of Portland, and when we are speaking up in defense of the oppressed, that embodies Portland, to me.

At least it was here

Community

Close-up selfie of the author, a white man wearing glasses and a "The Rebound" baseball cap, from the nose up. A lit sign hangs above him that reads, in simple sans-serif font, "Lower your expectations". It's night time, and the trees in the background are lit up by off-screen lights. — The official unofficial motto of the festival this year.

I have so many notes and so many pictures relating to this weekend and the XOXO Festival, enough for a half-dozen posts about events at the festival alone, and what feels like enough creative energy to not run out of ideas for posts in general and the urge to create through the end of the year at least.

I also have a lot of feelings about it all, like my shame in discovering that I’ve been telling a lie and 2014 was my first year volunteering, or the shame in being so broke and despressed that I could not bring myself to volunteer for the last few events (2016, 2018, and 2019) even though I have been a fairly active member of the Slack community during that time, and the massive “I don’t fit in here with all these amazing creators” imposter syndrome I carry with me, and the “don’t be a weirdo” shame spiral.

While the guests over the years have talked about the amazing things they’ve done, they have always also included the down sides. The pushback, the backlash, the struggle to persist when it feels like they have no spare resources (money, attention, focus, protection, rights.) It’s a hard path, independence.

It’s not all negative. XOXO as a dream has caused me to take action on my own creative efforts over the years. The fact that this blog is active again after ho-ho-holy shit 21 years of posting is testament to my desire to write, to share, to communicate, and to be a member of a community, is energized by Andy B. and Andy M. and all the other XOXO people in my social sphere. The urge to be useful, to help out, to spread the word — all buoyed up by the spirit of the founders, staff, guests, and attendees. And the feeling that I get, sometimes, rarely: the feeling of belonging. That’s the dream for me. Kindness, inclusivity, community, creativity. And those things help counterbalance the downsides.

Processing all the notes, pictures, memories, faces, shame, joy, and belonging, is going to take some time. And maybe many posts from me, first drafts, unedited, just posting to the wind to try to gather my thoughts and give my readers something useful to take with them. But I can at least give you this much: this place is mine. It reflects my interests, my fears, my joys, my mistakes, my learnings, and my distractions. It’s me, in written form.

XOXO is about independence from the structure and policy of media companies. Those companies use their massive wealth to confine, restrict, and narrow the voices of the people who give them content for their platforms. XOXO founder Andy B. said “everyone should have a home on the web not controlled by billionaires.” and Lunar Obverse is my home.

This may be the last XOXO festival but it has built a community of weirdos, not-actually-imposters, influencers, artists, writers, dreamers, fighters. You might not know their stories but hopefully I can share some or many of theirs, while also continuing my own creative story. The spirit of XOXO lives on all over the place but also here. I’m glad you’re here, too.

Mom’s Eulogy

Joy

While I’m attending XOXO Fest, I’m running older writings that have not yet been published. Here is the eulogy I wrote for my mom’s funeral, back in July of 2001. Probably this would be more symbolic if I posted it on an even anniversary, but regardless here it is. Enjoy. I’ll be back soon, recharged and ready to create again soon.

On Christmas of 1993, I gave my mom a blank book. I intended for her to use it as a journal, to record her thoughts, her poems or whatever she wanted to write down.

She kept the journal, off and on, until 1999. The book spans five years of her life. There is a gap coinciding with her first bout with cancer. I think that she was embarrassed by it, even in so private a place as her journal.

In going through her belongings, I found and kept her journal. I completed the circle; I gave it to her, and I’d like to think that she would have wanted me to have it now.

I sat down with it a couple of days ago, and read it straight through in one sitting. I had never, during her life, thought to read her journal. My mother was a private person; there are still parts of her life that I will never know. I had a question, however: what did my mother feel was important enough to write down?

First, it’s interesting to me to make a comment on what she didn’t write about. Herself.

In five years of keeping a journal, my mother commented on her health exactly three times. On December 29, 1993, she wrote: “Max is not up to play today. He has a slight fever and cough. I have one too. I hope we all stay well this year.”

Then, five years later, on December 30, 1998, she wrote of a Christmas trip to Cancun: “I was not feeling well and it took us four hours to leave Mex.”

Finally, on February 10, 1999, she wrote: “I went to the Dr. and have to take Blood pressure pills.” That was the final entry.

Three times in five years, she wrote about herself. And what fills the rest of the pages of her journal? What was important to her, important enough to write down, off and on, for that length of time? What did she want to record, presumably in a place that only she would see?

Family.

Entry after entry, she talks about her family. Everyone appears in there. She talks about dad coming home from work and taking her out to dinner. She talks about Lisa, stopping by to visit her, or going over to Lisa and Bill’s house. She talks about me, moving to Texas to follow a silly dream of working for a silly computer company. She talks about hearing from Donna on Mother’s Day, and Kevin, and Daniel. She talks about her sisters and brothers; Carol coming over to stay the night, or taking a road trip to the beach with Mary and Carol to visit Marge and Bill. She talks about dinner with Don and Helen. Aunt Lois appears in there.

And Max. She wrote about Max a lot. December 30 1993: “Max and I spent the day together. He is joy.” I can’t believe that that was a typo.

She felt that way about all of her family. Her family was joy. This was a woman who knew what was important in life. She rarely mentioned things, and money doesn’t make a single appearance in her journal. Her family, however, is front and center.

My mother was a human being, like all of us. She had strengths and weaknesses, like all of us. I really hesitate to try to force a single lesson out of a life as rich as hers was. But if I had to do it, if I had to point to one lesson that we could all take away from having had her in our lives, it would be this: family should be the one thing worth remembering.

Eastside Boy.txt

fiction

I know many professional writers who say to never share your first drafts, but I am not (yet) a professional writer, and just about every single post here is a first draft, so I’m going to do what I want. While I’m enjoying XOXO Fest 2024, here’s the first two pages of the first draft of my unpublished political comedy. Reading it now I know there are many things I would change but I have changed and the world has changed since I wrote this in (checks notes) holy shit 2012. Enjoy.

I do not know where to begin. Day two, here I come.

Are you wondering why this is day one? What happens on day two? All in good time, my friend. All in good time.

If you’d asked me a year ago what the least exciting thing I could think of doing, it would probably not have been watching election returns. But that would have been close. And yet, here I was.

The thing is – they were my election returns. People all across the Third Congressional District of Oregon (basically south east Portland) were voting for me, Alex Thomas Ford.

Or not voting for me. The bastards.

Even early in the morning on election day, in a state where vote by mail has been the law for years and years, so that most people voted early with all of the advantages that provided those who counted the votes… I had not made a strong showing yet. My supporters, my volunteers and managers and canvassers and groupies, they were all happy and partying and drinking and whooping it up whenever the blow dried haircuts on the teevee would say my name and post my results. Did they not see how poorly we were doing? And by we, I meant me.

Maybe they weren’t voting for me for a reason. OK. They had their reasons. Lots of them. I was pretty much a dark horse candidate, running an unconventional campaign against a popular incumbent. I had… what was the phrase the consultant had used?

I had… unique attributes. Considerations. Details that might be considered in a poor light by some voters.

I raised my head from the bar and took at look at the bartender. She wore a deep red corset, a cigarette dangling from her black-lipsticked lips, framed by her gothic black dyed hair. The miniskirt she wore didn’t hide much, either.

Turning around on my stool, I looked across the smoke-filled club. Normally decorated in black and red, now hung with red, white, and blue bunting and banners bearing my name. So out of place. A contradiction in context. The people filling the main bar area were people normally dressed in jeans and t-shirts but some of them, for tonight, had bought their first-ever suits. They were as out of place in their jackets and slacks as the patriotic decorations were in this smoky dive in the deep east side.

And at the far end of the bar, up on the stage, kicking and spinning on a pole, a petite brunette was taking off her silky lacy underthings and exposing her pale white skin while my supporters tossed dollar bills (and larger) on the stage, and cheered. Her name was Sheila. Sheila Morris, though she danced under the name of Knife, as evidenced by the tattoos of long hunting knives that adorned each forearm.

She was my campaign manager.

Those dollars were campaign contributions. Don’t look at me like that. I had to account for every single one to the Federal Election Commission, or pay heavy fines. I said it was an unconventional campaign. I did not say it was an illegal or corrupt one. I ran a tight ship, and Sheila had an amazing head for promotion and finances. It had been a skill that had not been easily learned. She had had to earn my trust the hard way, and now I trusted her implicitly. I might even love her.

But that was the elephant in the room, about which we did not speak. Not yet. Not while we were running for Congress.

Guinevere’s Story

DnD

I’m having fun at XOXO Festival tonight, so here’s a short vignette I wrote as backstory for my D&D game. Hopefully this makes sense out of context. Enjoy.

24th of Bluesky, 502nd year Post-Cataclysm

Anelyan, my once-lost love. I did not expect you back in my life.

As I write this, I’m riding in a cart next to your very dead body.. I’m still processing all this, and more determined than ever to do whatever the gods require to bring your soul out of the Deadlands and back to the land of mortal life. My whole world has turned from six to noon, as the old Imperial saying goes, in less than a day.

Maybe more than that. Two days ago, while casing a warehouse that had been occupied by a squad of squatters, I got a message from Enewen that said these two newcomers to town, a half-elf named Olmak and a halfling named Milo, wanted to talk to me, and implied heavily that Milo was a former member of the Shadow Family guild in Kopno’domas, which put him and I on the same side by the traditional calculation of “enemy of my enemy” and all that.

Still didn’t mean I trusted them, though, and by the time I got the message, I still had a day or two to scout out the lay of the land, so that’s what I’ve been doing the past day or two. They were babysitting some Blackfeathers and took them north along the peninsula, twice, and came back in poor shape both times; at least two of the four were injured to the point of death each time. Did they find the tomb of Ser Borin, last champion of the Duskmaven? Hard to say, but their bags were heavy the second time; maybe they’d found something.

The half-elf wearing rough leather clothes and who talks to ravens is hard to hide from, but I’d managed it, just barely, on their wilderness excursions. In town, though, this morning, was more demanding. I’d used a glamour to hide my appearance — not just for them, of course, there are other folks looking for me — and since casting this illusion is a new trick for me, I was a bit clumsy. I got made when they stopped for breakfast at Rhoban’s. But I was able to fade into the crowd around the plaza, and they seemed to have other business.

They joined one of the friars who was carting pony kegs up to the old fort, Friar Willy, a friendly drunk who had gotten up to some adventures a few years ago with Warjos and Ilbahn but who was laying low recently. The burglar (Milo) and woodsman (Olmak) appeared to be using Willy to get into the castle. Was that their con? I followed them up the stairs at a distance but got denied entry to the castle, so I took the path around to see if they came out the other side and continued toward the lighthouse. A calculated gamble but it did eventually pay off.

Still keeping my distance (damn Olmak’s eyes! he’s hard to avoid notice) I loitered near the ocean side of the bluff, watching the Elven warships at anchor past the Breaker Bar, and admiring the griffon riders’ maneuvers. After shooing off some wretched-looking black birds (definitely not ravens, not anymore,) my marks chatted up the lighthouse caretaker, an old gent named… Henri? Henri Redstream? Not sure, I don’t spend much time at tourist traps like this, especially if they have cranky old wizards in them. There are easier targets to loot. But I got made, again (curse Olmak’s eagle eyes) and it looked like they were going to go inside, so I decided to get it over with and speak to them. And, long story cut short, that’s when I found out you had died but somehow your ghost remained. Unfinished business, with me.

Normally I love being right. I was right to tell you that adventuring was too dangerous. I was right to tell you to go back to your farm, tend your crops, and find a nice simple farmwife to settle down with. I’ve gotten out of too many close scrapes to want to see you exposed to that same danger. All our arguments beside the firepit flashed before my eyes. But something did not add up. We were both devoted to Our Lady of Ravens, and She hated the undead. Why were you a ghost? Were the gods toying with us? I had to find out more.

I tried talking these three, Olmak, Milo, and Friar Willy, out of coming with me, but they seemed sincere in helping me. If this was a trap, their bringing one of Rhoban’s priests with them, was an almost impossible level of cover. Willy was known around town, a native son, jovial and lusty and always drunk, but not a liar or cheat. His reputation eased some of my suspicions. Plus they had a cart back at their camp.

We stopped by their camp to attend to their Blackfeather babies. Even though they and I both give honor to the Raven Queen, I consider them wannabes and charlatans. But meeting Alquorin I saw a hint of steel behind the silk. I am almost certain that he managed to survive making a pact with the Matron of Ravens. Only time will tell if he and his girlfriend, Marjolane, can harness that power. Am I sad I missed that opportunity? Perhaps, but maybe there will be future chances. As far as I know, it’s possible for Patrons to have more than one Champion at a time. I know the Pig-Lord of the Undead does.

We rode the hour or so to the safe house. Olmak and Milo debated stopping to see where they found Anelyan’s body but instead we pushed on to the house. Milo snuck up to a window and reported that the body and the spirit were both inside, so we advanced. But the ghost apparated out of the wall too swiftly to counter, and briefly possessed Olmak before the friar was able to compel the ghost to leave. It flew fast as it could and once it was 100′ or so from the house it dissipated.

Olmak was sure that it would return, though, so I went in and gathered up your body and we high-tailed it back to town. And… I feel I owe it to you to give you another chance at life. I know that the high priestess of Rhoban can bring people back from the dead; she’s done it before (for instance, Ilbahn’s son from that unpleasantness a few years back), and that requires an offering of a diamond of great worth, more expensive the longer the soul has been gone. And I know where I might get one; the sorcerer in that warehouse down by the docks has been collecting gems.

I could (probably) have faced your vengeful spirit alone, but I think I’ll need some help with these bandits if it all goes tits up. Luckily, Willy, Milo, and Olmak are down to help out. I’m sure they can get something of value out of this; I just need one shiny rock.

Food Recomendations For Portland Visitors

Portland

XOXO Festival is coming up, starting tomorrow, and I could not be more XOXO-cited (don’t groan, you loved it, I’m not apologizing.) On the good social medias people are posting their travel selfies, tips and tricks, and scheduling meetups. I can’t share any of that, but here in public, I’m going to make a personal list of some of my favorite things about Portland, from me, a native son of the city. It’s true: I was born here almost 60 years ago, at St. Vincent’s, on a snowy December evening.

I’m not one of those Portlanders who hate people moving here, though. I want people to move here, mostly leftist or progressive folks, because governmentally the city is run by centrists at best, although I have hopes that the new form of city government we all voted in and that the current pack of conservative commissioners have been trying their best to sabotage will enable true progressive voices, and hopefully diverse ones, to have greater say in how my city works.

So if you’re new to Portland, visiting for the XOXO Festival, here are some off-the-beaten-track recommendations for food, entertainment, and quality time. I grew up in Southeast Portland, so most of my faves are in this quadrant of the city.

I have never had bad service at Kay’s Bar or the Limelight Lounge, both located in SE Portland on Milwaukie Avenue. These are friendly neighborhood establishments with caring staff who know their business. The bartenders at Kay’s serve strong drinks, the menu is bar food but done really well, and the atmosphere and decor is chill and retro. I could be biased, though: the previous cook named a burger special after me once (the Lunar Burger, which had goat cheese and cole slaw, is sadly no longer on the menu.) Many vegan or vegetarian options, also!

The Limelight likewise has filling, delicious burgers, sandwiches, and specials. The restaurant side is warm and inviting; I like to grab a window seat and watch the foot traffic but on sunny days you can sit outside. Limelight is my go-to for Taco Tuesdays; three tacos for cheap, all day long, along with the Niño Nachos, and a beer, is a filling inexpensive meal. Try a drink with one of their infused vodkas; the jalepeno makes a great vodka martini. Their Taco Tuesday always includes a vegetarian option, as well.

Maya’s Taqueria downtown, Santa Fe Taqueria in NW, and Aztec Willie’s in NE, are all long-time Portland Mexican food staples. Their verde chicken is amazing, and I consider their salsa to be the pinacle and the match of anything I’ve ever had in actual Mexico (though I am a tourist there, of course.) Maya’s is also situated right on the MAX line and a block from the Central Library; I have spent many a lazy afternoon or evening sitting at the bench watching the world go by through the large front windows, nursing a beer and filling myself with a burrito or quesadilla. Ah, memories. Aztec Willies is open late over the weekend, and has a terrific dance floor!

Lauretta Jean’s wins on pie; they’re on SE Division. Also a tiny shop, they always have many different pies to choose from. I prefer berry pies, and now is the perfect season for blackberry, raspberry, and marionberry, but they do an awesome cheesecake, or a Boston creme. You can drop in for a slice, or buy whole pies.