Chris Hinton’s 2013 New Year’s Resolutions Progress Report

Well, well.  We’re already over the halfway mark for the year 2013 and it’ll soon be August.  It’s hard to believe.  Time flies when you’re having fun.

At the beginning of the year, I made a list of New Year’s resolutions.  Just thought I’d take this opportunity to share the list and give a quick progress report for those that might be interested.  For those that are not interested, I’ve included a link to view Def Leppard’s official music video for “Pour Some Sugar On Me.”  Click here for some of the craziest, coolest one armed drumming action you’ve ever seen, and for some of the biggest mullets in rock history.

I’ve put a check mark by the completed resolutions and indicated the outstanding ones in red.  Let’s get rocked, Def Leppard aficionados.  One armed drumroll please…

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Chris Hinton’s 2013 New Year’s Resolutions:

#1)  Get a pretty cool haircut just like the movie stars  ( √ )
#2)  Learn how to play Eddie Van Halen guitar solos on a keytar so that I can impress my friends at parties  ( √ )
#3)  Eat more celery and kale for dinner instead of chili cheese dogs and one pound burritos ( √ )
#4)  Get in shape so that I can bend down to tie my shoes just like the “good old days” ( √ )
#5)  Do at least one thing a day that scares me (ie: doing math, saying “Bloody Mary” in the mirror three times in a row, or listening to a Nicki Minaj song the whole way through) ( √ )
#6)  Visit a wax museum  ( No )
#7)  Visit a non-wax museum ( √ )
#8) Buy new car mats  ( √ )
#9) Clean out the fridge ( √ )
#10) Get married  ( No )

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Welp, there you have it.  Eight down, two to go.  I still have plenty of more time before the year winds down, but I’d like to keep my foot on the gas pedal.  Crank this mutha up a few decibels.  I’m a real go-getter.

There’s a bunch of newbies around here (welcome you dimwits).  Perhaps some of you are single ladies?  Feel free to check out my latest rejected Match.com dating profile if you haven’t already, and let’s see if we can’t knock the last two off the list.

I’ll see one of you lucky gals at the wax museum.   Look for me.  I’ll be the one wearing a burgundy turtleneck tucked neatly inside his daisy dukes.  Make the most of the remaining year, you all.  I will do the same.  Hugs and kisses.

Facebook Odds & Ends – Volume Two

Before I got sucked into this vortex otherwise commonly referred to as WordPress, I had another outlet to post all of my madness.  The other outlet was this little social network site you mighta heard of called Facebook.

I’m no longer on Facebook, with the exception of staying connected with just my family.  It’s maybe better that way.  Alcohol, late nights, and Facebook do not mix well together.  I proved that correct on one too many occasions, so I finally decided to pull the plug.  But before I pulled the plug, I collected some of the highlights throughout the years.

The following are some Facebook exchanges between my mother and I involving unicorns, birthdays, and such.  Facebook odds & ends, volume two.

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Rejected Match.com Dating Profile – – – – – – – -> Will You Be My Matey?

Look who’s back!  Hello there, ladies.  It’s been a busy few months, but I’m back on the market, looking for love in all the wrong places.  Match.com just rejected my dating profile once again.

 SUBMISSION REJECTED.

Whatever.  It’s their loss and the dimwit’s gain.   My first dating profile didn’t land me the big fish.  I guess the ladies don’t like horses.  If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.

I figured I’d give it another shot here on The Dimwit Diary.    It’s time to make a love connection.  Open up the floodgates, man the phones.  Away we go.

Hello.  My name is Chris.  I enjoy laughing,  engaging conversations, taking long nature walks, dining out, and reading about child sex predators.  I also enjoy wearing turtlenecks to the movie theater.  I’ve only been arrested once.

If I’m not reading about sociopaths or serial killers in the evenings, you can usually find me in the women’s section of K-Mart buying short shorts for roller skating parties.  During the day, I’m either dancing naked with frogs or getting unicorn manicures.  I’ve barely worked in the past 12 months, so my schedule is usually flexible.  If you’d like to join me for a day or evening outing, send me a message, but be prepared to do a lot of walking, and I’d prefer you not to talk.  It gives me a headache.

I had a rat tail for an entire year.  I just got a haircut at Supercuts and the lady messed it all up because she was telling me all about how she broke up with her boyfriend.  I have a thing for fanny packs and if I had a son, I’d like to name him Gaylord.

I have super sperm.  I come from a very fertile family.  I have 19 nieces and nephews and I’m one of 11 kids.  We all have nicknames.  We nicknamed my one sister “The Gootch.”

I’m a godfather and I’m part Italian.  Sometimes I have a temper, and I even almost murdered my father once, but I got too drunk on whiskey and wine that night, so I couldn’t drive to his house to finish the deed.  Thankfully, the police got things settled, and we have a good laugh about it when I write my father letters in prison.

I like to give hot oil massages and oink like a pig to keep things “fun” and “playful.”  Sometimes I eat canned peaches for lunch.  I also enjoy camping and ultimate frisbee.

I like to pretend that I’m a pirate and go to Pirate’s baseball games.  I put the plastic sword in my teeth and bite down and carry on like a pirate.  I started drinking whiskey when I was thirteen.  My favorite color is hunter green.

I enjoy photography, eating soft pretzels, and playing the piano.   I can make the water dripping noise just like Cameron from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.   My favorite TV show is “How To Catch A Predator” or “Maury Popvich.”  I enjoy the arts and making squirrel noises at squirrels.

One year, I took a 75 year old, chain smoking, severe alcoholic, Greek lady to the ballet.  I didn’t care much for the ballet.  I like balloons.  I like to write my name in cursive writing when I pee in the snow.  I make my own Christmas cards.  My one brother studies Neuroscience.  I like to snowshoe and I can juggle eggs, but sometimes I drop them.

I would love to meet up and we can maybe go to the Moose Lodge to watch my favorite wrestler Latin Assassin smash the Drunken Luchador’s face off the turnbuckle down at the local wrestling, or we could go to the Elks Lodge to listen to banjo night with all the old ladies and the old men.  Your pick.  Just say the word.

Don’t hesitate to ask me any questions.  I forgot to tell you, I’m right handed.  I look forward to hearing your reply.  ARGHHHHH!  Will you be my matey?

2,000 Followers – A Thank You

Woooo doggie!  Alert the presses and fire up the ticker tape parade!  The Dimwit has gone and done it.  2,000 followers.  2,000 real genuine, funny, thoughtful, kind, and incredibly beautiful ding dong dingalings.  Nice.

We haven’t officially met, but I can confidently say that I love you all.   What a crew of misfits we’ve managed to put together that really seem to get this strange and precious thing we call life, and what a life it’s been for the Dimwit these past few months.

I attended a wedding last night.  It was something.  Two of my friends from the film industry got hitched, and well, a film industry wedding is very much like what you’d expect.  Lots of creative types, colorful outfits, beautiful decorations, open-minded sentiments being shared, gay couples, straight couples, lots of love, an open bar, plenty of dancing, and the Dimwit right in the middle of it all, just having a ball and making plenty of embarrassing moments to regret the following day.  Thank goodness I passed out in my wedding clothes face down on my bed before I left too many Facebook messages and sent out too many texts.  I sent one to this really pretty girl that told me I smelled nice and I’m pretty sure that I blew it.  That’s the way it goes.

I was talking to one of my friends last night before I took one to many visits to the open bar.  I was telling her a little bit about my blog.  What an awfully lame thing to talk about at a wedding, but here’s the thing.  It was just nice to have a discussion with other creative people about writing and art, and all that sort of stuff.

I’ve been holed up in my apartment for a while and haven’t been doing a lot of socializing lately.  It’s been a little tough on me, because I’m a normally a fairly sociable guy.  But that’s just the way it’s gotta be when I do writing.  I can’t have distractions and a million people texting and calling me to come over to eat perogies for dinner.  Sorry, but the Dimwits gone mad and he’s busy writing Photoshop tutorials.   Hope you understand, but you probably won’t, but you’ll just have to get over it anyways.

So I was sharing with my friend a little about my writing process.  It’s really crazy.  My apartment looks like a bomb went off.  Empty cartons of Franzia boxed wine on the floor, stacks of clothes piled to the ceiling from two months of neglecting laundry, papers and unopened mail strewn all over the place, garbage overflowing, stacks of photo albums taking up half my bed, piles of dirty dishes, ect, ect, ect.  If anyone saw it, they’d surely know that a madman lives there, and they would probably slowly back away.  It’s a sight to behold, but that’s just how I write.  I let everything else go for a few weeks or a few months, and I let myself go truly mad.

I’m back to work now on a TV pilot, so the madness has come to an end pretty much.  I’ve got to be presentable.  My job requires me to deal a lot with the public and I’m the face of the company.  I meet with the police, borough officials, business owners, principals, pastors, real estate agents, and I have to knock on strangers’ doors to ask if we can use their house for filming.  I can’t be a total madman out in the public!  So I’ve pulled it together, cleaned up my apartment, did the dishes, washed 8 loads of laundry, and now I’m back to mixing it up and meeting all kinds of folks along the way while I’m out scouting for locations.  What a life indeed.

Well, anyway, that’s what I’ve been up to lately.  Super busy, but not too busy to offer up a thank you to my fellow dimwits.  I really appreciate reading all your comments, all the likes, shares, reblogs, and such.  It means a lot to me.  But once again, a simple thank you isn’t quite enough to show my appreciation.  So how’s about an autographed photo of the Dimwit out on a nice picnic with Jennifer Love Hewitt, laying on the blanket next to one another, doing a little nuzzling while staring away at the puffy clouds.

Sending my love to all of you wonderful guys and gals.  Thanks dimwits.  You’re the best.  

So I promised  some shout outs for this next round.  A promise is a promise is a promise, and I try to make good on my promises.  So here you go.  Here’s some other sites that you dimwits should check out.

1.  Parallel Universe –  It’s my friend Debz!  Besides being super cute and being a delightful soul, she’s also a great writer.  She writes these awesome poems and I’m jealous.  If you’re not a poetry person, fret not.  She also has reviews, excerpts from her book, and a variety of other postings.  Debz would love to have you around, I’m sure.   So go check out her blog please.

2.  Sound Hippy – I’m a music lover.  Can’t get enough of it, so I wanted to give some love for my musician friend, Becky.  She has a video of this really great cover she did of a Nick Drake song, but her originals are freaking sweet too.  So go give Becky’s music a listen and offer to buy her a granola bar or something.  Isn’t that what you hippies eat??  It’s gotta be better than the peanut butter & jelly sandwiches that I lived on the past few months.  Jeez Louise.  It’s good to be working again.

3.  25 To Fly –  Imagine the odds?  Here’s another rock star with the name Becca.  She’s a redheaded twenty-something year old southern ballerina turned business student with a mean set of drums.  Tell me if that isn’t a lethal combination of skills and traits!  Her blog is good for a lot of laughs for sure.   Leave it to those fiery redheads to stir up some trouble.  In the good way, of course.

Well, like I said, I’m super busy but I plan to keep writing and posting whenever I can, when I’m not out mixing it up, making a fool of myself to pretty girls and eating pierogi dinners with these sweet, old ladies that seem to take a liking to the Dimwit.  Perks of the job.  I meet all these nice people when I’m out scouting locations and I get fed well.  I’m about to gain 30 pounds in the next few months.  It’s gonna be awesome just like you dimwits.  Thanks again.

 

A Letter To My Mother – Happy Mother’s Day

May 4, 2013
Saturday, 9:22 PM

I’m a week early, but it’s better to be a week early than a week late…

Dear Mother,

It was a cold day on December 10, 1977 in Somerset, Pennsylvania.  The maximum temperature was 13 degrees fahrenheit, with a low temperature of 2 degrees.  I looked it up online.  They keep record of these sorts of things if you can believe it.  Anyone can look it up if they’re curious, and well, you know that your son has a curious mind for things that most people don’t care to know about, so I looked it up.

I was born on a Saturday morning at 9:45 AM, just a few weeks before Christmas, which is why you and Dad settled on the name Christopher.  I don’t know where the Paul came from.  I never thought to ask before, but I think it was because you and Dad liked the biblical character, Paul.  I looked up the meaning of the name, and the name Paul means “small” or “humble.”

I came into this world weighing 7 pounds and 10 ounces, and measured 20 1/2 inches in length.  Having your ass smacked by the nurse and being covered in all that goop is a pretty humble beginning for any child, so I guess the name was suitable for your early Christmas present.  Christopher Paul was born.

Pictured are your newborn son’s foot prints in black ink, and right below them are your thumbprints marked with the same black ink.  When the nurse took my feet to the ink pad –  most likely kicking and screaming, and hopefully taking a whizz all over her – there was no telling where those tiny feet would end up some 35 years later.

Would your son become a teacher?   Would he become a missionary?   Would he get into trouble and spend half his life rotting away in jail?

Would your son get married?   Would he have kids someday?  Would he be content to remain single just like the character Paul did in the Bible?

Would your son be healthy?  Would there be complications from birth?  Or heavens forbid, would your son pass away and leave this Earth far too early?

These are the questions that a mother never knows when she decides to have a child, but she swipes her thumbs along the ink pad and presses them firmly to the paper with a lot of uncertainties and no guarantees for her son’s future, other than the guarantee that she will try to love him as best she can.  But even that is something that you can’t predict no matter a mother’s best intentions from the beginning.  So you were left with a lot of questions and worries about your newborn son on that cold, winter day in December.

Pictured is a photocopy of your son’s hands when I was five.  They’re chubby, little hands smushed against the glass.

There were some answers to be had by the time I was five.  You knew that I was kind and had a tender heart.  I made you many colorful drawings of flowers and birds with the words scribbled in crayon “I love you.”  You knew that I embodied a creative soul and enjoyed making art with crayons, pencils, pens, markers, finger paint and anything that my little, chubby, five year old hands could get a hold of.

You knew that I had an inquisitive mind and enjoyed reading books and looking things up in the Encyclopedia, but I also enjoyed making up my own stories a lot of the times.  You knew that I was a people person, but you also knew that I had a very independent spirit.  Many times I left to go explore the great wide open, wearing nothing but underwear and a pair of Moon Boots as I went trouncing off into the backwoods by myself for the day.

You knew that I was a bundle full of energy, hated taking naps, didn’t mind eating vegetables, and was a real pain in the ass sometimes, to the point that I almost drove you literally insane, with much help from my other siblings, of course.

You had a sense of who I was, but still, there were a lot of questions left unanswered about your son’s future, and the worrying from a mother continued.

Pictured is a scan of your son’s hands taken just a few days ago at the age of 35.  Those little, chubby hands grew and grew and grew, and they became too big to fit on the glass anymore, so that’s why parts of them are cut off.

A lot of questions about your son have been answered over the years.   Your son got a job working in the film industry through a lot of hard work and a little luck.  I’ve never been married and have no kids.  I’ve been blessed with good health so far.  I prefer a simple life, have no television, coffee maker, toaster oven, and live in a small apartment in Pittsburgh.  I enjoy cutting up, entertaining others, but I can also hold a serious conversation with the best of them.  Your son is happy with his life for the most part.  But still, there are a lot of questions left unanswered for a mother.

When I was born, you knew that there would always be questions and worrying, but you made your thumbprints on the paper anyhow, claiming me as your son.   You were committed from that day forward despite the many uncertainties that life throws at a person, for better or for worse.

I don’t know where my hands and feet will take me the remaining years on this planet.  Somedays I dream big, and somedays I’m content to do absolutely nothing at all.  Somedays I think it would be nice to be married, and somedays I prefer to be left alone.  Somedays I think about moving to a new town, and somedays I want to live in Pittsburgh forever.  These hands and feet seem to have a mind of their own, so there’s no telling where they’ll end up one day.  I wish that I had the answers to ease your worrying mind, but that’s the part of life that I seem to thrive on best.  The unknown.

Really the only answer to any questions that I’ve ever needed was for someone to love me unconditionally and to support me when this curious mind gets him into trouble.  You’ve fielded many angry phone calls from principals, teachers, neighbors, parents, church ladies, police officers, park rangers, and from the college Dean.  I’ve gotten many scoldings and spankings as a child, but afterwards, you took the time to sit me down to explain how things in life are supposed to work, despite my resistance to want to know.

You knew my heart better than those fussy people who liked to point fingers and yell that your son was a problem child, when I was only being a curious boy.  You were patient and committed to your son, despite the many headaches having a curious boy can cause for a mother.

I wanted to leave you with something that my chubby hands created when I was six.  It’s a drawing of a flower that I colored with crayons on white construction paper.  It’s ripped and torn to pieces, but you taped it up, or somebody taped it up, and you saved it after all these years.  It must have been special for you, because when you gave me a box of keepsakes that you kept of mine over the years, including this one, you started crying.

I’m not a mother, so I can only guess as to what the crying fit was all about.  I just figured it’s because it must be difficult for a mother to come to the realization that her son is no longer made up of tiny feet and little smushed up hands on the photocopier glass.  A mother sits around at night when the house is empty, and wishes that she could still hold her son tight in her arms and kiss those tiny feet goodnight.  But time marches on, so maybe that’s what spurred on the tears that day – seeing your son all grown up in the kitchen that day.  I don’t know.  I didn’t think to ask you that either, because it made me uncomfortable to see you crying, and my feet just wanted to get going.

Your small and humble son would just like to say thanks for always being there for me and loving me like only a mother can love her child.  I know that I’m handful.  I know that I’ve left you with more questions than probably most sons, but I guess my answer to all your questions would be this.  Even though I’ve grown to be a young man and those tiny feet are now a size 11, my heart is still the same as your tender five year old who enjoyed making you drawings of flowers and birds.  It doesn’t matter where my hands and feet take me, as long as my tender heart is leading the way.  So try not to worry.  Try to put all the questions to rest.

Next time I see you, we’ll drink some Franzia boxed wine, and have a good laugh remembering all the old stories of how I almost drove you to the loony bin.  You deserve a medal, but a crumpled up flower will have to do.

Happy Mother’s Day.  I’m sorry that I forgot to wish you that last year.  I know that it hurt your feelings.  It was just a bad year for all of us in the family, so that’s why this year I wanted to make it up to you as best I can.  With a crumpled up flower from 1983.  Some lousy son I am.  HA!  Guess you’re stuck with me, hands and feet and all.

I love you,

Christopher Paul