When you have been raised on the land, as I was many years ago, you know
about the territoriality of roosters.
Among the flock of chickens there is invariably one puffy, pompous and vainglorious
old rooster who is acknowledged as what Germans call the "Hahn im Korb"
- the rooster-in-a-basket - whose sovereignty no up-and-coming rooster dares
to challenge.
This reigning rooster is a sight, as any chicken worth its cackle will let
on. He scratches up the dust, crows at the sun, announces a new day is coming-as
if you didn't know!-creates a mighty ruckus at every opportunity, and makes
the younger roosters' feathers fly by what seems to be utterly fanatic and
totally unprovoked attacks.
Here is your garden variety chicken flock, just pecking peacefully away,
each minding their own business-when all of a sudden, the old rooster decides
to charge one of the upstart roosters. The rooster youngster takes to his
heels and runs for his life with all of his might, heading for the safety
of the bushes-until, one day, for no discernible reason either, he puts
on the brakes, stops in mid-run, slides a foot or so in the dust, turns
around, and faces the charging old bird.
For two or three seconds, they stand beak to beak-and then the older rooster
does a stiff-kneed One-Eighty and meekly slinks away with what small decorum
is left.
I have never seen this to fail among the roosters that I knew! Never once
in years of rooster-watching did I see the reigning rooster take on the
upstart rooster, once he was given that opportunity!
And, not too incidentally, this rooster power grab becomes the signal to
any Hausfrau worth her spices that soon we'd have a Sunday rooster dinner,
served up triumphantly!
I once saw two men behave like that in a romantic contest for a lady. This
happened in a bar in South America. I am not sure if I can translate just
how hilarious it was to watch those Casanovas, but bystanders who did were
splitting their sides.
That showdown was one funny moment!
Here were those two, nursing their drinks, not even speaking to each other
but, we surmise, keeping the pretty lady within the corner of their eyes-when
all of a sudden, without a word being exchanged, one of the men jumped up
from his bar stool, shot out the door, took off across the street and down
the sidewalk, the other one right on his heels in hot pursuit-when, in mid-run,
the pursuee stopped dead in his own tracks, turned around, leaned forward
and stuck out his beak to stop the wild-eyed pursuer.
Whereupon latter braked, astonished-and, after a second or two, stuck his
own nose up in the air, took on an ever-so-nonchalant stance, and declared
in his loftiest voice for the benefit of those who watched the battle royal:
"Boy, is he lucky I didn't sock him one!"
This image came to mind when I heard that the Nizkorites are slinking away
from alt.revisionism and ostensibly taking their leave of the Net.
I already announced the departure of Jamie McCarthy. Yesterday I heard that
two more, Annie Alpert and Danny Keren, have announced their departure as
well.
Ken OyVey hasn't been heard of, I have been told, for weeks-and has apparently
changed his e-mail address so nobody knows how to get hold of him.
Rich Graves has only charged the weak and has never really taken on the
more substantial Revisionist arguments except in filthy language by his
transparent pseudonyms.
Hilary Ostrov was never that much of a factor, although it must be said
of her that she showed far more courage, dignity and principles than her
male fellow travelers.
Who's left? As far as I know, Michael Stein-who is still visiting periodically
to tell me how naughty he is.
Let's see whom Nizkor's backroom boys will come up with now to fill the
void. In the meantime, it surely looks as though this is the beginning of
the end of the traditional Internet roosters crowing about the "Holocaust"-who
charged because the upstarts ran.
There is a lesson here.
Ingrid
Thought for the Day:
"In everything the manner is fully as important as the matter."