Well, enough of the complaining-what's done is done and now we focus in on San Antonio. Note: leave Brian Norwood behind to save on moving expenses.
I went to basic training at Lackland AFB, which is about 5 miles from downtown San Antonio. It's hot, and one's genitals get sticky. Funky, New Jersey-like smells ensue. Also, they have giant freakin' rabbits running around everywhere. And these beasts are not afraid of the scorpions. I believe they were the driving force behind "Donnie Darko".
Anyhoo, at the end of basic, everyone received an all-day pass to visit wherever one wants to. Luckily, my girlfriend at the time came down to visit me, and we*cough* liberally used her hotel downtown.
So we met up with my folks (who silently disapproved of her, but understood) along the riverwalk, and went to Dick's Last Resort. Which is the only redeeming feature of San Antonio-screaming at the waiting staff is encouraged. Further, I was allowed to discard my rib bones on the ground. It was glorious. Lastly, the Riverwalk constantly had wooden benches launched into it from said establishment. Verily, we found a taste of home.
Being now in a good mood(c'mon, I had meat and sex within 1 hour of each other), we made the obligatory trip to the Alamo. I did some fact checking on this one: a Catholic mission with 200 people held out for 13 days against 6,100 (1,500 involved in the assault) professional Mexican soldiers. You read that right. Last I checked, missions are not designed with siege repulsion in mind. What does this mean?
(any one or combination of the following apply)
- The Mexicans attacked a religious order. God has hated them since.
- The Mexicans had extremely dimwitted military leadership. Of course, Cortez sneezed and dominated this country in no time flat.
- The US was just that...damn...good.
So there you have it: The US gave a valiant effort, fought for 13 days, alone, and got beat. Supposed to be a romantic metaphor there, I guess. I don't know. I tend to think that the people there are more symbolic of putting up a hopeless struggle because Texas, especially Sam Houston, couldn't get their shit together to mount a decent rescue mission.
As you can tell, this post was written in a holiday hangover state. I ate most of a cow and 12 pirogi. Plus, I do think my family is full of alcoholics. Badass, polish alcoholics that can drink your family under the table, and then polka your ass off. Yeah.
Final thoughts on the Alamo Bowl tomorrow. Until then, Merry Christmas.