"Chanticleer" refers to the French word derived from the Latin root for "rooster". For you city folk, legend has it that roosters wake people up in the country.

I like to think I'm making a feeble metaphorical effort to ... Wake .. [clap].. YOU up!

How? By pounding home the point that "This Is Not That" ... differences matter! What makes an expert an expert? The ability to make fine distinctions that the rest of us can't make. That's what this newsletter and this site are about - making finer differentiations. It's about developing your 'taste' (again, think metaphorically) beyond recognizing a white from a red wine - it's about learning to tell a Cabernet from a Chablis from a Merlot. And sometimes, it's about recognizing that what you think/believe to be a 'red', might not be.

What you experience is different from what happens; what you hear is different from what is said; what you infer is different from what is implied; what you believe is different from what you call a 'fact'; what you assume is different from what you 'know'. The word is different from the thing. The map is different from the territory.

So is any of this important?

Well, it only affects how you experience and respond to what goes on around you ...

You make the call.

With that, I offer the following.

MARIA'S STORY

In the previous Chanticleer Calls - "A Unique Tribute", I published an appeal from my friend Katy Beth regarding breast cancer examinations.

Responding to Katy Beth's words, another friend of mine, Maria (who knows Katy Beth), shared her own story:

I just read the latest 'crow-dition' and wanted to follow up on Katy Beth's message.

First, Katy I haven't talked to you in a long time, but I wanted to offer condolences to you and your family. I hope you are well. Second, I want to add to the message you and Vikki sent through the newsletter.

In late 1997 I found a breast lump. Although my tumor was benign, I spent several weeks on a roller coaster of emotions. I never realized how traumatic one little lump could be. It is difficult to come to terms with, difficult to talk about, difficult to explain, and difficult to go through alone.

I cannot imagine what it is like to have to hear the word "malignant" at the end of that ride. There is no history of breast cancer or any other kind of cancer in my family. Yet I have a lump. I was 25 when I found it. Mammograms are usually not covered by insurance for anyone under 35. However they are necessary, as are self exams. most importantly, find a way to talk about what you are experiencing, and DO NOT go through this alone. Take a friend, spouse, parent, etc., to the doctor with you. Don't go home alone and cry - it only enhances the feeling of isolation.

If you can't afford to pay for a mammogram, and they are expensive if your insurance does not cover them, find a lost cost clinic or a 'mobile' unit (Susan G. Komen Foundation sponsors lots of these) and do your self exams. I had never had a mammogram and would not have found the lump if I had NOT done the self exam. I found mine early, the doctors tell me, when it would have been treatable - if malignant. Not everybody does. A number of women AND men asked me how I 'knew' it was a lump and not just a tissue change, common in women. You KNOW. It feels like rock. It feels foreign. You KNOW.

I have written my experience down and attached it to this file. (Read "Maria's Story")

REGULARLY-SCHEDULED PROGRAMMING

Every now and then, something happens to me that makes me think, "I wish I could make this stuff up!". Oh, to be so creative and imaginative.

One such moment occurred the other night.

CAUTION: THE FOLLOWING PERSONAL ANECDOTE PERTAINS TO A SUBJECT THAT SOME REGULAR FOLKS MIGHT OBJECT TO

On the topic of "regular", and to some extent, "binding" ...

For reasons known only to my digestive system, I have recently experienced some discomfort. Actually, quite a bit of discomfort having to do with, if you will, having the urge absent the means, if you get my drift. It reached a point (or, didn't reach a point) where I decided some type of extra-ordinary 'facilitation' was required.

I pondered the available options, from the more simple solutions (drinking lots and lots of water, eating more fiber, fruits and vegetables, etc.) to more radical remedies (to be revealed later). Actually, if you know me, eating more fruits and vegetables constitutes a pretty damn radical remedy.

I decided the internal approach wasn't feasible, seeing how it was the internal workings that weren't, you know, working. I turned to one of the more radical remedies. Even I must maintain some meager modicum of modesty, so I won't specifically mention the specific means I chose.

However, I will offer this hint - there aren't too many words that rhyme with "Texas School Book Depository".

So, armed with the extra-ordinary facilitation means, I prepared to execute the remedy. Not knowing for sure what timeline I was looking at for the means to take effect, I plopped a CD of miscellaneous tunes from the '80s into the stereo, made sure the speakers were on in the room necessary for the execution of the remedy, entered the necessary room, and proceeded to implement the plan.

My concentration on the task at hand (ahem) was such that I honestly didn't pay any attention to what was playing on the stereo until I had, uh, you know, implemented the means. However, once the means (actually, singular in this case) had been implemented, with nothing to do but wait, I noted the silence that precedes a new selection and prepared to listen to the next song while waiting for the mean to clean, so to speak.

Now, here's the part that I couldn't begin to make up. Because if I tried to create a scene like this from my imagination and assign an appropriate 'soundtrack' to this situation, I would probably fall victim to the cliché and obvious. For example, what's the first song that might come to mind to play in this situation?

Sure, the Beatles' "We Can Work It Out". Obviously. Or if you're more easy listening and optimistic, maybe the Carpenters' "We've Only Just Begun". But you know, this isn't really a "We" situation. A little less direct, yet still suggestive, lyric might lead me to select "Tush" from ZZ Top, or maybe "Don't Stop Till You Get Enough" by Michael Jackson.

But the song that actually played, the lyrics that actually sang from my necessary room speakers while I was actually positioned, waiting ... was Billy Ocean. "When the going gets tough, the tough get going ..."

I don't know if it was the effectiveness of the mean, or the effusiveness of my laughing so hard I almost banged my head on the, uh, anyway. I can't say for sure what gets the credit, but I'm happy to report that, just like in fairy tails, in the end, everything came out all right.

SLOUCHING TOWARDS THE 20TH CENTURY - from the Dallas Morning News

April 8, 2000 - Weleetka High School in Oklahoma held its first-ever prom. For 85 years, the townsfolk believed that the deed to the donated land on which the school was built banned dancing.

"No one knew for sure why dancing was banned, and no one questioned it."

Last fall, half of the girls in the junior class decided to challenge the issue. They checked county records. They discovered that the land, thought to be donated, was actually purchased and no such deed restriction was documented.

85 years. "Generation after generation .... passed down the legend since the school was built in 1915."

And Galileo chuckles with a tear in his eye.

April 8, 2000 - The music of Richard Wagner may now be performed in Israel. The "musical establishment" in Israel has for 50 years "made an informal pact to ignore Wagner, the Nazis' favorite composer, so as not to offend the Holocaust victims".

Ehud Gross, director-general of the Israel Symphony Orchestra of Rishon Lezeion, made this distinction:

"The time is ripe to distinguish between art and ideology. The idea is not to be provocative. It is to give Israeli audiences a chance to experience something that is part of the world culture. We can despise Wagner as a man but appreciate him as a musician."

AND FINALLY - What a difference a Safire makes!

You regular readers may remember way back two weeks ago when I mentioned that ThisIsNotThat.com would be mentioned in the April 9th column by William Safire, nationally syndicated columnist for the New York Times. Sure enough, it was, albeit in a misspelled form - thisisnothat.com. "Pretty darn amazing," might describe the aftermath.

• From mid-October through April 7th (about 170 days), my site welcomed about 1,550 visitors (roughly 9 per day).
• From April 8th, when the early edition of the Sunday New York Times hit the news stands, through April 20th (a lucky 13 days), I've welcomed an additional 3,114 trespassers (about 239 per day).
• I've received about a dozen very complimentary emails from people around the country who read Safire's column, figured out the misspelling, and found my site. Some of the comments appear below in But You Thought ....
• These 13 days may represent just the first wave of visitors. Safire's syndication reach is about 300 newspapers around the world, so it will continue to be printed as local newspapers pick it up.
• I've received over 400 referrals from http://www.memepool.com . They read the Safire column, looked over my site, and liked it so much they prominently featured a link to it. Check them out so I can reciprocate some of their favor.