Kenneth Lay, former CEO of Enron, died today at his home near Aspen, Colorado. In the short period of time between his sentencing and his jail time, Lay suffered a heart attack. As a Houstonian, I wasn’t proud of Lay or Skilling (or Delay for that matter). And still I wonder – are there drugs out there that can induce a heart attack?

I continue my preparations for moving to LA. I’m making lists but not really. They’re in my head, ready to bust out on paper or word document. I’m supposed to get out of Houston at the end of this month, but I’ve yet to develop the momentum that’ll get me to bust out the little money I have left in my checking account to buy the stuff I need for law school. That list is potentially long and arduous, tough on the pocketbook. I made the realization the other day that I won’t have any income in law school (at least during the first semester) outside of loans.

One good thing about law school is that most of the other folks will also maintain their livelihood through their loans – I guess I won’t be alone with my loans!

I was at my friend JP’s house the other day and, as I do on most days I’m there, I try to catch their newly-acquired hen, Clementina.

I arrive at their house, take off my shoes in the front, eat something in the kitchen (usually a full meal consisting of beans and tostadas and other yummy stuff), and then go out through the back while donning some flip-flops that belong to JP, Jorge, or Christian.  I like the lime green ones that are too big for my feet.

I get out on the back patio and scan the backyard for signs of the chicken.  My audio and visual systems have become finely tuned to Clementina’s presence.  Once I sense her, I’m off.

Walking, walking faster, faster, running after her.  She eludes me so easily.

Running away from me, her wings gracefully tucked into her sides, her clawy feet scamper in tune with her mocking head.  I think she’s mocking me everytime she walks/runs away from me.  She finds a corner and I think I’ve got her, but as my hands make their way to grab her, she runs back from whence she came.

Any other person probably would’ve have grabbed her as she made her way past their legs, as she has so often done mine.  But I think I have a fear of actually catching chickens.  I can run through the motions of grabbing her, but in the ultimate moment, I cannot do it.

I think it might be related to my inability to flip roti or tortillas on the burner with my bare hands – but wait, no, thats a legitimate fear of hot things crisping my fingers.

So I don’t know why I can’t catch Clementina.  After a hurried search, JP or Jorge usually grabs Clementina within minutes, even seconds.  I usually settle with having them hand me the chicken, swallowing my pride with the knowledge that another day has gone by without an honest chicken catch.