when i wake up tomorrow

There was a point last year where I was searching for some motivation. I don't know if "motivation" is really the right word -- I was looking for a pep talk though, and I was the only one around to give it. I asked myself the hypothetical question: If you had only five years left to live is this the way you would want to do it? It didn't exactly change how I live. I still go to work everyday to a job that I probably wouldn't do if I really only had five years to live. Not to mention that I didn't even change my life insurance nor change my 401k contribution.

I have been more open with the pocketbook. We've booked a couple trips we can barely afford so far, and I'd still like to book that trip to France soon. I bought a new car. Okay, well that was more because I HAD to. We just put in a new water heater. There just is no point in going through your last five years driving a Jeep that is falling apart and taking too-cold showers.

So this isn't to say that suddenly I really am living like I have just five years yet, but I'm not living as if I have forever left to begin crossing items off my bucket list. I've actually realized that I have a bucket list to begin with and that I'd like to check off as much of it as possible.

Now what if that doctor who told me that I have five years left came to me and said, "We were wrong about the five years. You only have two left,"? Not 60 months anymore but 24, give or take 6 either way. What would I do with every single valuable day? It happens to people - not just older people, but young people - people my age with too so much life left it seems unfair they should have to squeeze it into 50 years let alone two. It isn't so much maybe about the legacy we leave at the end of our lives, but what legacy do we leave at the end of each day when we lay down in bed.

M-V-P

There's been a bunch of talk on sports radio lately here in Denver about who deserves to be the NFL's most Valuable Player. Obviously the sentiment around here is for Mr. Peyton F. Manning. The Broncos are suddenly a top team in the league merely by the addition of Manning. Well, and the defense is also even better than what had been a pretty good team last year.

But have you seen what is going on with Adrian Peterson out in Minnesota? The man is going to single-handedly take the Vikings to the playoffs. Seriously, the Vikings don't have much else going on -- teams KNOW they have to run and AD is STILL putting up 200 yards a week at almost 6.5 yards per carry. (As an aside to the sports radio hosts around here, yes his initials are A.P., but the man's nickname is AD as in All Day.) It's historic. He's already matched Jim Brown for what was probably the best year a running back has ever had, and this is the era of the passing game. There are two games left. It will be great to see what he can do over those two games and if, indeed, he can get the Vikings to the playoffs.

There is the argument, particularly by the homers here, that a quarterback is more important, so that P.F.M. should win over Peterson. Again, I love Manning, but if you make that argument, then you have to cast your vote for Tom Brady, don't you? Brady has put up bigger numbers than Manning on a team that does not have near as good a defense. Broncos are an 8 or 9 win team without Manning. Without Brady I think the Patriots win only 5 or 6 games.

With the historic year that Peterson is putting up though you also have to make mention of Calvin Johnson and the year he is having. He is even closer to breaking Jerry Rice's receiving yards mark than Peterson is to Dickerson's rushing record. Of course, as I said, this is an era that favors passing over rushing, but still what Johnson has done is pretty remarkable given that the Lions don't have a lot of other options on offense. Megatron makes these catches that make your jaw drop like watching a Barry Sanders run. I've never seen a man so routinely beat double coverage. Teams play man defense against him and put two men on him. Teams have put THREE men on him to try and cover him. I've really never seen anything like it.

All this said, if I had a vote for MVP I'd give it to Brian Urlacher every year, if he coudl stay healthy. I know as a Bears fan I'm biased. However, the Bears are a completely different team without Urlacher in there. They are a winning team with him and a losing team without him. It's that simple. Every year though we witness how badly the Bears can play wihtout him because it seems that he is out for at least a handful of games every year.

Killing a Chicken

I had to kill a chicken this morning. I know to most people this doesn't sound like much. Seems like everyone has some tale of watching their grandmother or great-aunt or someone chopping the head off a chicken at the family farm and then watching the thing run and flap around.For me, this was sort of a pet, however, and it's really rather painful to take the life of something that has relied on you for food and shelter.

Last week I noticed the Diva was having trouble moving around her pen, as if her one leg were hurting, though there was nothing visibly wrong with her. Though I purposely did not name our chickens so as not to grow too attached to them (especially after the dogs attacked and ate our first batch of pullets), our bantam golden seabright earned her monikerby acting bigger than she was. I hoped it was a minor injury. The next day she seemed worse, not wanting to leave the nesting box or move much at all. I had to make a decision regarding taking her to the vet. Like I said, to me the chickens are "sort of" pets. They rank somewhere between our dogs and the goldfish in our backyard pond. They don't have names, but I've committed to taking care of them even after it turns out they haven't been the best egg-layers. I've said that I don't want to end up running a retirement home for hens when they stop laying, but my threats of putting them in the stew pot have been pretty empty, not to mention then hens don't lay any better when faced with such threats anyway. So while I had some concern for finding out exactly what was wrong from the vet, I also told myself that if I am going to take care of chickens I will also have to face being able to take care of one, one way or another, when they are sick.

The next day, and perhaps this was only wishful thinking, the Diva seemed better. She was out of her box voluntarily, and while still tottering around sort of hopping on one leg, she was eating and drinking. I really did have hope she was going to get better. Over the next two days, however, I saw it was just an illusion and my hope in her recovering turned to hope that she would pass peacefully. I had to help her out to get to her water, and she stopped eating except for a little leftover cooked corn we had. This morning I found her outside the box laying on her side, unable to get up on her own.

I knew what had to be done. I had read about the quickest, most humane way of killing a chicken that you intend to butcher by wringing its neck. I've seen the debate online of whether an axe is better. I frankly didn't think I could use a hatchet without causing undue stress on us both. Not that I intended to butcher her either, I just mean that I am sure a vet could administer some injection to kill a chicken, but for me and my aspirations of one day actually being a gentleman farmer, that wasn't practical. The Diva had suprisingly been the best layer of the first three hens we got, the other two being Welsummers which started off laying well but have been terribly inconsistent the past year. The little seabright's eggs, too, were surprisingly large in comparison to her little pigeon-sized body. They would probably qualify as USDA 'medium' sized eggs. Well now she was going to provide one last gift: my first lesson on killing an animal I had raised.

I picked her up and held her close to my chest, which calmed her. I held her like that for a moment to say a goodbye then tilted her head-down. Inverting a chicken like this will calm them, and I'd done this before when wanting to check her for disease and injury. I took her whole head in my hand, and she pulled it back away. For that one instant I wasn't sure that I could go through with it, but I couldn't leave her in pain. I grasped her hand a bit more firmly and with a little surge of violence twisted. I felt the bones in her neck break and she gave a quick kick and stopped. I let go of her head and looked at her. Her eyes were open. "Oh please tell me you're dead," I begged in my head. She blinked, but otherwise did not move. "Dammit." I twisted again and pulled down quickly on her head. I had been afraid to really yank before, afraid that the head would come off. This time, though, I felt the spinal column separate, and with her head still on she was dead. She kicked for about 20 seconds then. It was a rhythmic spasm that was obviously simply a nervous reaction, but I still held her against me. It stopped and I looked and all the color and life was gone from her.

She really did look at peace. I felt horrible that her death wasn't as quick as I hoped it was going to be but am convinced it was painless apart from that initial kick. Even writing this account, I didn't want to admit that it took two tries, but I feel like this was the lesson she gifted me with and that it would be better to share the information so that other people wouldn't make this same mistake.

It's sort of an empty feeling to be putting something that was alive moments ago into a body bag of sorts, as in a gallon-sized Ziploc-brand bag, and then into a shoe box to bury. I think that empty feeling is appropriate -- a life has gone out of this world, and I'm the one who took it. In that bag and then in the box she looked like a fake bird, something you'd find at the hobby shop to add to your homemade wreath. I'm glad though she isn't suffering and also that my emotional barometer seems to be calibrated correctly: I'm sad she is gone, glad she didn't needlessly suffer, humiliated that I didn't get it done right, proud I could do it at all and confident that in the future I can... that I can kill a chicken.

A Personal Message from Citicards

A personal message to me from the CEO of Citicards:

	Dear Benjamin,
	I’ve always thought that the best way to show someone you are listening is to really deliver. That’s why we’ve been listening to customers like you, and making changes in response to your feedback.
	For example, you asked for a monthly statement that is easier to read and use.We listened. Over the next few months, you will see a new statement, with a simplified design and a standard paper size so it’s easier to file.
	You also asked for a more timely view into your spending. We heard you. Now, you can see your pending charges online, before they post to your statement.
	You can read more about improvements we’re putting into place at my blog. Please stop by so we can continue the conversation and make your experience with Citi even better.
	All the best, Jud Linville CEO, Citi Cards

My Response:

Dear Jud,
I don't freaking care about a new statement format. Lower my freaking rate or I'll just continue to NOT use your card. We taxpayers bailed out your company and yet you continue to fleece us with your excessive credit card rates. I simply won't carry a balance with you. Don't bother sending me your new and improved statement at all, since I guarantee it will always say $0 regardless of how exorbitant the rate you want me to pay.

Sincerely,
Benjamin Rice
customer since 2003

Ate, ate, ate-ey ate.

Every year on this date I am reminded of a particular moment in my life, one that maybe only seems profound to me now in that it is so memorable. It was the eighth of August, 1988 - 8/8/88. I was attending the Center for Talent Development (CTD) at Northwestern, now affectionately remembered as Nerd Camp, still a few weeks from my 14th birthday.

In this particular moment burned into my memory I am standing outside Scott Hall in this little triangle where Sheridan Road, Chicago Avenue, and University Place come together, across Sheridan from where the Northwestern Arch now stands. It's dark out so must have been after nine at night. It's raining and I'm unfolding a Tribune that I had bought to put over my head. There's an insert that is a special for the Cub's first night game at Wrigley. That's what makes the moment stand out to me - I remember thinking how clever it was for them to have the first night game on 8/8/88. I guess I can't think now why that would be so clever; maybe it's just because then it would be memorable to people like me.

I wanted to go to the game. A group of fellow campers did. I couldn't afford it. I had worked mowing lawns to help pay to be able to go to camp for the second year and spend three weeks outside of Chicago taking basically a high school AP algebra course. I think it must have been around the end of the session, because I know I was down to the last couple of the American Express travelers checks I had gotten with my dad at Wolverine Bank in Frankenmuth. I wanted to have some money left over for souvenirs for my little brothers, not to mention the Charleston Chew bars I'd get each day during break from class. So I passed on the game.

It was rained out anyway. I guess they got a few innings in, but the first official night game at Wrigley wasn't played until the next night. I remember those who did go to the game later describing how the players came out and used the tarp as a big slip-n-slide. In that one moment though with the rain and the paper and the cars going by on Sheridan I was giddy. I literally felt on top of the world. I remember thinking "My parents don't even know that I'm out here at night in the rain." I wanted to stay there. I loved Chicago, loved Evanston and Northwestern and my classmate-campers who were the coolest, smartest people I had ever met.

Everything changes and everything stays the same. There was another profound moment that I remember from that summer. One of the teachers at CTD gave a lecture on the relativity of time and multiple dimensions. Time being the "fourth dimension", as he described it, blew me away. I am now 24 years and 1000 miles removed from that moment in the rain. I have those moments of that summer, along with many others from CTD and millions of other moments including several others in the rain along Sheridan Road at Evanston over these 24 years. It would be sweet to taste just a bit of that feeling of being on top of the world again. You can't turn back the clock. There're lights at Wrigley now. It's for the better, they say, because now they have 28 night home games a year.

More on Aurora

I don't know why this is affecting me so much, why I keep thinking about it. Partly it has to do with being relatively close. I've been to the mall there, though it's been years and the last time I was there I'm not even sure that theater was there.

The way I feel about the shooting has a lot to do with my age, though, I think. Many of those killed were five or ten years younger than I am. Fifteen years even. They were at an age where their job is exciting because they are learning new things and advancing. They were at an age where life in many ways is still an adventure.  At that age you feel like you are making progress each week, if not every day.

Now I am at an age just past that. Each day I'm making an effort to hold on to what I have. I roll out of bed, not for the prospect of something good happening, but to keep the bad things, the bills and failure at work, at bay. I made a joke to my wife that night: "Want to go see the midnight premiere of Batman?" It was a joke because we were both exhausted and I would have to be awake for work only a few hours after it ended. I know that some of those killed also had to be to work the next day. At least the one girl, the sports journalist, basically had a job interview the next day. Oh to be young again.

I have a lot of swirled up thoughts and emotions about the events of the shooting in Aurora early yesterday morning. I described them in an earlier draft of something I had written as a swirl of oily black and grey thoughts. I think that best describes my thoughts now. But I had one little inky thought I wanted to share as it crossed my mind before I over-thought it too much.

There has been some effort, not by politicians themselves, but those connected to politics to make what happened in Aurora into a political issue. Politics by definition should address those issues that we feel are important as a society, and this individual act itself puts a spotlight on difficult issues that we deal with as a society and thus difficult issues that politics and politicians must rightfully address.

However, this singular horrifying act is not defined by being Democratic or Republican, conservative or liberal or if you are seated to the right or left of the aisle. This is about Good versus Evil -- this evil act against what is a good society. I imagine the last thing that a parent thinks about when being told that their child was killed because they went to a movie is just what politician is responsible. We too often take for granted that we Americans truly live in a Good society. Wherever we each fall on the political spectrum, I believe that all of us want to be prosperous and happy, want our neighbor to be prosperous and happy, and want each successive generation to be prosperous and happy and to be able to go to a movie and never feel their life is in jeopardy.

I think it will be good to have a debate about gun control and mental health and violence in society, but if you believe in God or Goodness or even simple morality this act was the born of the exact opposite of those things. This Devil or Evil or immorality is exactly what we need to take a stand against together, rather than each group with their separate agendas.