go postle.

pardon my dust. i'm turning it into glitter.

Hi, I'm Chris. If you subscribe to the MBTI, I'm an INFJ. I put myself through school for a seemingly useless English/Creative Writing degree, but writing is my passion and that's what I want to do when I grow up. Still figuring out what comes next, and pretty much everything else, so I'm feeling kinda adventurous. And yes, that's exactly how my OkCupid profile starts out. Why mess with a good thing, eh?

The site's a work in progress. I'll be adding content over time, and hopefully eventually it'll evolve into something halfway interesting. I'm glad you're still reading, though. Usually by this point I have to show a little skin to keep 'em interested.

Filtering by Category: rant

The Best Weight-Loss System Ever.

       Need to lose a few pounds? Exercise is overrated! When it comes to taking the weight off, nothing, and I mean nothing, has worked faster for me than illness combined with overcautious doctors and extreme antibiotics. 

        A couple weeks ago I came down with flu-like symptoms and a pretty impressive fever. When they diminished but didn't seem to be going away after a week I decided to make a trip to the Urgent Care (I had intended to see a doc for a routine check anyway). Thinking it was a virus, but not really sure what it was, he put me on doxycycline. I later found out that this uber-crazy drug is what they give to soldiers in the field who have had limbs blown off or guts exposed in order to prevent infection from the open wound. My fever broke the next day, but being the good boy I am I kept taking the antibiotics because I don't like germs.

       That shit tore me up. Slowly, the side-effects became worse than the original bug. At one point I couldn't straighten up because my stomach was cramping so much. Taking some probiotics helped a little. Yes, the germophobe was consuming 50 billion germs daily in capsule form, But I still couldn't eat much. Breakfast usually consisted of half a piece of toast. Lunch was an apple. Dinner was a few spoonfuls of soup, a couple bites of chicken if I was lucky. I got a sunburn sitting inside near an open window but not in direct sunlight.

       Fortunately a doctor friend saved me, giving me permission to come off the drugs a little early. Now I'm 3 days AD (After Doxy) and still feeling the effects, but they're not nearly as bad. Yesterday I dared to eat a grilled chicken salad and a yogurt for lunch. I felt like I ate an elephant, but it was soo good.

       On the plus side I lost 5 pounds, my skin is super clear right now, and I was able to watch the first two seasons of So You Think You Can Dance in the down-time. :) And in the end the experience furthered my believe gained first through working with doctors that you should never trust your doctor. There really is a reason why they call it "practice."

Out for Blood.

       I just wrote an email to Andrew Christian and chewed their asses for using "your" instead of "you're" in an ad about underwear for the well-endowed. Then I electronically bitch-slapped a friend for using "alright" instead of "all right" on his private blog.

       This bitter old queen is brought to you tonight by Robert Mondavi's Private Selection Pinot Noir and a renewed self-hatred thanks to all the beautiful men at my gym.

       So I've started reading this book: "Young Man from the Provinces" by Alan Helms. It was recommended to me by that aforementioned blogger friend after my "Call Me Crazy" post. This is a sort of review before I get very far at all into it. Because I'm curious if my perception will change. It's a memoir by this gorgeous man who was something of a gay icon/sex symbol in the pre-Stonewall days. And we're supposed to feel sorry for him.

       First of all, I don't really trust people who write memoirs. We get it. You think your life is important and has meaning. You are a unique and beautiful flower. Just like the rest of us. Except you happen to be genetically gifted and that makes me want to hate you all the more. Yes, this is the first memoir I've ever read. So far I'm on page 20 and all he's done is try to make us cry over his tortured childhood, giving intelligence to a 4 year-old that you'd probably believe as much if I attributed it to my 4 year-old cat.

       I'm having trouble wrapping my head around it. The redeeming quality thus far was in the epigraph from Walt Whitman's "Calamus" in which he kind of acknowledges my frustrations: 

Who is now reading this?
Or may-be a stranger is reading this who has secretly
         loved me,
Or may-be one who meets all my grand assumptions
         and egotisms with derision,
Or may-be one who is puzzled at me.
As if I were not puzzled at myself!
Or as if I never deride myself! (O conscience-struck!
         O self-convicted!)
Or as if I do not secretly love strangers! (O tenderly,
         a long time, and never avow it;)
Or as if I did not see, perfectly well, interior in
         myself, the stuff of wrong-doing,
Or as if it could cease transpiring from me until it
         must cease.

 *sigh* Sometimes I have to remind myself that pretty people are indeed people too. If we cut them, they do bleed. Well, Mr. Helms, I'm sharpening the fangs of my wit. You have 186 pages before I strike.


Fiscal Fisting; or, Another Way Republicans Are Ruining Everything

       I was mildly surprised the other day to read that if sequestration repeal is unsuccessful, Obama could be the first president since Reagan to not increase the minimum wage. Of course, with the GOP-controlled House, any sort of pay raise is unlikely, and thank you once again, America, for voting those fuckwits into office. Trickle-down economics doesn't work (seriously, read that article). We know this. Instead, your money lines the pockets of the CEOs, serving to widen the income gap, continuing the destruction of the middle class, and ensuring the lower classes have absolutely no chance of improvement. I learned as much in my conservative high school's social studies class. So why are they still trying it? Simple: either they're stupid and just do what they're told, or they don't care.

       Similarly incensing was the release of McDonald's suggested budget for its employees. If you haven't seen it, it's worth a look. Just appalling. You'll notice that a second full-time job is included to make ends meet, but things like heat and food are still obvious luxuries that you shouldn't waste any money on. Another sick thing about this? The website is built through a partnership with Visa, which supplies the pre-paid debit cards by which employees are paid. But guess who foots the bill for the cards? Yup -- the employees. Too bad they didn't include those fees in the budget. But what do they care? They have and endless supply of teenagers waiting in line for a job.

       And now that some fast-food workers are on strike, the response from the companies has been an emphatic "meh". Sure, their demands might be a little overzealous, but the food giants' claims that any sort of wage increase, government requirement or no, would cripple the businesses are likewise hyperbolic.

       Not that you should be eating fast food anyway. I mean, really... it's not the dryer.

Image by AlphaTangoBravo/Adam Baker. Some rights reserved.

Call me crazy.

Not me. 

       Boy crazy, that is. I saw one of the most beautiful men I've ever laid eyes on today. Perfect muscular body, not too big, not too skinny, just the right amount of body hair in all the best places. He was riding by on his bike, shirtless, of course, and stopped about twenty feet away ostensibly to make a phone call, but I know he was just teasing me. I tried my best to stare as much as possible. I was very close to asking him for a picture, he was just that gorgeous. The bitch.

       I'm getting back to that point in my own fitness where I'm close to maxing out half the machines at the gym again. And it pisses me off when the 6-foot-2 Adonis next to me is struggling with about half the weight. I mean I've accepted the fact that my 170cm frame just won't do some of the things that theirs will. I say 170cm because it sounds so much better than 5'6.9". Yes, that .9 is extremely important because then I can officially round up to 5'7" and avoid the "pocket gay" status of the 5'6"ers. But there I am, a (barely) 20-something Average Joe who could probably kick the panties off the Greek gods.

       Beauty is such a funny thing in this big gay world of ours, though. How much time and energy and money and tears do we spend on trying to make ourselves look better? Does it even matter? Don't they always say that it's what's on the inside that counts? Funny that it's often the ugly people who say that while the beautiful are getting everything they could dream of.

       Perhaps that's why I prefer to dream and forget to live.

       It can sometimes be very difficult to believe in yourself if you're not typically counted among the wealthy or beautiful or highly intelligent. Perhaps that's why we watch those who are thusly gifted, hoping to experience some of their greatness for a moment, perhaps even wishing that some of their je ne sais quoi will rub off on us. If anyone finds out how this works, let me know.

       But when the world seems to crumble around us from greed, bigotry, incompetence, shady government surveillance, etc., at least enjoying something beautiful can make the ride to hell a little less ugly.


Copyright © 2019 Christopher Postlethwait