Stupid teacher tricks: No, teachers can’t lead prayers

May 26, 2010

What devilry gets into a tiny few teachers to make them think they alone are immune from the First Amendment?

In a public classroom, teachers are the government.  They may not lead prayers, not even if all the students consent.

Down in Meadville, Mississippi, a Franklin County High School teacher, Alice Hawley,  lost her teaching contract because she led daily prayers in her classes.

She agreed to stop the illegal practice, and has been invited back.

I understand fans on Facebook have come unglued.  I haven’t found that link.

Herblock cartoon of June 18, 1963 - school prayer

Probably still under copyright - Herblock in the Washington Post, June 18, 1963 (school prayer)


Record of error on climate continues at Powerline

May 26, 2010

So, this Hinderaker guy at Powerline:  Does he ever acknowledge his goofs?

Since we last visited the issue, a month after the record was in that his claims of no warming were wrong, he’s talked about the issue at least twice.

Hinderaker didn’t fix his error here, in December.

Hinderaker didn’t fix his error here, in February, and in fact proceeded as if he’d been right instead of wrong.

This is Sith-strength denialism on Hinderaker’s part, don’t you think?  It never was about the science at Powerline, but instead has always been about the politics.

How does the moniker “Baghdad Bob John” fit?


Dan Valentine – He makes me laugh

May 26, 2010

By Dan Valentine

My dad was a big man. Six-two, some two-hundred-and-thirty pounds. He was two-eighty or so at one time.

Once, he went on a public diet, along with other hefty local celebs–a radio deejay or two; a politician or three; John Mooney, the Trib’s sports’ columnist. I think Herman Franks, manager of the old Salt Lake Bees and former New York Giant catcher was one. All wanted to thin down. They called themselves the “Blubber Brigade”. Once a week my dad would report to the reading public their weekly success or failure.

When my mom first fell in love with my dad, friends would say, “But he’s fat.” My mom would answer, “But he makes me laugh.”

HE MAKES ME LAUGH
(c) 2010 by Daniel Valentine

There are men of worldly means,
Earthly goods, and riches,
Who’d have set me up in suites,
Each with household staff.

But my love I chose because
He keeps me in stitches.
He is not a man of wealth,
But HE MAKES ME LAUGH.

There are men of world renown,
Household names with money,
Who’d have handed me blank checks
With their autograph.

But my love I chose because
He’s bust-a-gut funny.
He is not a man of fame,
But HE MAKES ME LAUGH.

Friends wonder why
I’m no taken with the guy.
He’s not much to look at.
Not by half.
Some would even say he’s fat
And ask themselves, “What’s with that?”
Well, HE MAKES ME LAUGH.

There are notables I know
Who are sitting pretty.
Each of whom I said no to.
All must think me daff’.

But my love I chose because
He’s side-splitting witty.
He is far from well-to-do,
But HE MAKES ME LAUGH–
My, how that man can make me laugh!–
And he thinks I’m funny too.

YOU’RE HALFWAY HOME
(c) 2010 by Daniel Valentine

If you can make a woman laugh
In this world of ours gone daff’,
My friend,
YOU’RE HALFWAY HOME.

If you can roll her in the aisle,
Turn concern into a smile,
My friend,
YOU’RE HALFWAY HOME.

Sure, you’d love to wine-and-dine ‘er,
Buy her clothes by some designer,
Send her flowers, bring her candy.
All of which is fine and dandy.
But you’re broke! Not to choke.
Make her laugh. Tell a joke.

If you can make her slap her knee,
Grab her sides, go tee-hee-hee,
My friend,
YOU’RE HALFWAY HOME.

If you can bring tears to her eyes,
Make her laugh until she cries,
My friend,
YOU’RE HALFWAY HOME.

So you’ve none of earthly riches–
Pal, just keep your gal in stitches.
You don’t need a lotta money.
All you gotta be is funny.
Never mind that you’re broke.
Make her laugh. Tell a joke.

If you can make her spill her beer
While she’s grinning ear-to-ear,
My friend,
YOU’RE HALFWAY HOME.

If you can make her roll about,
On the verge of passing out,
My friend,
YOU’RE HALFWAY HOME.

Fill her heart and home with laughter,
Head to toe, floorboard to rafter.
Let the others buy her toddies,
Spend their dough as though their Saudis.
So you’re broke! Not to choke.
Perfect time for a joke.

If you can make her stamp her feet,
‘Fraid ‘a falling off her seat,
My friend,
YOU’RE HALFWAY HOME.

No need to buy a long-stemmed rose.
No box of chocks, no card with poem.
Just make her snort milk from her nose.
Make her laugh
And YOU’RE HALFWAY HOME
To happily-ever-af’.


Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 1,991 other followers

%d bloggers like this: