emoticon artist.

I disapprove of the habitual use of the emoticon “:)”. Not only is that makeshift smiley face so extremely cheesy as to occasionally induce dry heaving in the receiving party, but it’s also much too vague. Is he or she who types “:)” actually smiling? Or are they laughing? Or are they just experiencing generally pleasant feelings? And if so, which pleasant feelings in particular? Is “:)” a tool used to distinguish sarcasm from direct, unambiguous speech? Or is it just a light-hearted gesture? And what if, however unorthodox, I want to end a parenthetical statement with a colon? In that case, people will perceive a smiley face where no smiley face was ever intended to be.

So to maneuver myself and those with whom I communicate safely around the confusion prompted by “:)”, I’ve developed a batch of much more specific, telling, and useful emoticons. See:


<:)
Translation: I can’t respond right now. I’m at a birthday party.


: A
Translation: I’m eating candy corn while composing this message.


c):)
Translation: I’m wearing my cowboy hat while composing this message.


:{
Translation: I am wearing a fake handlebar mustache while composing this message.


: #
Translation: I’m smiling, but you can’t tell because I have braces.


:?(
Translation: I’m feeling insecure about my larger-than-normal nose.


--{:)
Translation: There’s a plunger stuck on my head and I can’t get it off. But don’t worry; I totally see the humor in the situation.

Feel free to implement these in your daily e-conversations.

wealth.

I’ll be really surprised if by the time I kick the bucket, I haven’t accumulated billions upon billions of dollars. When my fortune does finally come to fruition, you’ll know, because I’ll probably dress like the Monopoly man and contribute so much money to ASU that Ira Fulton won’t even have as much as a parking space named after him on all of campus. To celebrate our wedding anniversary, I’ll have a huge likeness of Angela’s face painted upon the side the children’s hospital I built for her birthday. While playing doubles tennis, Warren Buffet will ask me what my secret is and I’ll say something understatedly profound like “Warren, whatever you think, think the opposite.” He'll shake his head in awe and spend the next week wondering why he didn't think to think the opposite of what he thinks.

The only problem is that I don’t know what it is that I will do to generate my excessive wealth. Should my eventual business card read “Clint Hardison, Real Estate Tycoon” or “Clint Hardison, Yacht Mogul”? Should I make all my money by establishing a multi-level marketing company that sells a nutritious fruity drink that doubles as face wash? Or should I start a chain of Laundromat/Chinese Buffets? (How better to pass the time waiting for your delicates to dry than to consume inhuman amounts of General Tso’s Chicken?)

But because I just returned from a mission reunion in Utah where I realized that everyone in the world is getting rich off of multi-level marketing but me, my most recent moneymaking idea is indeed to start a multi-level marketing campaign. It’s called Exercise Your Faith. Here’s my pitch:

What’s the number one excuse people give for not exercising? And how do people explain their lack of quality scripture study? In both cases, they whine of there being “not enough time.” Well, it’s time to put that haggard old excuse to bed. By consolidating these two activities, a person can shrink physically while growing spiritually. That’s why we at Exercise Your Faith have developed a series of exercise videos that cater especially to the busy Mormon.

Watch as your extremely modestly dressed host expounds upon the scriptures while leading you in a challenging aerobic workout. Discover the cardiovascular benefits of Primary song hand motions while trotting in place. Unlock the hidden meaning in Isaiah while simultaneously unlocking your body’s hidden potential.

And don’t think that just because the aerobics instructor gave the invocation that she can’t kick some butt. Periodically, she’ll yell through the TV screen “That better not be murmuring I hear!” and “Come on, gird up those loins!” and “Ok, just endure to the end of this lunge and we’ll move onto Jacob 5.”

We at Exercise Your Faith guarantee an edifying workout. So, instead of those inappropriately suggestive beats that accompany most workout videos, you’ll sweat to the spiritually uplifting sounds of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir (aka MoTab). That’s why the first installment of Mormon Exercise Videos is called “Crank up your Motab-olism!”

So get ready to put on the Under-Armor of God and become fit for the kingdom in a whole new way. Order Today!

If you’re interested in becoming a monthly subscriber to or building your own business through Exercise Your Faith please email me at crankupyourmotabolism@eyf.com .

I can already taste the finger sandwiches and Brie cheese that Warren Buffet’s help will bring to quiet our stomachs after a rousing match on the clay.

the angry letter.

For a long time I’ve been threatening to send letters. To whom, you ask? Well, to anyone—anyone who crosses me. I all but penned a letter to the owner of a guitar shop in Phoenix (Bizarre Guitar) whose extremely rude, leather-pants-clad, pathetically hair-metal employees talked themselves right out of my $1400 cash. Similarly, my angry note to AMPM’s corporate headquarters regarding the ridiculousness of their $.95 charge for use of a debit card is almost complete. Were I a little braver, my former high school math teacher, Coach Hawes, would be the recipient of a vicious tongue lashing put to paper, rebuking him for his many cruelties towards me (including the occasions when he pulled my long teenage hair and hit me). And I’ve even flirted with the idea of writing the Gilbert Police Department just to remind them that I think they are stupid.

However, these letters rarely get sent. Rather, I stop shopping at the offending gas station. Or I graduate. Or I make a pact with my wife that we will never pay a single tax dollar to Gilbert, Arizona. Or I participate in the extremely cathartic activity of throwing eggs at my math teacher’s house five years later. One way or another, I never end up utilizing the angry letter as a means of getting things off my chest—until today.

I recently witnessed two things I love, the Snickers candy bar and grammar, collide. I couldn’t stand for it and a letter was composed and delivered. (Click below for more details).





Surprisingly, the Mars Corporation has yet to respond. I’m expecting a phone call any day . . .

are you what you eat?

I’ve long been fascinated by the old adage “you are what you eat.” Any time I find myself considering Pop-Tarts to be a potentially suitable breakfast, those words, spoken in my mother’s knaggiest voice (which is hardly knaggy at all), flood into my psyche guiding my reach towards the box of Special K instead.

However well-principled, the old axiom hardly withstands even superficial scrutiny. For instance, it is a well established fact that I am indeed a human. But I don’t eat human. Oh my, I am something without eating that thing—consider the adage officially exposed.

Despite being thoroughly man-handled by my superior logic and reasoning skills, the proverb in question has experienced a resurrection in the Hardison home as of late. For a brief period, Angela was whimsically referring to me as ‘Peanut Butter’ on account of my semi-unmanageable fascination with that gloriously nutty paste. In a kindly retort, I began to call her ‘Smiles’ for so named are the Wal-Mart brand fruit snacks she frequently and fondly consumes. The game took a turn for the hurtful however, when Angela started calling me after a certain breakfast cereal that I find myself partial to—Fruity Pebbles. It was then that I abruptly discontinued our game, putting a stern end to any further reference to my pebbles as fruity.