Scenes

Most honest answer? Only your ears, unless, of course, you wanna break your mother’s already fragile heart. What, she’s made out of stone all of a sudden? No, no, we kid because we love. If you have to do it, head to Obscurities (conveniently located next door to Trilogy Tattoo), and Pat Tidwell and the rest of the gang will spear you wherever you want.

Along with its sister club, Escapade 2009, Escapade 2001 is the No. 1 destination for Dallas’ swelling Latino population (the people who’ve made KNOL-FM one of the highest-rated radio stations in the area) every weekend, the place to go for people looking to blow off steam by dancing to ranchera and cumbia music. And there are quite a few of them: Every Friday through Sunday–the only nights Escapade 2001 is open–the parking lot outside rivals that of a Mavericks game, and the bar receipts routinely top the list of drinking establishments in the city. With that many people voting yes, who are we to say no?

When you enter Fossil Rim, it’s hard to figure who is really in the zoo: you and the wife and kids, locked up in your SUV, air conditioner running, carbon monoxide emitting, or the 50 species of well-attended animals languishing over 1,500 gently rolling, beautifully wooded acres in the North Texas Hill Country. Located 75 miles southwest of Dallas, no zoo could offer the contact, the closeness, the natural setting that is afforded over 1,000 animals that are free to roam its savannas and juniper-oak woodlands save only the carnivores and rhinos. Humans remain in their vehicles during the two hours that cover the scenic tour. The Fossil Rim mission is one of conservation rather than conquest; its intention is to better establish the balance between man and nature. What better way is there for your screaming 4-year-old to get up close and personal with an ocelot? Just make sure you keep things in balance and take your little creature home.

You might think you’re just not old enough to visit Granbury, Texas; that it’s a place for bus tours and blue hairs and history buffs. But that’s precisely the reason to visit: The trip is a trip, a Victorian town that is remarkably well-preserved and riddled with legend and myth and memory–from Jesse James and John Wilkes Booth to the ghost-haunted Opera House. There is a fully functioning drive-in movie house, boat tours on Lake Granbury, and the town, located 65 miles southwest of Dallas, is damn near close to an antique shopping mecca, with more than 50 stores at your disposal. But if quaint you ain’t, then Dinosaur Valley State Park (best-preserved dinosaur tracks in Texas) and Eagle Flight Skydiving (lessons available) are within jumping-off distance.

If you are willing to get wet and spend a little money for the privilege, the best water playground in the Dallas area is in North Richland Hills. NRH20 has something for everyone, priding itself on a safety rating system that identifies which rides are appropriate for which age category. Low speed is for shallow-water attractions and shallow-water kids. High speed is for the more skillful swimmer, someone who can navigate the new Green Extreme, a seven-story-tall water slide with 1,161 feet of twists and turns. The thoroughly modern water park has one holdover from days gone by: an outdoor “dive in” movie on Friday nights throughout the summer, where kid flicks like Shrek and Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone can be seen while floating in the wave pool or relaxing in a lounge chair on the beach. Well, a simulated beach anyway.

You’ve done your Chuck E. Cheese’s, your Fun Fest, your rain-soaked birthday party at the neighborhood park. And there’s no way you are going to subject your own home to the kind of abuse 30 5-year-olds can cause after the giant Jaws bounce house you promised doesn’t arrive on time. What you need is a seamless, low-maintenance, high-energy, modestly priced, kid-tested alternative to the mind-numbing childhood ritual known as the birthday party. You can find it at ASI Gymnastics, with its seven ground-level trampolines, its carpet-bonded tumble floors and its giant foam pit. Curb service for your store-bought cake and decorations, which can be any theme you bring in, from Sesame Street to Harry Potter. The first 60 minutes will be spent jumping and running and swinging and tumbling with coaches who are both cool and safety-conscious. The next 30 are spent in a private room with cake and pizza or whatever you decide to import. The best part is, ASI provides the cleanup. If they could only dispose of the 30 gifts that your child is dying to get his hands on and doesn’t really need.

Some pools are just chlorine and water, a liquid playpen that, when combined with the intense summer sun, will cause the most exuberant of children to grow tired enough to take a nap. But then there are other pools that soak you in luxury, acting as therapy for the mind, a spa for the body. One of these is the pool at the Four Seasons Hotel in Las Colinas: lagoon-shaped, waterfalls cascading, attractive attendants who not only serve you frozen drinks to relax your spirit, but also frozen face cloths and ice water to brace yourself against the hot Texas summer. Of course, it comes at a price: You have to stay at the hotel, but the Four Seasons offers weekend packages for those who need to get away from home without ever leaving it. Parents of young children understand this need. Parents of young children are willing to pay this price. Parents of young children can be found poolside at the Four Seasons Hotel, without their young children.

If hair were a religion, Kirsten would be a guru, a prophet, a goddess. But since it’s not, she’s a very talented angel. The ideal hair appointment is going to the same person to get a haircut, color and a huge boost to the self-esteem at the same time. Kirsten (and to be fair, the whole salon) delivers one damn fine product. It doesn’t matter if you’re thick and curly or straight and limp; you’ll feel fine as hell after she works her magic. A thorough stylist, Kirsten even researches hair and compiles a photo album for her clients to peruse when their ideal hair goal is hazy. Book ahead ’cause she’s busy, but it’s worth the wait. You know we’re for true when we risk our own appointments to laud her talent. And talent it is, maybe even art, a scene worth seeing to believe.

Bar of Soap is the only place we know of where you can buy a box of Tide along with a bourbon and soda and get change for both the dryers and the pinball machine. Besides being a bar, a laundry and an arcade, it also serves as a live music venue on weekends and has a patio for lounging and televisions over the bar. And, as if that’s not enough to keep one occupied during the spin cycle, check out the Fair Park and Dallas-themed mural painted above the shelves of liquor. There’s nothing like seeing a guy with a basket full of tighty-whities squeezing through a packed crowd, watching a band on his way to the laundry room in the back. Some people find it so cozy, we’ve even seen pizza delivered there.

Dallas does not suffer from a lack of good, traditional neighborhoods stocked with sturdy homes planted atop shaded lots, but what we like about Uptown is its departure from the city’s past. The housing, primarily condos and apartments, may not be everyone’s idea of an ideal nesting ground, but the neighborhood is the best indication that our city is, at last, growing up. A prime example of “New Urban” development, an architectural revolt against suburbia, Uptown is more like New York than Dallas. It offers pedestrian-friendly streets packed with an eclectic collection of fine restaurants and retail shops. Of course, the best thing about any neighborhood is its people, and that’s Uptown’s real charm: You can strike up a conversation in French, for example, as easy as you can order a cappuccino.

Yeah, yeah. We know. Aren’t there any other outdoor havens besides White Rock, you ask? Unless you play golf, the answer is no. After all, Dallas is not a city known for its fabulous green spaces. White Rock Lake, which was built to provide the city’s residents with drinking water, may be an accidental green space, but it is nonetheless the only place in Dallas (besides NorthPark) where one can spy turtles sunning on rocks or mama ducks teaching their babies the finer points of survival. The place is also home to wild parakeets, snakes and owls, among other furred and feathered ones. We have only one request: When you go to the lake, would you please stop throwing your trash, beer cans especially, all over the place? Thank you. Now keep to the right.

Four hot piano players at two baby grands play a mix of Beatles, Stones, Aretha, KC, Culture Club, Billy Joel, Elton John, Dave Matthews and more in a high-energy blast that runs straight through from 8 p.m. until the joint closes at 2 a.m. Cloned from the original in Austin, the Addison Pete’s holds 350 people, offers a fare of hot dogs, sandwiches and appetizers and is a big bunch of raucous fun. Call for show times.

Hard to find, but worth the hunt if you have a sudden hunger for hot dogs, pompoms and the blood and grit of small-town football in the shadow of the big city. Seagoville High is part of the Dallas school system and plays some tough big-city football schools such as Lincoln, but the spirit on Friday nights is strictly East Texas. Call the school for the fall schedule. To get to the stadium go south on 175 and exit Hall Street. Turn left under the bridge to continue on Hall Street. Take a left on Shady Lane, and the stadium is a few blocks ahead behind Central Elementary.

If you have a sudden urgent need to talk to every egghead film-buff Boho in Dallas, what you do is bring a folding chair and park in front of Premiere Video on a Friday night. In the course of a few hours, they’ll all come through. In fact, there are entire multigenerational families of film-buff Bohos who gather here on Friday nights–little skaties with their beatnik grandparents. And why? Try 20,000 foreign and domestic titles, a knowledgeable staff and…the scene. Some people believe they need to be seen here on Fridays whether they rent a movie or not. Monday through Saturday 10 a.m. to 10 p.m., Sunday noon to 10 p.m.

The steps outside the Angelika Film Center, not the ones that go down to the DART rail line. (Not many folks down there.) If you want confirmation that Dallas has its hip, cool side–as opposed to a place where the predominant fashion trend is the golf shirt–hang out for a while and see who comes cascading down the steps at Mockingbird Station. Last winter, the black-leather-jacket set was so thick, we thought someone was giving them away at the theater. This summer, it dawned on us that we were living in a real city when we saw a bare-chested kid make his way down the steep incline on a beat-up skateboard.

A true hidden paradise for local anglers, this Turtle Creek estuary is home to 1- to 2-pound bass. On a recent summer day, a single fisherman was casting his line (a light-action pole with an open cast reel), relishing the solitude away from the city traffic just a few yards away. Besides the bass, there are also some nice-sized bluegills and carp around here, according to the University Park Wildlife Department. All are edible, say the park officials. Ready to be fried up on one of those $5,000 Viking stoves in the mansions nearby.

With the recession and all, the mother of all Texas car trips–the weekend in Austin–is looking better than ever. Cheap fun here comes in the form of swimming at Barton Springs, pub-crawling for bands on Sixth Street and cheap, tasty barbecue. The city has some reasonably priced B&B’s, and it doesn’t cost a nickel to hang out by the lake at dusk to watch the bats take wing. Over the years we’ve sampled a few upper-end spots–a few nights at the elegant Driskill Hotel, or dinner at Hudson’s on the Bend. But somehow, the best memories are of sipping a cold one at El Arroyo, being 22 years old, out of college and in no hurry to get a job. With the metroplex and the job three hours in the rearview mirror, it’s not hard to recapture the spirit, if only for a few days.

Our high school principals were smart enough to ask for a note to explain any absence from school. Fortunately, our bosses consider such tactics childish, which opens the door for the occasional “dental appointment.” On any day at Sevy’s, you’ll find well-heeled, conversant folks suffering from fanciful ailments camped along the extensive bar. In fact, the establishment even inscribes the names of chronic attendees on bronze plates. The food is great, the people interesting, and the bartender–James Pintello–one of the best in the business. Admit it, there’s something spectacular about a good martini buzz on a Wednesday afternoon, about stumbling out of a bar soused to the gills into piercing daylight, about ditching responsibility. Until you lose those responsibilities for good. But then, your principal warned you about the dangers of truancy.

We don’t know his name (Marathon Man is a nickname we concocted not long ago), but that’s not really important. We feel like we know him anyway, since–for the past two or three years–we’ve seen him almost every day. On our way to work. On our way home. At work. At the Minyard on Abrams. At various crosswalks in downtown. Instead of staking out a sweet spot in front of one of the dozens of 7-Elevens in the area (the homeless guy’s answer to an ATM), this guy’s always on the go, from morning until night, keeping a brisk pace and a not-so-comforting look on his face. Whether he’s working on his cardiovascular, his tan or a plan to get the voices out of his head, we’re not sure. Whatever he’s doing, we salute him.

C-Shiz is basically a Juvenile video shoot, only with no cameras and no Juvenile. Basically, we’re talking lots of Fubu and even more rump shaking. The last time we were there, a DJ was spinning music we weren’t terribly familiar with, and, as we were standing by the bar, trying unsuccessfully not to look out of place, a fine young lady backed that thang up, unbidden, right into our crotch and then proceeded to shake that thang in such a manner as to make us think that love really is colorblind.

As one local musician put it, “You get the best show in town, and it only costs you five bucks in the collection plate.” You won’t find any of these players with more profitable gigs (though, one could make the argument, what pays better than being in the Lord’s house band?), since they play all day Sunday, and choir practice is every Thursday night. Word of warning: If you’re less spiritually inclined, services at many of these churches can run up to four hours. Develop a bulletproof fake cough and park close to the door.

Now almost 20 years old, the Asian gardens sprang up spontaneously in the early ’80s on scuzzy vacant lots in East Dallas at a time when the federal government was dumping tens of thousands of bewildered Southeast Asian refugees into Dallas slums. The gardens were a place of refuge and peace for people who had seen too much war and chaos. Now the refugees are no longer bewildered; most have moved north into the suburbs and are very upwardly mobile. But they still come back and maintain the gardens as a kind of informal shrine to their arrival in a tough new world. Visitors are always welcome, and hours are informal, mainly from early morning to late afternoon. A little piece of a far-away world.

We’re not sure about the other Good Eats locations in the area, but if you want a side of people-watching with your chicken-fried steak, look no further than this Oak Lawn staple, where the clientele is always gaily attired. (Simmer down: We meant cheerfully.) If you want the real deal, opt for the smoking section near the bar. That’s where we were when a young gentleman clad in a skin-tight T (helpfully inscribed “Daddy”), black leather short-shorts and matching captain’s hat sat at the booth opposite us, effectively distracting us from the entirety of our meal. So maybe you should eat at home first.

So you’ve had an argument with your significant other. For example: It’s the anniversary of the first time she ever called you her “little sugar pants” or whatever, and she wanted to have a nice candlelight dinner to mark the occasion. You, on the other hand, came home drunker than an American Eagle pilot about three hours after she put the food in the fridge and cried herself to sleep. You’re in a fix, my friend. So pack a picnic basket and head to the Arboretum’s lushly landscaped setup on White Rock Lake, and don’t forget to bring an extra helping of Jesus-Christ-I-can’t-believe-I’m-such-a-moron-and-you-probably-never-should’ve-married-me-but-I’ll-try-to-be-better. All will be forgotten. Probably never forgiven, but that’s the best we can do.

You know, there’s really no such thing as a bad happy hour. Any working stiff who knows the agony of counting down the seconds till that 5 o’clock whistle blows can tell you that. A drink special’s a drink special, right? But some happy hours are better than others, and one is the best. Happy hour at Blue Mesa Grill in the Lincoln Park Shopping Center goes above and beyond the typical happy-hour offerings. From 4 p.m. to 7 p.m. Monday through Friday, bar patrons can partake of complimentary quesadillas as well as chips and salsa. And besides the usual tortilla chips many restaurants offer, Blue Mesa’s signature sweet potato chips are also available–and with two kinds of salsa, too. But don’t forget the drink specials. After working up a thirst at the quesadilla bar, mosey on over to that other bar and take advantage of reduced prices on bottled beer and margaritas from 4 p.m. to 8 p.m. Blue Mesa’s house margarita is a tasty blue concoction that could wash away any workplace blues.

Oh, what’s that you say? Dude, it’s a pilots‘ hangout? What up? That’s like naming a bar that caters to road construction crews The Manhole.

Clarification: The Cockpit is not a gay bar. We repeat: The Cockpit, a neighborhood bar on Marsh Lane, is not a gay bar. Our writer was cracking a joke about The Cockpit’s name when he selected it as critic’s choice for Best Gay Bar in the September 26 Best of Dallas issue. Apparently, not everyone got the joke. We apologize to all–employees, proprietors, and patrons–for any unpleasant consequences we may have caused.

When we were a kid, last month, used to be a drive up Central Expressway to McKinney lasted a week; 75 was one lane north and south, and it wasn’t so long ago. Now it takes 20 minutes, without much traffic, to head up to this Collin County town that’s growing every day without losing much of its charm. In fact, it still looks like it did when Joe Camp shot his first Benji up there–giant old homes with rustic front porches, a town square anchored by an old courthouse. That it’s slowly been populated by big-city folk in search of small-town charm hasn’t harmed McKinney; they came not to speed up the city but to slow themselves down. So they opened quaint restaurants (from cheap diners to gourmet eateries), charming antique stores, homey clothing boutiques, inviting used bookstores and beckoning bed-and-breakfasts. It’s a place Doc Hollywood would love, a town where it’s Groundhog Day every day, and in the fall and winter we can be found here celebrating “A Dickens Christmas” (the weekend after Thanksgiving, locals dress up in Victorian garb to welcome visitors in the holiday spirit) or drinking hot cocoa in the old county jail that’s now a hot dining destination. We hate gentrification as much as the next guy who can’t afford it, but at least the yuppies live on the other side of Central, in El Dorado–ya know, where the Starbucks went in.

Went to a friend’s birthday party here recently, and we were sorely disappointed. Not because the service wasn’t friendly and efficient, because it was. Not because the outside deck wasn’t shaded and comfortable, because it was. And not because the people-watching wasn’t entertaining, because it was. (“Hey there. What school you go to?”) It was upsetting because the table kept ordering one type of beer. One does not travel to the Ginger Man for a one-flavor experience. This pub with wood décor and many taps behind the bar boasts 70-some brands of brew coursing from said spigots, as well as about a hunnerd different types of bottled beverages. Next time, we’re going to be responsible Ginger Man-goers and order at least 13 types of beer on our way to an evening of overbelching and yelling, “Beer ye, beer ye!” from some dark corner of this lovely establishment. And, sure, designated driver, we’ll call a cab, yada yada.

Not only does Lizard Lounge routinely feature some of the best DJs in the country (and some of the best in town, including Edgeclub host DJ Merritt), it’s just about the sexiest club in town, and we don’t mean just because there’s a good chance some off-duty stripper might whip her top off at any given moment. Of course, that doesn’t hurt. Whether you’re looking to dance, hook up or both, this is your best bet. And, if we didn’t stress this point earlier, there’s a good chance some off-duty stripper might whip her top off at any given moment. Just saying.

The space that once held Baby Routh now houses two sister restaurants, Arcodoro and Pomodoro, joined at the hip to form a faux Sardinian village. The patio is especially appealing in good weather and provides a kind of village square where the young cool people, usually from the Arcodoro side, may mingle with old rich people, who tend to hang on the tighter, tonier Pomodoro side. It’s just one big Euro-bar community, brought together by great Italian food and credit cards.

Because they have all that a good bar needs: a pool table, a jukebox worth your quarters and cheap beer. Because it’s much more comfortable than sitting on the tailgate of your truck, and the cops come by far less often. Because it feels like home within five minutes, and you never wanna leave after 10. Because you’d buy this place if you had the money. Because just talking about Ship’s is making us thirsty.

What they do is called “volkssport,” taken from the long-standing German tradition of doing leisurely 10-kilometer (6.2 miles) walks through interesting and attractive venues. This is a family affair, not a competition, despite the fact all finishers receive custom-designed medals or patches for their efforts. The idea is to make the walk at your own pace, even stopping to picnic if you choose. Such events are scheduled year-round in the Dallas area and throughout the state. For a fee of just $12, you can join the group–but there’s no rule that says you have to be a card-carrying member to participate in their events. You can even bring the dog along if you’ve got a leash.

Need a little illegal excitement that doesn’t involve sex? This street is an ever-popular location for the city’s mostly younger crowd to gather and ruin the tires and expensive souped-up engines they bought by waiting tables. On a typical summer night, you need only to show up at about 10 p.m. and wait around. Soon, the parking lots of nearby businesses will fill with youths who are either planning to watch the illegal drag races or those who will actually take part. Take a spot near the entrance of the road, sit on your hood and wait. It takes only about five minutes from the time the first racers arrive until the place is crowded with cars and people and the air is filled with the noise of screaming tires and exhaust smoke. Take care, though; it will only be going on for a little while before the Arlington police arrive and bust anybody they can catch.

At 508 Park Ave., there is a building that (on June 19 and 20 in 1937) housed a recording session by legendary Delta bluesman Robert Johnson, one of just two occasions he ever had his music recorded in his abbreviated career. At the moment, the building is abandoned, though it was once home to the Brunswick Records’ warehouse, as well as the office of Don Law, who produced Johnson and many others during his storied career. Directly across the street from the building is The Stew Pot, a church-run kitchen for the homeless, and the main reason 508 Park doesn’t have a plaque or anything that commemorates Johnson’s stay there. Check it out before the entire block is razed to make room for lofts or something like that, but make sure you empty your pockets first. If you think it’s hard getting away from 7-Eleven with some spare change, just try doing that here.

Take it from someone who has shot 21-under on Buckhorn: This is the best place in town to Tee it up. (For those who don’t know, Golden Tee is the No. 1 bar game in the country; it’s that arcade golf game with the big round ball you see guys smashing as hard as their beer-addled brains will allow.) Granted, some sports bars have more GT machines, but Golden Tee isn’t about high numbers. It’s about lowest score, best environment and assorted other criteria we just made up. The three GT machines at Frankie’s are separated from the bar and most of the diners who would rather nosh on the tasty fare provided (including a top-notch club sandwich and the biggest-ass baked potato you’ve ever seen) than listen to people yell about misjudged A-1 shots. As well, the Golden Tee dorks can congregate away from normal people when they imitate the game’s announcers. (“Get up, get up, get up, get there!”) Now, maybe Frankie’s will help us market the Golden Tee bumper sticker we want to produce: “My son is Golfer 3, and he has honors!”

Great jukebox, even better shows, and if you want to talk to a local musician, just tap the guy next to you on the shoulder. OK, maybe it would be more accurate to call this the Best Roots Rock Bar, but let’s not split hairs. Rock is rock is rock, and the Barley House has more than a quarry. Stop by on a Sunday night when Deathray Davies offshoot I Love Math is onstage and members of Slobberbone, Chomsky, the Old 97’s, Slowride, Sorta, Sparrows and a dozen other bands are knocking back a few cold ones around the bar.

Not too long ago, we finally conquered our fear of singing in public (aided and abetted by our friends Jack D. and Jim B.), and we couldn’t have picked a better place than XPO Lounge, easily the finest (and hippest) karaoke night in Dallas. The tunes are spun by DJ Mr. Rid (who’s been involved in the local music scene longer than guitar strings) and sung by a who’s-who of Dallas musicians and scenesters. Don’t go if you’re expecting to trot out your sub-American Idol impersonations of Mariah and Whitney, because a usual night revolves around Cheap Trick, KISS and so on. Do go if you want to buy us a drink, because we’d be much obliged. We need all the liquid courage we can get.

Those who know only of yoga from watching Gomez stand on his head during reruns of The Addams Family can learn the art of the downward-facing dog and the proud warrior five days a week in the quiet, comfortable community room upstairs at Cosmic Café. The classes are taught by instructors who practice or teach at other locations and who offer a variety of different styles in an anxiety-free setting. It’s a mix of regulars and newcomers, so that those new to the poses can learn without intimidation. The classes are free, which means you don’t have to shell out $100 a month before you know whether you want to learn to bend like a pretzel. Donations are accepted, though. Call for class days and times.

Sadly, Dallas doesn’t have many blues clubs these days, and most of the ones it does have traffic in the same kind of “blues” that made Steve Buscemi get queasy in Ghost World. Not R.L. Griffin’s Blues Palace #2, owned and operated by The Right Reverend of Dallas Blues, R.L. Griffin. (Just in case you thought it was nothing more than a clever name.) If you’ve got the stones to stop thinking about what’s happening to your late-model sedan out in the parking lot for an hour or three, it’s well worth a trip, especially on Friday and Saturday, when you’ll get a chance to witness Griffin’s Show and Revue with Hal Harris and the Lo Lifers, the joint’s house band. Testify!

Still can’t beat this Deep Ellum institution, and not many people try. Yeah, there’s the Elbow Room or Red Blood Club, at least whenever one of the groups in the Dallas Creative Music Alliance is onstage. But Sambuca doesn’t just get this by default: They deserve it, doing everything a good jazz club should and then some. The sound is top-notch and so is the talent, and they even have the courage to challenge their clientele, booking acts such as a combo featuring drummer Earl Harvin, guitarist Bill Longhorse and laptop jockey Wanz Dover. That might not be Ken Burns’ idea of jazz, but you can bet Miles Davis would be proud. And so are we.

Thinking about slipping out of the office early to get in a quick 18 holes before dark? There’s no better place than this historic old course that has been in business since 1924. Located in the picturesque Kessler Park area, just two miles from downtown Dallas, the short (6,005 yards from the blue tees) but demanding layout is ideal for the golfer who likes a challenge but also hopes to score well. The narrow fairways are lined with native oaks, there’s not a lot of water to worry about and there are 11 par 4s and four par 3s. And everyone goes home talking about the two-tiered 18th green. Open daily except for Christmas, weekday and weekend fees (including a cart) are less than $30. And juniors (18 and under) can play for about five bucks, or the cost of one bet you lost because you three-putted.

Like an eclipse, you will see this rarely, but we have seen it, and it is a strange, wondrous site. It would be indecorous of us to mention the young woman’s name, but let’s just say when we first saw this phenomenon occur, we were misty-eyed. We walked into this bar near closing time on a Saturday night/Sunday morning, and we were taken aback by how jam-packed with collegiate drunkards this place was. (Note to selves: We are too old to go college-bar hopping…very often.) It was wall-to-wall hipsters and frat rats. But just when we were about to leave, because we were afraid it would be too difficult to quaff a beverage in peace, the sea of tight bellies parted and toward us came the bartendress, not only doing a handstand but walking on said hands, in her trademark belly shirt. Then, like Spider-Man’s younger, hotter sister, she sprang to her feet and let out a wild-eyed “Woooo!” Needless to say, we stayed. You should, too. Never know when it will happen again.

We could have picked some country road where the traffic is slow and the scenery is beautiful. But this is Dallas and, well, call us sentimental, but nothing warms our hearts like progress. We had this same feeling when Central Expressway was under construction, and we have it again, watching the new merger of Central and LBJ crawl out of the starting blocks, trotting toward a finish line that will undoubtedly get farther away as the years go by. (Check www.dallashighfive.org for updates.) We longingly gaze at the concrete columns (because that’s pretty much all you can do around there, given the stop-and-stop traffic situation), dreaming of the day when it’s complete.

Though Gypsy Tea Room books many of the same acts, Sons has one big advantage: room enough to dance. That, and it reminds us of the dance halls we grew up in, sneaking a sip from a can of Lone Star when our grandpa wasn’t looking, dodging the two-stepping couples scooting their boots on the hardwood floor. It’s a comfortable piece of home, even more comfortable after, oh, a dozen longnecks. You know, to get into the spirit of things.

Ash, Super Furry Animals, Spoon, Dieselboy, Deepsky, The Weakerthans, ALL, Pinback, Guided by Voices, Superdrag, South, James Hall, Supersuckers, Remy Zero, Chomsky, Clinic, The Apples in Stereo, The Vines, The Breeders, X-Ecutioners, The Coup, Blackalicious, Beulah, Sparta, Cranes, The Promise Ring, The Deathray Davies, My Morning Jacket, Nashville Pussy, Hank III, Dixie Witch, Bowling for Soup, Speedealer, The White Stripes, Trans Am, AK1200, DJ Dara, Bare Jr., Old 97’s, Pleasant Grove, Bushwick Bill, Tomahawk, North Mississippi All-Stars, Reverend Horton Heat, Baboon. That’s just naming a few, and that’s just in the past year. Think that speaks for itself.

Yeah, we’ve given it to these guys before, but hey, this isn’t your son’s Little League team. We don’t have to make sure everyone gets some playing time. If you suck, you ride the bench. Simple as that. So until someone comes along and does it better, we ain’t changing the starting lineup. Look, we know there are plenty of other fine places to see live music–Muddy Waters, Trees, Liquid Lounge, Club Clearview, Barley House, Rubber Gloves Rehearsal Studios, Bar of Soap, even Curtain Club, Galaxy Club or Club Indigo if you catch ’em on the right nights–but none of them is as consistent as the Tea Room. You could never even go to another club in Deep Ellum or anywhere else and see the best in hip-hop (Jurassic 5, Common), rock (Wilco, Doves), soul (Erykah Badu, Musiq), country (Eleven Hundred Springs) or whatever (Earl Harvin Trio). We could go on, but I think you get the point. We’ll just finish our thoughts next year at this time.

A well-known author whose name we cannot recall at the moment wrote something in one of those college anthologies–can’t remember which–about the anonymity of a crowd. Or perhaps it was loneliness. Anyway, it was quite appropriate to the topic and would have conveyed the message in words far more powerful than those without which the entire meaning of this paragraph would be lost. There was also something in the book regarding form and function, another point of great significance in this context. To grope someone in an apparently inadvertent manner requires close quarters and the cloak of innocence. The uncomfortably tight maze of Central Market’s aisles provides both, thanks to a combination of poor design and incredible popularity. It’s impossible on a weekend to maneuver through Central Market without pressing flesh with dozens of strangers. Shoppers collide with great regularity, and foot traffic often crashes to a halt. A simple swing of the hips or twitch of the arm–tempered by a quick apology–provides hours of illicit adult fun.

Admit it, you and every other sports fan in this part of the world want to see tons of scoring. And not just with the cheerleaders. (Rim shot!) The bigger the blowout, the better. And not just with the cheerleaders. (Thank you, Dallas, goodnight!) Forget pitchers’ duels and 1-0 hockey finals. Which is why the high-octane, indoor pinball game of Arena League Football has every chance of succeeding in Big D. Played on a 50-yard field in the American Airlines Center, the game produces long ball touchdowns faster than you can count ’em. It doesn’t hurt that the new Dallas Desperados have record-setting veteran Andy Kelly at quarterback. Or that the once high-scoring Texas Rangers are staggering through the kind of nightmarish summer that makes everyone long for football of any kind. Fact is, we pay this much to watch such good-looking men score any time.

Really can’t say much more than that…except that it failed. Obviously.

Let’s put it this way: Most of the musicians in town swear by the steady hands of Mark Thompson and the rest of the artists at Trilogy. If it’s good enough for rock and roll, it’s good enough for you.

Well, yes, a 12-hour drive is as close as it gets, but Taos Ski Valley is well worth it, and far more interesting than a lot of places you can reach by plane. Taos is a family-owned, family-run, world-class ski mountain for serious skiers. The local lore is that Taos was initially thought to be too steep for most recreational skiers when it was built in the late 1950s, yet bull-headed Texans short on skill, but long on nerve, flocked there and said, “To hell with it, I’m going to the top.” We’ve been rewarded with runs named Longhorn, a double-black diamond bump run that just doesn’t quit and Lone Star, a more gentle intermediate run. On the “ridge,” where one must hike, at more than 12,000 feet elevation, to catch the serious steeps and untracked powder, the runs are named after some of the German generals who schemed to assassinate Hitler. This blend of European ski traditions and the desert Southwest means great skiing by day and great dining by night. From the looks of things, the wet El Nino weather pattern, which produced bases of more than 100 inches last time it came through, should mean a helluva season this year.

For countless centuries, humans performed every personal activity–No. 1, No. 2, No. 69–in full view of their neighbors. Nowadays, the undeniable pleasure of relieving your bladder when and where it demands is circumscribed and carries considerable risk. If you insist on establishing some sort of kinship with humans past and wish to lessen the risk of prosecution, the aforementioned area offers relative safety and anonymity. It’s an area of dark parking lots trapped behind restaurants and office buildings, with patches of foliage for extra protection. First, of course, you must douse your kidneys with beer, and Duke’s Original Roadhouse and The Londoner will oblige in this. And the legendary rusticity of The Londoner’s johns makes outdoor urination a necessity.

From Memorial Day to Labor Day, we gather defenses, pool resources and try our damnedest to beat the heat. And, though we may win a few battles along the way, the heat always wins the war. You can’t beat it, so why not–as the cliché goes–join it. Revel in it. Bake in it. And the best place to do it is Hurricane Harbor, which opens just as the heat kicks into gear and closes as it begins to peter out into fall. The water park offers respite in the form of dozens of slides for the novice and the cowardly to the experienced and the brave, along with a lazy river for floating, pools and a pirate’s ship play area for the kids. Though the lines twist up and up for popular rides such as the Black Hole, most of the waiting area is shaded and, with a 500-foot drop into a pool, the payoff is worth the wait.

The large, renovated ballroom upstairs at Sons of Hermann Hall is the perfect venue for swing-dance nights, which it hosts every Wednesday. There’s a refinished hardwood floor, smooth enough for twirling without friction but with enough traction that you can stay on your feet. There are tables and chairs for those who need to take a breather, and a bar for those who need some liquid incentive to strut their stuff. With the air conditioner cranked and music blaring from the sound booth or from the bandstand, it’s easy to feel as if you’ve stepped back in time, since Sons was around decades before swing was popular the first time.

On the weekends you can’t stir the bicycles with a stick. Mom and Dad are there with their trail bikes, and the kiddies, some still maneuvering with training wheels, tag right along. There’s a maze of off-road cycling for all ages and all levels of expertise. The park’s most popular trail is a collection of three single-track routes that wind through woods and a tall grass prairie with a nice, cooling view of Joe Pool Lake. If it has rained recently, you might want to call and check on trail conditions before loading up and heading out.

Little kids who like airplanes, trucks and other big stuff (which means all of them, natch) will truly be thrilled to spend an hour watching the jets come and go from this busy airport. The plaza overlooks main runways and provides a clear view of takeoffs and landings. Voices of air-traffic controllers and pilots can be heard over a speaker on the plaza. There is room to walk around on grass around the plaza, but parking is also plentiful from places where you can see the big beasts soar.