Shocking Study Reveals Most People Don't Actually "LOL"

Santa Clara, CA
A recent study has shown that most people do not actually laugh out loud when they type the popular abbreviation "lol." A survey of one thousand texters and facebook users revealed that only 48% of those who  typed "lol" actually laughed out loud. "This is not good," said Artie Malone of The Next Text Communications Group. "If people continue to type 'lol' without actually laughing out loud, it can cause an overuse of the term, depleting  the surplus of the letters "l," "o," and "l," which would cause a shortage of these letters. The end result would be said letters would not be available for those who are actually laughing out loud and wish to express that through a text or type." Malone stated that the situation is especially critical when people flippantly type "lololololololololololol." He says, "First of all, using that many of the letters in danger is wasteful and careless, like the person who cleans off his driveway by spraying it with the water hose. And secondly, how is it possible to 'laugh out loud out loud out loud out loud?' People just aren't being very conscientious when they type or text, and this needs to change."
     An anonymous high school-aged girl from the survey was asked if she was worried about the misuse of the phrase. "I'm not worried," she said. "If we run out of those letters, we'll make up other names for stuff. No one calls them lollipops anyway. They're suckers."
     A parent was asked if they were concerned about their teenager abusing the term. "It's alarming," said a mother of two middle school students." "If they're not actually laughing out loud when they say that they are, then how do I know they're going to school when they say they are going to school?"
     "If this continues, legislation may be passed to regulate the use of 'lol'," Malone said. "It has been reported that there have been less traffic accidents since the passing of the law banning people from using their hand held cell phones while driving. We're hoping for similar positive results."
     In the meantime, Malone says texters and facebook users can all help by not typing "lol" unless they actually laughed out loud. "If people will be honest about what they're typing, this problem will rectify itself." He further suggests that if someone actually does laugh out loud and wants to type or text "lol," to add an "ir" at the beginning of the phrase that would indicate "I really laughed out loud." "Everyone wins this way," he says. "It promotes honesty in communication, it does not leave the recipient of the message wondering if their friend or relative actually did laugh out loud, and it will promote conservation of the endangered letters."
     When asked about the less used term "rofl," (and the sometimes used "roflmbo,") Malone said the concerns aren't as tantamount at this point. "'Rofl' isn't used as often as 'lol,' so we're not that concerned yet. However, the study shows only 27% of people who type 'rofl" actually roll on the floor laughing. To prevent a future concern, we offer the same counsel, only type 'rofl' if you actually rolled on the floor and laughed. And in regards to 'rolling on floor laughing my butt off,' it isn't medically possible so the phrase should be legally banned. We're working on getting that law passed."

The Transparent-ish Pastor

    
     How honest do we really want our pastors to be? I recently read a post entitled, "Dear Pastors - Tell us the Truth," encouraging ministers to be more transparent with their struggles, doubts and weaknesses. The author, who signed the letter as "the congregation" promised understanding and support as the preacher allowed a more candid glimpse into his/her soul. It sounds ideal, but ideal is usually unrealistic.
     How vulnerable are pastors allowed to be before they run the risk of being judged, criticized, or fired? This blogger can offer reassurance as much as she wants in regards to understanding and support, but realistically, is that what would happen? I was visiting a church and the pastor said that he has a group of people that he is accountable to and they are allowed to ask him the tough questions. He didn't say what his struggles were, but what if he had? "I gossiped yesterday." Big whoop. "I was gluttonous at the potluck last Sunday." Who wasn't? "I looked at porn a few weeks ago." You're fired.
     Growing up, my pastor used to say "I'm a sinner just like anybody else," but I didn't believe it. He had to say that. It was even harder to grasp when I only saw him on Sundays in his three-piece suit on an elevated platform worshipping and preaching.
     This is how many parishioners see their pastors, high and lifted up, nicely dressed, and only talking about spiritual things. How could they possibly be less than perfect? I was once talking to a young man I was discipling and a certain minister's name came up. The young man said he couldn't imagine this very popular pastor struggling with the same things he dealt with. But I knew better. Pastors do struggle, pastors are sinners. Pastors make mistakes yet are recipients of the same grace and forgiveness from God that any sinner receives. But would they be offered that same grace and forgiveness from their congregation should they mention their specific weaknesses in a Sunday morning sermon?
      Though some pastors enjoy the pedestal they are perched upon,  I lean towards sharing out of my brokenness. I was asked to speak at a youth snow retreat several years ago. The Lord led me to share with the kids something I had never spoken of in public. I was nervous about it and felt very vulnerable. At the end of my message, I talked with several teenagers one on one who had the same experience I did and they had never shared it with anyone. They had been holding on to the pain and the shame of the past and felt so alone... until that night.
     When I decided to be up front about my struggle with past pornography use, I realized I wasn't going to be pedestal material any longer. There was some back-lash over it simply because I was a pastor, and I realized that was going to come with the territory, but each time I receive a phone call or message from someone asking for help because their story mirrors mine, I know I'm doing what God has called me to do. "Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses..." (see 2 Corinthinas 12), because as I share out of my brokenness, it connects with someone else's, and they can be assured that there is hope.

A Non-Cheesey Title for a Post About A Friend

     I pulled out a journal from 1995 tonight, "The Single Years." In it, I had recorded a time when I had gone to my mailbox and was pleasantly surprised to find a letter from my friend Troy. At that point, I had known Troy for eight years. In that time, we had created a treasure trove of memories that can still make me smile.
     I met Troy in youth group and found a friend that I could laugh with. Troy was funny. I consider myself to have a picky sense of humor, but Troy could have me rolling on the floor (in modern script, ROFL). So my daily agenda was basically work and then  going to Troy's house. There was a succession of days where we had seen each other every day, 14, 15 in a row I'd say, and one night I barely made it to his house before midnight to keep our streak going.
     We made movies with his 35mm film camera. One feature was titled "Terror Talk Show," our version of an 80's teen thrasher comedy that we thought was hilarious. There was no audio in our film, but we would watch it and ROFL! Our youth pastor even let us premiere it in youth group.
     I could rattle off a list of inside jokes that formulated out of our friendship that we would repeat to each other and just crack up. They did not lose their hilarity with repetition. I could say to my wife, "Your hair's to the side. Looks good," and she would look at me like I need to be committed, but if I said those same words to Troy, we'd be busting a gut, and the inside jokes would just flow from there. That letter I received from him in 1995 contained several of what we liked to call our "Top 10's." I took that cherished piece of mail, sat down and just... ROFL.
     The last time I saw Troy was in August of 2008. I had just gone through my parents' house itemizing their belongings for probate. That coupled with terse exchanges between grieving family members made for a heavy day. Knowing I would be in my home town, I called Troy beforehand and asked if he would be available for dinner after the anticipated unpleasantness. Thank God he was. He took me to a good Chinese restaurant and we had a chance to catch up. He let me unload on him about the day, and instead of laughing, there were some tears on my part. He just sat with me and listened and let me cry.
     We've been in contact a little since then, a post here and there on each other's facebook page, or a message sent. But I'm realizing it's not the frequency of the conversations with good friends that matters, it's the quality, and with Troy, it's always been high end.
     "Monique! Freet! Why aren't you with Ricky?" (a top 10 hit).
    
    

My Five Year Old Found a Five Finger Discount

     I picked my son up from preschool yesterday and on the way home we stopped by a store I like to peruse for journals. On a "clearance" table, Max found a toy dinosaur that was out of its package. Of course, he wanted it, but we weren't there for him, we were there for me! Alas, I took him over by the toy section to see if there was anything he might like for his upcoming birthday. After leaving the clearance table, he had asked three times, "Can we go home now?" Not an unusual question from any of my children when we are patronizing a store that isn't named "Toys R Us," but he was persistent about wanting to leave. As we got in the car, I noticed he put something on the side of his booster chair in a manner that tipped me off that he did not want me to see it. I asked him what he had. "I don't know." I insisted on seeing what was beside his chair. Sure enough, it was that dinosaur. No wonder he wanted to leave so badly, he had just ripped off the joint! "Max! We didn't pay for that! That's called stealing!" I told him we had to give it back. He didn't like that idea. We walked back inside and I made him give the toy to the customer service person and say he was sorry, which he did, but as soon as we turned to leave, he erupted into tears.
     As soon as we got home he went straight to his room completely on his own and got under the covers of his bed. I followed him in there so we could discuss what happened. I put my arm around him and explained what stealing was and how the Bible teaches us that we shouldn't steal and how we need to be pleasing to God if He tells us not to steal. "Did you like going back in the store and giving that dinosaur to that man?" He shook his head. "That wasn't fun, was it?" Shook head. "Are you ever going to do that again?" More head shaking. Then I hugged him and said we weren't going to talk about it the rest of the night.
     At dinner, the girls brought up the random items Max had been bringing home from school saying friends or teachers had given them to him; a bell, a coloring book, an old-school fisher price bald headed man toy... little did we know he had been lifting things from his classroom for weeks. I told him when I dropped him off the next day that we were going to thank each person that had given him these gifts. He didn't like that idea.
     Later, I asked Max if he had taken those items without permission. And he fessed up. So, he will return each "gift" and make it right just like he had to do at the store, and I'm praying he has learned a lesson. But I think I was learning just as much as he was, about flying by the seat of my pants as a father when I clearly didn't remember this chapter in the parenting handbook they gave me when my kids were born. After all, no one caught me when I took the little gun out of an opened Star Wars action figure package in Payless Drugstore, but those guns were so easy to lose, you have to understand...

The Two Sweetest Words I Ever Heard

     I'm not what one would call a natural athlete, but as a kid, I would play touch football with the other  kids who lived on the street. I was even down for tackle when we would move the game to the grass in the park. On Reimche Drive, no one made fun of me if I fumbled a pass or dropped a pop fly, mostly because I was under the protective wing of my brother who was the king of the neighborhood. I wasn't a natural, but I could be taught.
     In 6th grade, of my own volition, I signed up for the lunch hour softball league. I thought it would be fun. I thought wrong. There was a kid named Steve who obviously didn't understand what being a team was. We were supposed to be teammates, but he saw me as the weakest link, so he made lunch hour baseball miserable for me. One day I hit a triple. Was Steve happy about it? No. There weren't any "good job" comments or atta boys. I just got lucky, or at least that's how Steve looked at it.
     After my lunch hour league experience, something inside me shut down when it came to organized sports, which made gym class in Junior High the worst period of the day for me. And just what were those PE teachers paid for? All they did was tell us to do some jumping jacks and then would have the same "cool kids" be captains to pick teams for whatever sport we would be playing that day. Then they would disappear, leaving us to fend for ourselves. Whenever we would play softball, I would usually get picked last (and on good days, second to last), and then find myself out in right field. In Junior High, right field was reserved for the least of all players on the team.
     One day a pop fly was coming my way, and I ran for it. I held out my glove and somehow that ball ended up not on the ground. Did I get a "Nice catch, Couch"? Not exactly. Instead, I heard a very sarcastic, "Happy Birthday!" Needless to say, I was ecstatic when I had completed all my PE credits and never had to go to "gym" again.
     When I was in my late 20's, I decided I wanted to play on the church softball league. This was a big risk for me. I was putting myself out there just like I did in 6th grade, trusting that people on a Christian league wouldn't judge my abilities. Our team had a great captain who took our practice times very seriously. He actually taught skills and I learned a few things, one of them being  how to hit the ball pretty good and far.
     Our annual church Memorial Day picnic came around and some of the guys were getting a softball game going. After being in the Christian league for a while, I felt safe enough to play in that setting. When it was my turn at bat, I noticed a youth kid in centerfield who was on his high school baseball team. Was I going to be intimidated by this official baseball player who was right in my line of vision? The ball was pitched, I swung, and I watched that ball soar over that kid's head. He had to turn around and chase it. Ironic that I got a triple out of it, just like in 6th grade, but there was no "Steve" around on this day. I was playing softball and I was enjoying it.
     A few innings later, it was my turn at bat again. As I stepped up to the plate, I heard two of the sweetest words ever uttered: "Back up!" Really? My presence in the batter's box caused someone to shout out "back up"? Well, okay! Once again that ball flew over that same kids head resulting in another triple.
     When the game was over, someone said to me, "You're a natural!" Not really, but he didn't need to know that.

Good Grief Support

     I don't know if I would consider myself an expert on loss and grieving, but I've lost and grieved quite a bit. When I was in Junior High, my family had to say good-bye to a close family friend, my cousin, my grandma, and our pet dog (who was not on the same level as the humans we lost, but it still hurt). A few years later, my brother tragically died at the age of 21, and more recently, my parents passed away within three months of each other. Feeling support in times of grief is essential to weathering the trauma of loss, but some support is not as helpful as others. Based on my experiences, when people don't know what to say, they tend to say too much. Words aren't always the most helpful when someone is grieving. I wanted to offer a hand guide for those who want to help but don't know what to do when tragedy occurs in a friend's life. Keep in mind everyone grieves differently so their needs will vary, but here's some advice (take it or leave it) from someone who's been there...

• Avoid Christian cliché's. For some, statements like "You'll see him again in heaven someday," or "She's in a better place," don't bring comfort. It may be very true, but in their very emotional state, they may not want their loved one in heaven at that moment. They want them here and that's all their broken heart desires. Remember, even good solid Christians can become irrational when they're grieving, and that's allowed. These kinds of phrases can possibly cause confusion for the person. They may feel they're a bad person because they want their loved one here on earth and not in heaven, or that they don't trust God.
• Don't recommend songs. Certain songs may have brought you comfort in your trying times, but it doesn't necessarily mean it will to your friend. More than likely, a song isn't going to take care of the raw emotions someone's feeling. If they find a song on their own that comforts them, that's one thing, but to suggest one or quote one implies, "This song will make you feel better," but it might not. 
• Don't say, "I know how you feel, I lost my..." and then proceed to tell your experiences. It's not about you in that moment. I know hearts can be in the right place and a common ground is trying to be found, but very often, for the one grieving, your experience isn't going to compare with their present loss. When my brother died, someone tried to tell me they understood how I felt because they lost an uncle. It did not equate in my mind. I heard a priest say at a funeral to the devastated parents of the deceased that he knew how they felt because he had lost a nephew.  Even if the details of your loss are similar to your grieving friend's, it may not feel the same to them. Save your experiences for later when they are ready to dialogue. 
• "If you need anything, just call." Again, a very heartfelt offer, but not very practical for someone who's in mourning to follow through on. They're not going to call. Instead, if you see a need, meet the need. Organize a schedule for dinners to be taken over for the next couple of weeks. Arrange to pick up their kids from school. Clean the house. Do the shopping. There will be needs as life continues to move around them so anticipate them and then meet them. I'll never forget our pastor coming in our house the day my brother died with bags of groceries for us. That was very helpful and made a lasting impression.
• If you have to say anything, say "I'm so sorry. I love you. I'm praying for you," (again being careful of Christian-ese and sensitive if they don't believe in prayer). Better than words is being there for them if you're a close enough friend. Cry with them (which is huge). Hold them if they want to be held. Laugh if they want to laugh. Talk about the departed if they want to. For some, it may be too painful to mention their loved one by name, but others may want to reminisce about the departed. Follow their lead. 

     As I mentioned, everyone grieves differently, so my advice isn't carte blanche, but I believe it will help you as you desire to support your friends and family who are hurting. 

A Psalm of Shane

Lord, I'm angry at ______________ (feel free to customize this Psalm and make it your own prayer, rant, whatever). You're probably going to say something like "Forgive __________ because they do not know what they are doing," but I want to argue that. Yet, I know you're right. You're always right! How annoying is that? If it's annoying at all then I'm an idiot because, logically, which I'm not being completely right now, I wouldn't have it any other way. Me being right and You being wrong would be a disaster. I want to set _________ straight. I want to yell at ____________. But that wouldn't do anybody any good. That would only serve the justice-oriented side of me, which is basically flesh. And I am commanded to walk according to Your Spirit, and not my flesh. Sigh (I'm allowed to write "sigh" in my Psalm because it's my Psalm). Now that I got that off my chest, may I focus on the good in my life, the blessings You've given, and teach me to not expend energy on things I have no control over. You are good. Your mercy endures forever. Selah (whatever that means, just seemed like a good way to end a Psalm).

Man vs. Chips

     When I worked in the grocery store I occasionally had to take a night shift, 11PM to 7AM. And when the customers tapered off, it was shelf stocking time. On one particular evening, the night manager rolled out a pallet stacked with cardboard boxes containing potato chips. The boxes reached towards the ceiling towering over me and I was immediately intimidated by the visual. "How am I ever going to get through all that?" I thought. The task at hand seemed impossible to finish. There were way too many boxes, that stack was unbelievably high, and the potato chips seemed unconquerable as they silently taunted me: "You'll never finish, you'll be here all night, look how tall and mighty we bags are in our impenetrable boxes. Just keep gawking because that's all you can do in our presence." The night manager must have noticed my expression at the sight of the chips because he pulled a box down, emptied the contents on to the shelf in about 2.5 seconds and said, "They break down pretty fast," and walked away leaving me to finish the job. I was done with the pallet in about 15 minutes.
     Certain tasks in life are like that pallet of potato chips. They seem impossible to complete. They're intimidating. They look way harder to conquer than they really are. And we stand there gawking at them, allowing them to make us feel inferior and useless. Yet, here's what I learned from the potato chips:

• It's always helpful to have someone who knows what they're doing get you started. All I needed was the night manager to show me how to do one box and I was on my way. That whole men don't stop to ask for directions thing because they're men... that's garbage. If you need some help, ask for it. 
• Take your task one box at a time. You only have to start with one box out of the stack.  The important thing is you start it, then chip away at it. 
• Your "Rome" does not need to be built in one day. I wasn't going anywhere that evening. I was on the night shift. There was plenty of time to finish the task at hand. Completing tasks takes time, some more than others, but you'll get the job done quicker if you just start rather than wasting time thinking how long it's going to take you to finish. 
• Potato chips aren't the enemy. Insecurities, self-doubt, past failures and fear of risk-taking are the enemy. These foes live inside of us, but only if we feed and nurture them by dwelling on them. Forget the past and focus on the task at hand. 

     I'm facing another pallet of potato chips at this juncture in my life. And maybe you are, too. Let's start just one box at a time. I'm sure we'll discover they break down pretty fast. 

     

Love On a Budget

     As it is for many, money is tight for the Couch's, but holidays will not go un-celebrated in this household. One of Marty's love languages is gift giving so there are presents to be distributed on days like these. I wouldn't be surprised if one of these Arbor Day's she gives me a shrub of some kind. Over the years, I've learned to speak her language, and when we're pinching pennies, I've learned to be creative. This was Marty's first Valentine's Day gift for 2011...

  
      ... a cheap box of chocolates.  When I was a pre-teen, I used to walk the Valentine's Day aisle at Payless Drugstore and admire the biggest heart-shaped box of chocolates they displayed. I thought to myself, "If I had a girlfriend (and the cash), I would buy her the fanciest heart-shaped box of chocolates this store had." Of course, in the early 80's, chocolate came in large, gaudy packages. So, to show my love to my bride this year, I bought her the largest, gaudiest heart-shaped box of chocolates I could find.

     Gift number 2...

  
     ... two weeks worth of laundry washed, folded and completely put away in dressers and closets. Not a stitch laying around, all done. Of course, laundry is my job every Monday, but when expressing your love on a budget, two weeks worth qualifies as a Valentine's Day gift.

     And finally...

     ...one dozen roses. I don't have a picture of said flowers because they're dead. I bought them last month, under the guise of an "early Valentine's Day present," when roses still cost $9.99. When love is being expressed on a budget, one would not think of making such a purchase in February.

     To be honest, I could have saved even more money. When I picked up that box of chocolate, I was tempted to wait for the day after the holiday when it would be marked down 50%, but I didn't want to be sleeping on the couch the night of February 14.

Have You Hot Sauced Your Kids Today?

    

     There's a news item going around about a mother of 6 in Alaska who was at her wit's end with her adopted 7 year old son and poured hot sauce in his mouth for lying to her about pulling three discipline cards in class. She made him hold it in his mouth as she continued to berate him for lying, and then proceeded to put him under a cold shower to punish him for his bad behavior at school. Before she carried out her bizarre forms of discipline, she interrogated him in the hall and asked him why he lied to her about pulling the three cards at school. Through his sobs, he said "Because I did not want to get in trouble." Then she asked him what is the punishment for lying. "I get hot sauce." And what is the punishment for pulling cards at school? "A cold shower." I watched in horror as she not only made him hold the hot sauce in his mouth, but even told him to swish it around. Then my heart broke as I heard him cry as the shocking cold water hit him in the bath tub while his mother continued to yell at him and make him repeat what his offenses were. And all filmed by her daughter!
     Did this mother ever stop to think that her unusual way of punishing her son was probably more of a cause for his behavior than a deterrent? What seven year old boy goes to school and thinks, "Now I don't want to pull a discipline card today because that means I'll get a cold shower at home. And if I do happen to mess up, I better not lie about it because then I'll get hot sauce on top of it." If that kind of terror was waiting for me at home, I'd do whatever I could to avoid it as well. Seven year old boys mess up sometimes, but one sample of this kind of discipline would make any kid start telling lies. That's all he knows to do to protect himself.
     I couldn't fall asleep after viewing that atrocity last night. Yet, in a way, I was glad I saw it, as uncomfortable as it was to witness, because it made me reflect on my own parenting. I'm not trying to paint this particular mother as a monster. I get frustrated dealing with my three kids at times and I know I haven't always handled discipline exceptionally. But the image of that boy is not going to leave me any time soon, and it has made me analyze those times I've lost my temper and raised my voice and I will think twice the next time I'm facing a frustrating scenario with my kids.
      As a result, my kids, especially my son, were getting extra hugs and kisses this morning.