Here's the deal... I've moved my blog over to wordpress...Redirecting...
If my HTML coding is correct you should be automatically redirected. If not, go here http://jaredslack.wordpress.com and update your bookmarks.
Friday, September 28, 2007
//uhm... bad news//
I'm a fickle person.
I have a weird "thing" for change, and it realy affects all areas of my life. I've been really annoyed with blogspot for a while now, and a friend of mine recently (just last night) turned me on to wordpress. So this morning at work I made a rash decision and am going to be moving my blog.
please come with me. i need the affirmation.
..::On Kenosis::..
jared.
I have a weird "thing" for change, and it realy affects all areas of my life. I've been really annoyed with blogspot for a while now, and a friend of mine recently (just last night) turned me on to wordpress. So this morning at work I made a rash decision and am going to be moving my blog.
please come with me. i need the affirmation.
..::On Kenosis::..
jared.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
//i’m no superman//
Contrary to popular belief, I’ve had my fair share of flings in the art of adolescent seduction. Nothing to write a novel about or anything; just your run of the mill affair with the predictable overly-dramatic heartbreaking finale that ought to leave one reluctant to revisit such an experience again, but inevitably makes you insatiably desire more developmentally preparatory pseudo-romantic relations. You know I’m right.
My first girlfriend’s name was Leslie Thompson. We were in Pre-K and used to hold hands on the playground. Once we shared an ice cream cone at a Halloween Carnival. I have a picture to prove it. We were pretty serious. Her dad owned a Radio Shack, and I have no idea where she is today.
I don’t know why I just said all that.
I imagine we’ve all had our fair share of childhood romps with love, but I like to think that I’m slightly more experienced than most. A sort of compensation on the other end of the spectrum to make up for the fact that at present I’m the most pathetic person in the world.
Back to what I was saying... I was one suave toddler. On more than one occasion females swooned over my chubby cheeks and thick brown hair. Just ask my mom. I could control a room with giggles and antics for hours on end. It really wasn’t fair to all the other children I imagine, but its a dog eat dog world. I was an adorable force to be reckoned with (still am if you ask me). But I guess all the cuddliness and charisma went to my top-heavy head, because in those days, cupid’s arrow aimed a little higher than my neighborhood peers or classmates. More often than not, I directed my affections toward any particular evening’s caregiver.
When I was little, my parent’s affinity for the two-step regularly gave my brother and I the opportunity to spend an evening with whichever one of my mom’s friend’s daughters needed some extra cash and had nothing else to do on a Saturday night. On one particular evening my mom ordered us a pizza, and we all had dinner together before my parents went out. The babysitter arrived at the house around 7:30, and I was already zipping around in my superman pajamas. I must admit, there was something empowering about that red cape. When it was Velcro-ed to my shoulders no female was safe. I was certain that by the end of the evening babysitter chick and I would be cuddled up watching The Fox and the Hound. I was money.
Unfortunately for me and for her, I’ve never been really good with any combination of excitement, nerves and edibles (just ask that carnival worker at the Angelina County Fall Festival `96), and this time would be no different. At one point in the evening it seemed that no amount of charm or cuteness was going to attract the attention of this particular babysitter because she kept talking on the phone and didn’t seem to notice me diving/”flying” back and forth from couch to couch. I was freaking superman, and she had the audacity not to be impressed.
Women...
Well, before I knew it or was able to prevent it from happening, my stomach gave me notice that the pizza I had consumed earlier in the evening was about to have an encore. So, I did what any child would do in this situation. I immediately cupped both hands over my mouth and frantically ran all over the house mutedly screaming, “Mhhmmm, Mhhmmmm!” Finally, when the romantically irresponsive ho-bag noticed me, she came running over to find out what was wrong.
And then I threw up on her.
It seems like this story has played itself over and over in my life in one metaphorical way or another: Boy meets girl, boy vomits on girl.
I screw things up a lot. I make a fool of myself trying to impress people or keep their, and most of the time I think I just plain make things worse. And I guess this could apply to following Jesus, because I screw that up a lot too. Like Peter I have the stones to ask Jesus to command me to come out on the water, but once I get out their I almost get myself killed. But I still I think Jesus beckons me (even foolish me) to come, serve and experience. Despite my tendency to screw things up or make things bass ackwards, Jesus is more than willing to work alongside this feeble humanity of mine.
I'm grateful for this.
Because it just so happens that this God that I serve has a thing for sinners, and I sure do like his taste.
(mandatory spiritual tie-in over)
jared.
My first girlfriend’s name was Leslie Thompson. We were in Pre-K and used to hold hands on the playground. Once we shared an ice cream cone at a Halloween Carnival. I have a picture to prove it. We were pretty serious. Her dad owned a Radio Shack, and I have no idea where she is today.
I don’t know why I just said all that.
I imagine we’ve all had our fair share of childhood romps with love, but I like to think that I’m slightly more experienced than most. A sort of compensation on the other end of the spectrum to make up for the fact that at present I’m the most pathetic person in the world.
Back to what I was saying... I was one suave toddler. On more than one occasion females swooned over my chubby cheeks and thick brown hair. Just ask my mom. I could control a room with giggles and antics for hours on end. It really wasn’t fair to all the other children I imagine, but its a dog eat dog world. I was an adorable force to be reckoned with (still am if you ask me). But I guess all the cuddliness and charisma went to my top-heavy head, because in those days, cupid’s arrow aimed a little higher than my neighborhood peers or classmates. More often than not, I directed my affections toward any particular evening’s caregiver.
When I was little, my parent’s affinity for the two-step regularly gave my brother and I the opportunity to spend an evening with whichever one of my mom’s friend’s daughters needed some extra cash and had nothing else to do on a Saturday night. On one particular evening my mom ordered us a pizza, and we all had dinner together before my parents went out. The babysitter arrived at the house around 7:30, and I was already zipping around in my superman pajamas. I must admit, there was something empowering about that red cape. When it was Velcro-ed to my shoulders no female was safe. I was certain that by the end of the evening babysitter chick and I would be cuddled up watching The Fox and the Hound. I was money.
Unfortunately for me and for her, I’ve never been really good with any combination of excitement, nerves and edibles (just ask that carnival worker at the Angelina County Fall Festival `96), and this time would be no different. At one point in the evening it seemed that no amount of charm or cuteness was going to attract the attention of this particular babysitter because she kept talking on the phone and didn’t seem to notice me diving/”flying” back and forth from couch to couch. I was freaking superman, and she had the audacity not to be impressed.
Women...
Well, before I knew it or was able to prevent it from happening, my stomach gave me notice that the pizza I had consumed earlier in the evening was about to have an encore. So, I did what any child would do in this situation. I immediately cupped both hands over my mouth and frantically ran all over the house mutedly screaming, “Mhhmmm, Mhhmmmm!” Finally, when the romantically irresponsive ho-bag noticed me, she came running over to find out what was wrong.
And then I threw up on her.
It seems like this story has played itself over and over in my life in one metaphorical way or another: Boy meets girl, boy vomits on girl.
I screw things up a lot. I make a fool of myself trying to impress people or keep their, and most of the time I think I just plain make things worse. And I guess this could apply to following Jesus, because I screw that up a lot too. Like Peter I have the stones to ask Jesus to command me to come out on the water, but once I get out their I almost get myself killed. But I still I think Jesus beckons me (even foolish me) to come, serve and experience. Despite my tendency to screw things up or make things bass ackwards, Jesus is more than willing to work alongside this feeble humanity of mine.
I'm grateful for this.
Because it just so happens that this God that I serve has a thing for sinners, and I sure do like his taste.
(mandatory spiritual tie-in over)
jared.
Labels: ho-bags, jesus, short stories
Monday, September 24, 2007
//Britton//
My blog has been in a state of neglect for the past month or so. I started back to school and started a new job. Both are great, by the way. As a result, this place has been left to it's own devices. About 3 weeks ago, I came to check on things, and found that the template my blog uses had been discontinued. So, I have spent that past couple of days working on a re-design of sorts
At my job, I have access to Photoshop, so I even tried my hand at creating a header (see above). As you noticed, it's a little big. I still haven't figured out the exact dimensions needed to fit it snuggly in the browser screen.
Blake, If you know the dimensions (as I'm sure you do) let me know.
And Blake... Nickel Creek is coming to Austin on Novemeber 17th. It's there last show in Texas... ever. Do what you will with this information.
If anyone is keeping tally, that's 3 concerts I'm going to in the next 6 weeks.
October 5th - Andy Davis @ HOB, Dallas (I don't actually know who this guy is, but it's a nice trip up to Dallas... supposedly karaoke might be in the plans... so I'm in.)
November 5th - Ben Harper @ The Majestic, Dallas (most expensive concert I will have ever attended)
November 17th - Nickel Creek @ Stubbs, Austin (favorite music group of all time, favorite city - that I have acutally been to - of all time)
that's enough information for now.
jared.
At my job, I have access to Photoshop, so I even tried my hand at creating a header (see above). As you noticed, it's a little big. I still haven't figured out the exact dimensions needed to fit it snuggly in the browser screen.
Blake, If you know the dimensions (as I'm sure you do) let me know.
And Blake... Nickel Creek is coming to Austin on Novemeber 17th. It's there last show in Texas... ever. Do what you will with this information.
If anyone is keeping tally, that's 3 concerts I'm going to in the next 6 weeks.
October 5th - Andy Davis @ HOB, Dallas (I don't actually know who this guy is, but it's a nice trip up to Dallas... supposedly karaoke might be in the plans... so I'm in.)
November 5th - Ben Harper @ The Majestic, Dallas (most expensive concert I will have ever attended)
November 17th - Nickel Creek @ Stubbs, Austin (favorite music group of all time, favorite city - that I have acutally been to - of all time)
that's enough information for now.
jared.
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
//a picture paints 1,000 words (or just 368)//
He used to bring his kids to this beach.
Though he would never let it on, at one time this very spot served as a weekend getaway for his family. A lazy Saturday at the beach once a quarter that was intended to chip away at the division arising between him and his loved ones. This was about all he was able to give. It’s impossible to rally much enthusiasm for familial relations after putting in a dozen hours of work each and every day. These outings were his futile skirmishes with the uncomfortable conversations and abbreviated encounters that had become the norm rather than the exception within his home.
The sacrifice one makes to sustain a lifestyle in hopes of sustaining a family is a monument to irony.
The american dream: a sixty-hour workweek, and loveless family.
His mouth now serves as a vault to the memory of these days. Those moments when his jaws clench and lips cower from the inner unrest of a mind trampled upon by fleeting happiness and surmounting remorse come regularly upon him as the faces of his children cinematically plague his thoughts. The fodder of his former life plague this man whose wife had had enough and whose children who had had too little.
Regret is best served silent he supposes, so he keeps to himself. No kind words or friendly gestures can scathe his defenses as he denies any offer of assistance. The occasional crumpled dollar bill or clanking of change on the ground at his feet mock his plight. He has all the money he needs, but no family to share it with.
At least not any more.
He subjects himself to this daily routine of scrounging for scraps or the occasional aluminum can in the trash bins dotting the perimeter of this familiar beach area. Not because he needs to, but because he ought to. Maybe it’s the penance he deserves for being the father and husband who simply couldn’t see the forest for the trees. Or maybe he’s making up for all those Saturday’s he wished he'd spent here flying kites and building sand castles rather than trying to support his family.
Is he really all that guilty?
jared.
Though he would never let it on, at one time this very spot served as a weekend getaway for his family. A lazy Saturday at the beach once a quarter that was intended to chip away at the division arising between him and his loved ones. This was about all he was able to give. It’s impossible to rally much enthusiasm for familial relations after putting in a dozen hours of work each and every day. These outings were his futile skirmishes with the uncomfortable conversations and abbreviated encounters that had become the norm rather than the exception within his home.
The sacrifice one makes to sustain a lifestyle in hopes of sustaining a family is a monument to irony.
The american dream: a sixty-hour workweek, and loveless family.
His mouth now serves as a vault to the memory of these days. Those moments when his jaws clench and lips cower from the inner unrest of a mind trampled upon by fleeting happiness and surmounting remorse come regularly upon him as the faces of his children cinematically plague his thoughts. The fodder of his former life plague this man whose wife had had enough and whose children who had had too little.
Regret is best served silent he supposes, so he keeps to himself. No kind words or friendly gestures can scathe his defenses as he denies any offer of assistance. The occasional crumpled dollar bill or clanking of change on the ground at his feet mock his plight. He has all the money he needs, but no family to share it with.
At least not any more.
He subjects himself to this daily routine of scrounging for scraps or the occasional aluminum can in the trash bins dotting the perimeter of this familiar beach area. Not because he needs to, but because he ought to. Maybe it’s the penance he deserves for being the father and husband who simply couldn’t see the forest for the trees. Or maybe he’s making up for all those Saturday’s he wished he'd spent here flying kites and building sand castles rather than trying to support his family.
Is he really all that guilty?
jared.
Labels: short stories
About me
- I'm jared slack
- From Waco, Texas, United States
- Only God can judge me.
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"A God who cannot suffer is poorer than any human. For a God who is incapable of suffering is a being who cannot be involved. Suffering and injustice do not affect him. And because he is so completely insensitive, he cannot be affected or shaken by anything. He cannot weep, for he has no tears. But the one who cannot suffer cannot love either. So he is also a loveless being." ------ Jurgen Moltmann
