“And I’ve just been informed that we’re leaving the Baltimore Ravens at the New York Giants for a more competitive game.”

Wait, what?

You’re leaving the game I’ve been watching for the last hour and fifty minutes to show me the last five minutes of a game I have no interest in, and no emotional investment in?

Seriously?

You’re going to prevent me from watching the end of the game, you’re going to prevent me from watching the defending World Champions, you’re going to prevent me from watching the team in my home market because it isn’t competitive enough?

Because the people in New York are, what, bored by watching their team beat up another team? Because we’d rather watch the freaking Falcons?

Whoever made this decision should be fired. And sterilized. Because their stupidity should not be allowed to contaminate the gene pool.

I just got my quarterly status report on my 401(k). I would like to thank the President, Congress, and all of the people on Wal Street that came together to make this report possible. Unfortunately, the only words that can adequately express my gratitude are profane, blasphemous, and potentially illegal, so I must refrain. But be cure, you are in my thoughts. My angry, evil thoughts.

I’ve wanted a red hoodie for a long, long time. I have a bunch of hoodies, from the basic black, through the basic black with fuzzy wool lining, and toping out at a white Westling hoodie, but the red one has eluded me.

Until, one marvelous day, I stumbled upon one. It was a nice one, too, a beautiful shade of crimson with, just perhaps, if the lighting was right and your eyes were receptive, a hint of maroon. And it was like twenty bucks. All was well in the land of Thomas.

Now, less than a month later, there is a six inch gash of mysterious origin running down the left arm. I don’t remember catching it on anything, and I certainly don’t remember getting into a knife fight while wearing it, so the source of this defect remains a mystery. All I know is that my wonderful red hoodie is now laying in my pile of work clothes.

This is why I can’t have pretty things.

I was wandering through Barnes and Noble the other day, as is my habit, and I stumbled across a table bearing a sign which read “Porn for Women,” and a display of mostly naked, mostly African men. This was, of course, right next to the table marked “Religion and Inspiration.” This doesn’t make me angry so much as it makes me giggle inappropriately.

While I was watching football a couple of weeks ago, one of the players had an interview where he talked about being a black belt in Kung Fu. The belt system is a purely Japanese concept, though it has been adopted by other nations since. However, Kung Fu inspired the Japanese systems, not the other way around. When you hear someone talking about being a black belt in Kung Fu, you can be sure of one of two things: he’s lying, or his sifu is.

Finally, the fact that I couldn’t find a parking spot at the gym tonight, and the fact that when I finally did, there was aline of people 20 deep at the desk? Hate.

Today’s tip: stand in front of a mirror, with your hands at your sides.  If you can see the backs of your hands (as opposed to the “C” formed by you thumb and pointer finger), your rear shoulder muscles are too weak.  More pullups and rows for you.

Monday
Deadlift: 15 singles @ 275lbs.

MetCon:
Chinups: 5
Dips: 20
Drop Lunges: 20 per leg
Dumbbell Swings: 20 @ 45lbs.
Pikes: 20
5 circuits

Thursday
Military Press: 3×5 @ 95lbs.

MetCon:
Chinups: 5
Pushups: 20
Lunges: 20 per leg
One Arm Dumbbell Snatch: 20 @ 45lbs.
Axe Handle Situp: 20 @ 25lbs.
5 circuits

Friday
MetCon:
Chinups: 5
Dips: 20
Drop Lunges: 20 per leg
Sntach: 5 @ 95lbs.
Pikes: 20
5 circuits

A “Drop Lunge” is similar to a regular lunge, except you step backwards, instead of forwards. It looks almost like a wrestler’s sprawl. Which gets a lot of interesting looks in the gym.

A friend asked me what I thought about tween- and teen- aged girls reading Twilight yesterday, and I’ve been mulling that over ever since. Now, I’m neither a parent nor a teacher (or a teenage girl, for that matter), but not knowing what I’m talking about has never stopped me from pontificating before, so here are my official thoughts on the moral ramifications of Twilight.

Spoilers abound hereafter, so if you haven’t read the books and want to be surprised, this isn’t a good article for you.

One of the reasons Twilight is so popular with the adult set is that it is rather clean. The language is tame; I don’t think a character even says “oh my God,” which is a reflection of Stephanie Myer’s faith. The suspense isn’t particularly terrifying, and the violence, while present, isn’t particular gruesome, except for one scene in the fourth book, where Bella (the heroine), pregnant with Edward’s (the hero and vampire) child, has to have an emergence C-Section, and Edward, due to the special nature of the birth, has to use his teeth to cut through her womb. This whole scene is just… yeah. The way that the book deals with sex is also rather chaste. Bella and Edward do not consummate their relationship until after they have been properly married, despite Bella’s protests.

So, when someone says that there’s nothing bad in Twilight, they’re right… sort of. While there is nothing explicit in the material, the subtext is, frankly, horrifying.

Edward is the ultimate Byronic hero: self loathing and self destructive, but beautiful, poetic, and romantic. He is the epitome of Troubled but Cute and the Rebel with a Heart of Gold.

His actions over the course of the first story are honestly frightening. In my favorite example, he actually breaks into Bella’s room to watch her sleep - without her knowledge, and before they are even in a relationship. He is controlling, manipulative, and dismissive towards Bella. He wavers back and forth between being openly hostile towards her, ignoring her, and professing his undying love for her.

And as I keep repeating, these things are not romantic, they are warning signs. I’ve known a lot of guys like Edward in real life, and these situations never end well.

The thing is, Twilight is a fantasy. We know that Edward is the good guy, we know that he and Bella are supposed to end up together. We know that he will never hurt her, and we know that they will end up happily ever after.

The problem occurs when this fantasy meets up with reality. In reality, when a guy is a jerk to you one moment, and professing his undying love the next, it isn’t because he’s trying to protect you from his own dark nature, it’s because he’s a jerk. In reality, when a guy is manipulative and controlling, it isn’t because he is trying to save you from an immortal blood-drinker who has sworn your destruction, it’s because he thinks of you as his property. In reality, when a guy breaks into your home to watch you sleep, it’s because he’s not right in the head. In reality, when a young girl throws herself physically at the Troubled Loner, he is not going to gently rebuff her offer in an attempt to maintain her virtue.

So, I think Twilight has the potential to set young girls up for disappointment, and possibly even trouble. So, should you let your young girls read them?

Well, here’s the thing.

Our Senior Pastor gave a talk on alcohol the other morning, and one of the things he referred to was prohibition. The US Government spent millions of dollars and countless man-hours trying to fight something that the people were going to do anyway. Furthermore, labeling something “forbidden” only serves to make it more appealing; if you tell your girls that they can’t read Twilight, it’s going to make them want to read it even more.

And while the thought of girls sneaking out behind the school to read a trashy paranormal romance kind of makes me giggle, I also think it’s sort of unnecessary. I’m not a real advocate of shielding people from the truth. Sooner or later, they are going to be exposed to something that you don’t like and that you can’t control. I think Twilight falls into that category. It isn’t so destructive that you need to seek out every copy and burn it, but it does have the potential to be destructive enough that you need to be able to discuss it intelligently.

So that’s my advice. If your girl wants to read Twilight, let her… but read it yourself, too, and be prepared to discuss the difference between fantasy and reality.

This morning, I find myself at a rare loss for words.

I am not, generally, a happy man. I am not, generally, a positive man. My focus tends to be on the things that are wrong, on the battles than need to be won.

For me, this election has been about negatives. It has been about a disastrous economic policy, a ruinous domestic policy, and a murderous foreign policy. This election has been about everything that has gone wrong in the last eight years.

But for Barack Hussein Obama, this election has been about how we can best fix them.

Over the last eight years, I have watched a needless war, an economic collapse, and the politics of fear becoming the de facto language in our nation’s capital. Over the last few months, I’ve watched as racism and ignorance were used for political gain.

And last night, I watched America reject all of those things.

Last night, I watched as America elected the first black man to the office of President of the United States. Last night, I watched as America elected an intelligent, intellectual man to the highest office in the nation. Last night, I watched America choose change, choose hope.

I looked at an America flag this morning, and I honestly wanted to weep. That flag has never stood for war or for greed. The American flag has always stood for what is best about human nature, for the belief that if we are allowed to choose our own destiny, we will choose freedom and responsibility and equality. And although there have been missteps along the way, and although there are still battles to be fought and freedoms to be won, America has stood as a city on a hill, an example to the world.

Looking at that flag, and realizing what my country -men and -women had done, I felt, for the first time in a long time, that America could be great again. Looking at that flag, I believe that we had the courage to own our mistakes and the will to correct them. Looking at that flag, I believed, truly believed, that this collection of tired, poor, and huddled masses could be great, because we are free and we are united.

Barack Hussein Obama is not the Messiah, and America is not perfect. But we have been blessed, truly, undeniably blessed, to be born into this nation at this time, and this morning, I feel something that I haven’t felt in a long time.

Hope.

Today, at 6am, before the sun had even risen, I cast my vote for President of the United States.

I felt almost giddy as I did so. It’s cliché, but this really is one of the most important elections in our history, and certainly within living memory. By casting my vote, I was taking part in history.

There are a lot of ways to be involved in politics. You can donate to your favorite candidates and causes. You can write passionate editorials. You can talk to your friends. You can donate your FaceBook status. And I’ve done all of those.

But there is only one way to be involved in democracy: vote. Because at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter who has the most money, the most eloquent arguments, or the most fans. The only thing that matters is who has the most votes.

Eight years ago, George Bush became the President of this nation by a margin of 129 votes, forever putting to lie the belief that a single vote doesn’t matter. Love him or hate him, the margin was razor-thin. History turned on the votes of a few individuals.

This campaign has lasted for more than two years. There has been excitement, controversy, and spectacle. One way or another, history will be made today. The world will change, today.

Will you be a part of it?

It’s 4am. I’m headed into the office. Why? If you said “because he can’t sleep again,” award yourself a gold star, though I also would have accepted “because he’s been thrashing for the last three days, making absolutely no progress, and it would be nice to have a job on Monday.”

So I went to WalMart again last night. Or earlier tonight. I can’t tell anymore.

Whatever. There was a pleasant number of lines open this evening, and I am totally taking credit for that. Behold the power of my blog. But it wasn’t the cashiers that made me angry tonight, it was one of the guys in line.

Imagine you are making a quick trip to WalMart to pick up something to eat for lunch the next day. Your basket has like three items in it. What line do you pick? Why, the “express checkout line,” of course.

No imagine that in front of you is a man. An older man, but not old enough to be senile yet. Imagine he has like fifteen items or so. Well under the “twenty items or less” limit. Fine.

Now imagine that said man pulls out a giant plastic bag filled with change, dumps that change on the counter, and begins counting out forty-five dollars worth of nickels.

I will spare my more delicate readers a transcript of what ran through my mind at that moment, but feel free to imagine that it was long, colorful, and generally took a poor view of his ancestors.  It’s called CoinStar, bro.  Come on.

The gym I use is opening a new franchise about five minutes from my house. I’m currently driving about twenty minutes to go to the gym, and another twenty minutes back. Now, I can go on the way to work, or on the way home, or even on my lunch break. I’m going to save a ton of money on gas, too. This is made of win

What’s not made of win is the flyer they stuck in my mailbox, announcing this fact. On this flyer, in bright purple, is a bit that says “Open 24 Hours!”

That’s cool. Except, underneath that is another line that says “Monday - Friday: 12am - 9pm,” and “Saturday and Sunday: 7am - 7pm.”

Now, maybe my math is off, but 12am to 9pm seems to be twenty-one hours, not twenty-four. And 7am to 7pm seems to be twelve hours which is, again, not twenty-four.

This whole

Big Extravagant Claim^*

^*We’re lying

thing really pisses me off. But you already knew this, since these articles aren’t called “things that make me warm, fuzzy, and generally well-disposed to the human race.”

Whatever. I’m going to go eat some Double Stuff Mint Oreos. At 4am. In my office.

Crap.

As most of you know, I recently kicked the whole vegetarian habit to the curb, and can now be counted among the ranks of the mighty carnivores.

As I’ve said, this is kind of slow going. You try not eating meat for two decades, and see how well your system responds to a sudden influx of dead animal. I started slow, eating mostly chicken and turkey, but have slowly branched out. My culinary repertoire now includes various forms of dead cow, including something called “beef tips.” What exactly they are the tips of, I think I am happier now knowing.

But this morning, I decided to forgo land-based sustenance and kill something that swims in the sea. Today, a little fishy died so that I might live. Also, I killed a sheaf of rice, an apple, and a bunch of broccoli, but the fish is the important part.

I’m honestly amazed. I had a lemon pepper fish dinner (for breakfast, nach), and it went down very smoothly. Easier than the chicken, in fact, and tastier. And the fats in fish are notoriously good for you. So this is a big win.

That’s right, folks, I’m now a Navy SEAL of the kitchen, consuming animals from the Sea, Air, and Land. Look upon me and tremble, all ye creatures, great and small. As long as you’re tasty, and easily digestible.