Fort Hood.

My prayers and thoughts go out to the community of Fort Hood today. I have dear friends that are currently stationed there, and they were on their way back to Georgia on leave when all of this happened.

There is a strange socioeconomic driver created by standing armies that this event throws into stark relief against the tragedy.

Maintaining a standing all volunteer Army requires that a significant portion of your population (about 1 in 100 Americans, currently) voluntarily agree to serve as soldiers (and associated combat support personnel).

In the 21st century, soldiering has become something for which very few people are fit. I have good friends, close friends, men of strong character and conviction, who have--for one reason or another--been unable to serve more than handful of years, even though they thought military service was to be their whole career.

I know others, of course, who are perfect for the career, but the number of men fit for military service and willing to serve is outstripped by the number of people the US military is told they need, and for which they are funded.

And as a result, we become part of a culture that runs recruitment commercials that ignore the premise of the military entirely. The Army is probably the worst offender. "Go Infantry: You might get Shot!" makes for poor copy, and so we get ads that either run directly counter to actual military culture ("Army of One" anybody?) or ads that mean very little ("Army strong!").

As a result, the Military becomes the way you get out of your small town, the way you pay for college, or the way you get out of your parent's house rather than the warrior culture which you join because you are wired up to fight battles in defense of your country.

Let me be clear: I am not criticizing the military for this problem. I believe in the mission and goals of the United States Army, Navy, Marine Corps, Air Force, (and yes, Coast guard). Those organizations did not create this problem, we did.

We did it by funding the military beyond need and beyond sustainable amount, so that when they ran out of people who were a genuine fit they were forced to cast the net too wide. We did it by deciding that we need three million military personnel and millions of civilian contractors. We did it by signing up to play international policeman.

As a single example, we decided that the Global War on Terror meant we should invade Iraq. Now we have over 130,000 personnel there.

As a thought: if we had, instead, decided that the American military should invade our own domestic air transportation system, we could put a trained Air Marshall on every single commercial airline flight (all 30,000 of them per day) and still send 100,000+ people home to their families.

What happened in Fort Hood was tragic, unexpected, and entirely the fault of a single man. A man who has survived, and who will be tried for his crimes and hopefully receive a just trial and sentencing if he is convicted.

But it raises the question: how many people are pulled into the military for the wrong reasons, and are unfit for the assignments they are given?

A little sliver of love.

"We made a plan that was subject to change
So whatever way it works out we both get the blame
In the arms of this low"

We met for dinner at a cabana themed restaurant with an alliterative name and too much space. Jimmy Buffet was playing when I arrived.

I was late. You were gracious.

"And you took the wind right out of my sails
By sweating me out on all the little details
In the arms of this low
In the arms of this low

I came direct from work, all khakis and pinstripe shirts. You were dolled up in a deep, flat blue dress that set off your white skin. We greeted each other on the sidewalk outside as if we were lovers but we both know better now.

"So thread the light
So thread the light"

Dinner was poorly lit and prepared using a three ring binder and plenty of kitsch but the waiter was cheerful and the bread delicious. We spoke of life, and your place in it. You seemed happy and collected for the first time in over a year. I was content to frolic in that wellspring of joy like a puppy in a sprinkler.

"We made a choice and we knew we would pay
For stealing the joy and trying to escape
From the arms of this low
And if by some chance you break from the pack
You know I'll be waiting to welcome you back
Into the arms of this low
In the arms of this low"

After dinner you spoke of him and your eyes lit up with the hope of a hundred thousand children. Your voice held the shiver of a candlelight burning for someone lost at sea. You spoke of everything that had gone wrong over half a dozen years and how right it all still seemed. You could be so happy if things had just worked out differently.

"Thread the light,
Thread the light,
Thread the light,
Thread the light,
Shine the light,
Don't hide the light,"

I was content to drink from this too. To let my thoughts turn inward to my own histories, to the ones I speak of still with hope and trepidation. I gave you the best advice I could: I said nothing of substance.

"Live the light,
And give the light,
Seek the light,
And speak the light,
Crave the light, and brave the light,"

A part of me wanted to lunge across that too-wide table and upset plates and cups and grab you fiercely by the face and scream at you "SAY YOU ARE SORRY EVEN THOUGH IT IS HIS FAULT. TELL HIM YOU CAN'T FUNCTION UNTIL HE LETS YOU IN OR SHUTS YOU OUT FOREVER. BE HONEST AT THE EXPENSE OF EVERY DEFENSE YOU'VE EVER BUILT!"

But another part of me knew better.

"Stare the light,
And share the light,
Show the light,
And know the light,
Raise the light,
And praise the light,
Thread the light,
And spread the light."

The truth is, I won't say it either, though it all goes double for me.

The real world taught us dignity, it is still teaching us self-reliance. It taught us that sometimes settling is the most mature thing we can do. We are adults now, and all our childhood dreams will fade in time, like a lover that has been so long away that we forget. First the curve of her cheek, then the color of her eyes, and finally the pealing clarity of her laughter when she was surprised by something beautiful.

So there is the best advice I can never bring myself to give, but still take every day. My own personal dose of lithium. Welcome to the real world. Let your dreams fade. You'll be better off.

Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova - This Low

A glimpse of the future.

Today I was standing in the door of my nephew's room when I had a revelation.

I was noticing that his room, while not unreasonably small, will be cramped when a desk it added for the computer he'll need once he gets into his high school years.

Then I checked myself, my internal monologue patiently tapping the backspace key and saying "no, he'll have a surreally thin laptop or some even more futuristic machine. There's no way he'll build a box himself."

Only the geekiest of your children's generation while have a desktop machine they built themselves, and his predilection for sports of all types means that regardless of his obvious intelligence (visible in both early development and parentage) it's unlikely he'll have the time to be such a creature.

I unpacked that thought for a few moments. The development of the modern 'home' computer has closely followed the adoption of the automobile, and this particular issue is no exception. In fifty years very few people will build their own computers, parts will be available only to repair the ones you bought from a major manufacturer. The few self-built machines will be largely similar to 'kit cars' You might build a 2005 era classic gaming rig, but most likely you'll do it by paying someone to ship you the Alienware kit and will painstakingly assemble the parts with the loving care of an enthusiast, not the breathless impatience of a gamer waiting to power up the latest monstrosity.

The past generation and my own--these will be the only generations that built our own machines, screwing them together and bringing them to life like personal Frankensteins on kitchen counters and dining room tables before eventually installing them in our bedrooms with the pride that only a creator can have for his creation. Carefully setting jumpers to accept the right type of CPU, updating the BIOS and collecting the drivers we'll need before pressing the power button for that fateful first boot will be an experience lost on our children's children.

In a sense, I can identify when any 60s era muscle car mechanic who saved a brooding hulk of Detroit steel from the junkyard and slowly and painstakingly reassembled it in his father's garage. The whir of system fan starting up, and the first fateful clicks of a hard drive will always equate to that engine rumble on first ignition. Loading up 3dMark will always be "let's take her down to the 1/4 mile by the train tracks and see how she runs." That might sound pathetically geeky, but let me put it in perspective for you: using their nerdy home built computers, Geeks conquered the world. Those Detroit muscle boys only had a little fun on the track.

I wonder what my nephew and his children will build? What brilliant amalgamation of scavenged and painstakingly purchased parts will make his eye gleam with the excitement of a builder?

The thick of things.

Back on the ground.

Feet in boots, meetings attended, documents reviewed, misconceptions corrected. Friends hosted, etc.

And just like that, in just over four weeks, I'm back in the thick of things. Every weekend booked until mid November, every moment tangled up in obligations and promises.

Every promise one I want to make, every visiting friend one I'll greet with a smile. But every moment busy, every stillness merely a gathering of strength for the next push of energy.

When, exactly, will I learn to just schedule time for myself and refuse to touch it? Refuse to host or visit or attend? At least I had the good sense to skip dragoncon this year and ask my parents to visit me instead of the other way around.

I'm getting better, aren't I?

Wand'ring Song -- Continued and renamed.

Here's the second half, which came to me as I was riding a bus to the Hong Kong Airport. The cadence changes for the third section, and I have no idea how to convey that.

I have turned my face to the west,
and I'm longing for my home
I have learned that life tastes best,
when you savour where you roam.

Lord. I'm on my way back home,
and I hope that you'll remember me
this is a pause in a wand'ring song
but I'll soon be back on the road with thee.

Cheers.

Traveling Song.

Lord, I'm such a long way from home.

And I don't know if they'll remember me.

I know I've been gone too long,

but my wandering heart won't let me be.

Lord there's a devil on my tail,

and I don't think he'll just cut me loose.

In this quest I must not fail,

but it's hard to win when you search for truth.

Cadence provided by the Indonesian Working Song, which I didn't understand, but was incredibly compelled by, and heard throughout my time there. Words the consequence of being on the road, on my own, for an extended period.

Shame on us all for cowards.

Editor's Note: Two days after writing this I was talking with an australian friend of mine and he pointed out that there is absolutely no provision anywhere in Australian law for freedom of speech. So basically, until the people revolt and actually get something added to the federal body of law protecting their right to public speech, there's not a lot of room for them to maneuver here.

Also, I do realize that even in America where we do have protected freedom of speech, you can't yell fire in a crowded theatre and not expect consequences. What bothers me is that they are specifically trying to intimidate people who would make light of a situation, not ones who are insighting public unrest. Obviously if someone runs around yelling "I've got a BOMB!" the police will need to do what must be done. I'm not suggesting otherwise,

While I was in the Sydney airport, I saw this sign.

Obviously this is a travel tale, but as it's going to become political in the very next sentence, so it's here instead of on the road.

Australians of Sydney, New South Wales, citizens one and all: shame on you for cowards.

Now, I'm not saying America is perfect. In fact, I'm pretty confident that if such a sign were put up in the Atlanta airport, most people would gulp down their fear, watch their tongues and hang their heads.

Last year, Boston, Massachusetts made itself the laughing stock of the country by hyperventilating and shutting down the city over the 'threat' of lite brite artvertisement (yes, I just made that word up) in public places. And Americans in other cities in other states rolled our eyes and said it was silly when we should have been calling for heads on platters over the shame of such hand wringing in any place where freedom and boldness were once valued societal and character traits.

And now, on the other side of the globe, I discover the same fear-mongering, watch-your-mouth-or-the-police-state-will-get-you tactics in another place that should be bold and proud of its incredibly strong culture society. You're Australia! You are a place where men--most given nothing but a prison sentence--carved a European civilization largely out of dust and dirt in one of the worlds most dangerous and demanding environments.

What right have you to be afraid?

That being said, now I must turn my criticism inward and downward, where I can do some damage and maybe inflict a little change.

I've never seen a sign like this yet in an American airport, and I hope I never do, but if I do, I hope that my readers will join me in making life awkward, embarrassing and uncomfortable for the writers and implementers of any such program, anywhere in a place where you have influence as a voting citizen.

I know I will feel I'm duty-bound to do so, and I hope you would all be willing to join me.