soul log

Previous post in the series A Brownsville Story: Tricked.

continuing from previous post: As I was standing outside looking at the ducks, a golf cart zoomed by. I looked at the driver, who was wearing sunglasses and was deep in thought.

I didn’t even have a chance to think about something else when yet another golf cart whooshed by. Golf carts weren’t very unusual in a country club, but there were five people on a two-seating golf cart.

Apparently this family pushed things to the limit. What they were doing was highly dangerous. But what really caught my eye was the fact that a boy was driving. Continue reading

Part of the series A Brownsville Story.
Previous post in series: A Lesson Learned.

After I had calmed down, I went out for a little walk. Little walks almost always help.

As I was walking, I saw some pretty birds in a tree. There were so many pretty birds and ducks in Brownsville, and they’re great, just as long as you don’t

Just so long as you don’t get fooled by Derik when he points one out to you.

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<< The Brownsville Story: A First Timer (series)

The next morning, Derik knocked on my bedroom door. I wanted to go out with him, but I was feeling horrible.

“Wanna come, sport?” He asked.

“I can’t,” I grumbled unhappily.

“Well, okay. Stay at home.”

When Jenny woke up, she came over to where I was sitting (on the couch, where I was resting). “Don’t worry about him. He’ll come back with the greatest shots in the world and everything.”

I half-believed it, but the other half wondered if it was true.

It was.

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I HAVE PICTURES! (scroll down)
If you haven’t read Shooting for the Target, you won’t understand this entry, because it is a part of a series.

I stepped off of the bus at the Greyhound station in Brownsville. A blast of smoggy air from the station greeted me. This one seemed even less organized than the one in Houston.

Derik greeted me. He was all smiles. “How you doin’, buddy?” he said, warmly greeting me. “Good,” I said as we went to the bottom of the big bus to get our luggage.

“Wadya do, bring the town with you?” Derik joked as he looked at my luggage. “What?” I asked, confused. “I only brought two pieces of luggage.”

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I was going to Brownsville.

It all began when my mom’s friend Jenny was talking with my mom. They had a home in Brownsville. I had said, “Oh, it would be nice to go there with you to spend spring break.”

You see, it was spring break in Houston, and I was looking forward to something a little bit more interesting than sitting at home, which was what was planned. Hooray. Big whoop.

But then Jenny said, “Sure! You could come to Brownsville with us, and you could go bird photographing with Derik.” (Derik is his husband, and that’s just a pen name.)

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Yesterday night, after discovering that our new HomePlug AV didn’t work, my dad and I decided to investigate.

We brought my trusty laptop downstairs, and plugged it in. Because our last experiment supposedly had involved some waiting, we waited a whole minute for the Internet to come through.

But it didn’t.

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I thought it would work when I bought a HomePlug AV adapter set, which is a pretty new technology which routes your Internet via electric pulses on your existing power cable.

I know that must have sounded like jargon, so basically it’s something that lets you go on the Internet… using your power line!

I thought it was interesting, my dad thought it was interesting, and the sales guy at Fry’s thought it was especially interesting (it was more of the sale for him, though).

So we spent a hundred and a half dollars and came home with it, happy, tired, but satisfied.

The next morning, we tried it out in the computer room. We plugged one to a plug and connected it to our Internet connection, and another into another plug. We connected the second one to my laptop.

Everything worked perfectly, and I was overly excited. Imagine what this would be like for my mom when we were done and had her computer set up downstairs!

So we brought the big desktop tower to downstairs, connected everything, and…

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(c) Sarah Serendipity (not my picture)

Caucus business is very messy, but I didn’t realize how messy it was until my mother invited me to go to one.

When we got there, there were people walking around, still voting. I got out my new EOS camera (the camera that the bad-boys use) and tried to take a picture but an old man stopped me.

“Ain’ no picshures’ ‘laowed durin’ the vote.”

I murmured a “sorry” and put my camera away.

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