22,000 architects, months of preparation, a former Vice President, and a contingency of dedicated locals showed that maybe, just maybe there's hope for architecture and San Antonio over the next few years. For now, the convention is over so let's all take a breather before we get too busy.
The last throws of April showers afforded a four day eye in the storm in which us San Antonians poured out of our respective barrios to finish out Fiesta just as strong as it started. Front porch gentility meets back yard wrestling in our holiest of secular celebrations. Sushi and beer alongside strippers and renaissance art on a Thursday night give way to roof top hammock naps overlooking the city skyline. Hanging off neo-classical confetti covered cornices proved the perfect perch for pitching pastel eggs at parading sneaker clad debutantes. The same Friday followed by comped chicken,waffles, and bike rides to meat packing plants and haunted VFW halls proved to be the best paid vacation day ever. Saturday set a new standard for sedintariness as the three block stroll between a keg laden porch and a historic neighborhood fair became my only challenge. Foot long corn dogs on the other end were a worthy carrot on a stick. That mustard stained shirt should never be washed.
Then in the final hours of Sunday sunlight, the rain returned to soak every kickballer on our makeshift field. We played through the downpour to an 11 or 12th inning until the roasted corn stopped roasting. There, covered in butter, mud, and more confetti I saw that fiesta was over. Someone likened Sunday to the last day of summer where the sun sets and the credits roll under voice overs letting us know where the motley group of sandlotters would end up for the rest of their separate lives. Luckily summer hasn't yet started.
