Has the death of Bin Laden dealt a death blow to terrorism? I think not. It makes no difference whether the cause is just or evil. Eliminating a leader kills only the physical man (or woman), not the function. 

It’s group process. We are pack animals. The biology of pack animals demands an alpha. Contenders will sort each other out, whether peace-ably or murderously, until one emerges as the leader of the pack. 

Nature is not picky. She doesn’t demand the leader be good for the pack. Or even that the alpha be good. 

In fact, to become a leader, it helps to be bad. A concern for other people’s feelings and needs gets in the way

Have you noticed that after Death pays a visit, you find yourself entangled in irresistible, life-affirming acts? Such as, say, throwing yourself in an undeniably intimate manner at your loved one. Taking home a stray iguana after it makes goo-goo eyes at you. Chortling instead of groaning over bad puns. Me too. 

This amusing piece by my brainiac friend Roger, a.k.a. A Very Funny Guy (AVFG) is just what the doctor ordered, and this patient needed. Want to chuckle? Read on. No worries if you're not a math head. Trust me, you'll get the really bad puns and double entendres. If you're paying attention. he he he

The Numbers of Mathematicians Have Been Increasing

A Guest Post By Roger Lambert

According to the Mathematical Association of America  (MAA), the numbers of mathematicians have been increasing exponentially. While such growth may be surprising to the layperson, perceiving the difficulty of most mathematicians to carry on a normal conversation, let alone meet and woo fertile mates, the unexpected result is nevertheless being defended as highly significant by the Association. 

“We may not know why the numbers of mathematicians are multiplying,” said Professor Pascal LeFermat, the current president of the MAA, speaking from behind

It was freaky cold last weekend (twenty seven below Sunday night). The heat shut down in the house Friday. But we didn’t know that. I piled on the sweaters, but couldn’t warm up, like when the flu felled me. By the time we figured it out, it was too late to do anything more than hunker down under double wool blankets and down comforter, bundled up in double fleece pj’s and double wool socks. 

Saturday morning, I layered on an ankle length down coat and wool scarf, then called Friend Karl, who helps us with house ailments. His phone was down. But I didn’t know that. 

“There’s no yogurt?” I stick out my lower lip in comical exaggeration of disappointment.

Mark, the farmer-owner of the CSA we belong to, looks me in the eye and says, “D, this is why you are a high maintenance member.”

Me?! High maintenance? He must be joking. I telescope onto his blue eyes, which are locked on mine unwaveringly. No. He’s not joking.           

For maximum joy and cheer, fly between December 24 and January 1. The strip search and pat down by security kicks off the festivities.

Each seat in the plane has been sold to two people. Snickers and knowing looks go round the waiting area with the free ticket offer (good for one year) in exchange for taking a later flight. All the later flights will also be double booked.  Music wafts by…. I’ll be home for Christmas, if only in my dreams….