It was a long, hot summer. Those clever souls who wanted to save on air conditioning either: A) drove to the coast, B) found a nice body of water where they could kick it, or C) stripped down to their boxers in one of our many public buildings. (OK, we wanted to do that, but didn't have the nerve.) If you're bashful like us and don't feel like a long drive out of the city, White Rock is Dallas' best substitute for a trip to the country. People fish, boat, jump in, skate, barbecue, socialize, and enjoy trees and grass. At sunset, the park has its own atmosphere, far enough from the city to be considered an escape, yet close enough to watch the sunset reflect off downtown skyscrapers. It's also a good high school make-out spot--just keep those boxers on.
This category could also be called the best place to get hit with Foley's Red Apple Sale-style elbow throws and NHL checks by people trying either to get to or escape from Trees. Other Deep Ellum restaurants have valet stands, yet there's nary a snarl in sidewalk traffic. But the Green Room's valet stand turns the walkway into the pedestrian version of the Tollway at rush hour. Stepping off the curb to avoid the hold-up isn't an option, either: People are just as eager to pull up to the valet area as they are to stand around and jabber for hours.
This bar gets the nod via popular word of mouth from many women in our fair town. Unlike other queer emporiums, Buddies plays a larger variety of music. It also has a bigger selection of patron types, from the butch to the femme to those marvelous individual combinations that mark most of the rest of humanity. Its biggest sell, as one enthusiastic young woman claimed, is that it's the best place in town for a woman-lovin' woman to get picked up by another WLW. And isn't this what makes the world go 'round?
Acre upon acre of khaki and plaid, plus a regular Greek alphabet soup: Is this heaven or hell? The answer probably depends on the size of Daddy's bank account and your fondness for stupid drinking games. If you're a Greek freak, The Beagle is the place for you on a weekend night. As an added bonus, they play '80s music, which always seems to make the women form circles and sing at the top of their lungs all the words to "Livin' on a Prayer." Like we said, it's either heaven or hell.
If happiness is a warm gun, then this place is Nirvana--or Charlton Heston's wet dream. It has 18 pistol and six rifle lanes and a 24,000-square-foot store to fulfill all your self-defense needs. (If you live in Kosovo.) These fine folks give private instruction so you can become a marksman, plus they sell a full line of camouflage clothing for all you fashionable wannabe Travis Bickles.
The sex better be incredible, because the price tag on this place will be. The 11 suites at Hotel St. Germain, located across from the Crescent, range from $290 to $650 a night. It's our very own version of New Orleans in Uptown. While some of the rooms might be mistaken for bordello chic, each suite is decorated with turn-of-the-century antiques, canopied feather beds, a working fireplace, and a large Jacuzzi or tub. Toss in a fabulous seven-course, pre-set--menu dinner at $80 per person, and you've got yourself one hell of an expensive evening. Still, if you think the lovin' is good with a pizza and a six-pack, just imagine what you might get for this kind of dough.