It just occurred to me the other day, that there are people would like to write for a living.

And I do.

You will never read my professional writing, but people who have, have complimented me on it.
I have to be readable to those who can read it.
I have to be concise and logical (like Charles Krauthammer), and clever (like Ann Coulter).

And I have to write in different languages and get different entities to work together because of my writing. It can't be divisive.

Now the analogy starts to fall apart.

I write programs that govern robots, presses and other machines.

I just finished writing a robot program to take parts out of an injection molding machine and place them in a trimming fixture. I also wired and programmed the trimming fixture. They only crashed into each other once (eggs, omelets).

My boss complimented me on the wiring, which has a design asthetic itself. Functional, pleasing to the eye, and easily understood.

I then went back to work on another device that will test washing machine consoles after they are built. These are not your mother's washing machines. There will come a day when you will re-boot your washing machine.

I wrote the overall controlling program for this device, but the device was designed by my co-worker, Dave, and he did a fine job. There are other writers involved. I had already written the vision system program that checks the lights and console color.
For a few hours, Dave was writing his robot program (it tests the buttons) and I was writing the data acquisition routine (to see how hard the buttons are to press!) and the IT guy was wriiting his stuff to get the data, tell us he got it, and allow the robot to continue.  Thee guys, three different minds working towards one goal. That calls for some good communication skills, patience and cleverness. At 6PM we decided we'd run out of all three and would try again Monday.

I've got something to say, but maybe I'll take a tip from Freddie at Warts and All

If all bloggers did this, I'd have to renew my magazine subscriptions.

Listening to Midnight Truckers Radio Network last week (and I think the last opportunity I'll have to listen to it, thank God), a caller summed up Obamacare:

I want to got to the doctor, and I want someone else to pay for it.

Brilliant!

Pastor Gregg asked that this morning:

"It's 2010. Where's My Flying Car?"
I told him it's in South America.

Seriously.

In WWII (that's when we fought the Russians in Vietnam for you Public School grads), there was an aircraft mechanic in the Air Force named Nate Saint.
Nate ended up as a missionary pilot in Ecuador in the 50's.
He met some other missionaries down there, and together they plotted an outreach to a tribe of killers so fierce that they drove out plantation owners and oil exploration companies. Nate was flying out of an abandoned Shell Oil airfield.
They eventually spotted the tribe from the air, but couldn't land close to them.
Nate invented a way to fly above the tribesmen in a tight circle while a basket with gifts was lowered. This resulted in the basket slowly twirling in a stationary position. (It's been said that this technique led to the development of the "Spectre" and "Spooky" gunships.) The tribesmen reached in, took the gifts and left some of their own.
Eventually, Nate flew the guys and they landed on a beach next to a river. They waited for the Indians to show. When they did, they exchanged gifts and interacted for a couple days.

Due to some lies and manipulation by a jealous tribesman, the tribe attacked the missionaries and killed them.

The missionaries were armed. They refused to kill the men they were reaching out to. When the indians discovered this, they were curious. You can read about this in, "Through Gates of Splendor" by Elizabeth Elliot. Elliot, widow of one of the missionaries, with Rachel Saint, Nate's sister, made it a point to reach out to the Auca tribe, eventually leading to their conversion.
Steve Saint, Nate's son, lived with the members of the tribe and was adopted by his fathers killer.
I had the blessing of going to a concert a few years ago to see Steven Curtis Chapman. In the middle of the the concert, Chapman brought out Steve Saint, who then introduced (and translated for) his adoptive Auca father Mincaye.  Wikipedia: Steve_Saint
The Love of God, exemplified.

A couple months ago, I was in an office and read a copy of Popular Mechanics. This issue had an article about the top ten inventors of 2009. Read here about your flying car: http://www.popularmechanics.com/

Being flown by Stone Age Indians.
Invented by a real Saint of God.
I bet his dad's proud.

OK, so some people got scared.

A burning airplane did not land on my house (yeah, it's that close).

An Islamic Terrorist got his junk burned off.

An idiot (Napolitano: color in that "Morticia" streak!) was exposed as incompetent.

Obama's team takes a hit.
Nobody died.
There is a God in heaven.