When I first arrived in San Antonio, I began to suspect that nothing was happening here. Even through the haze of depression and self-loathing in which I was draped, I couldn't help but notice a low, brown cloud of boring moving in from New Braunfels all the way up the I-35. Of course, there is no especial reason this should be so: according to the 2005 Census Bureau estimate, the population of the San Antonio metropolitan statistical area is 1,256,509, making it the seventh-largest city in these United States. Located in a growth corridor of the New Southwest, with new immigration every year and industry retuning in strength, San Antonio is larger than Detroit, San Francisco, Seattle, Boston, or Washington, D.C. Indeed, it is bigger than Denver, Atlanta, and Miami put together. And yet, and yet: there was an ice-cream man here who was arrested for doing what every urban ice-cream man in the country does, namely sell drugs out of his truck, and it was the lead story on the local news for three days. This, combined with a rather dreary outlook on the work front and a lamentably poor salary rate for a city of its size, caused me to commence worring about a certain, well, provincialism in my temporary residence.
Let's take a look at what's happening today in the Alamo City!
A football player is going to play football! This is the lead story.
Cheap gas at the H.E. Butt! This is breaking news.
You'll soon have to pay more tax on used cars! This is the biggest local news headline. They used 24-point type.
There may be a virus on your hotel pen! So don't eat it! This is news, apparently, you can use.
Vortex of death posts FOURTH ACCIDENT IN TWO YEARS! You can probably get a house there for next to nothing.
Ah, my San Antonio woes.