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.

There is no spot we know of where the soul (some would say soullessness) of Dallas is on display more than at the West Village on Saturday night. Young, toned bodies fitted into stretch-fabric outfits. Quick and quicker gaits. Grand entrances. Primo automobiles. If your Benz is in the shop and you're stuck for the night with the Aerostar van, you'd better park it three blocks away, maybe by the trash bin behind Texas Land & Cattle Co. Among the chic restaurants, bars and grown-up movie theater, there's a lot in this quarter to attract the attractive. Former Mayor Ron Kirk once famously said that nobody comes to Dallas for the scenery; people come here to get rich. He was dead right, with at least one qualification. People come here to at least look rich, and when that's on the agenda, this is definitely the place.

The last time we were there, Cosmo's was buzzing with so much chatter and laughter that it was hard to know where to begin our conversation. We watched another fellow on the other side of the bar checking out the waitress. He told us later that this was his nightspot after leaving work on Greenville Avenue. The waitress caught his eye because he was bedazzled by the "architecture of her ass." In the front of the room by the doors, a birthday party was in full motion. To the delight of that group and much of the bar, the birthday boy was doing his best to improvise new steps to "Billie Jean." Everybody still loves Michael Jackson. But a group of ladies in the back of the room made everyone's night by reminding us, in a jukebox sing-along, "What's Love Got to Do With It?" What better testament is there to the power of a juke?

Dog park folk are a different breed. Parents who put down a bowl of cool water in a dog park don't expect their dog to be the only one privy to it. They may put it down in front of little Oliver, but they're happy for Skids, Blue and Gracie to partake. Moms and dads of canines who think enough of their pup to take her to the park are flat-out considerate, and at the White Rock Lake park, that consideration is evident as humans watch out for their own pals and everyone else's. We've seen at least seven humans bolt to help keep a dog from sneaking past the first of two gates. The dog park is a more intimate setting than regular parks where kids are on alert for strangers and parents generally cut the conversation with "Hi, is this your sippy cup?" Www.dallasdogparks.org actually has a pet bio section where owners can look up other dogs they meet and find out when they usually go, you know, so Fido can play with his buddy again. Though, it's nice if it helps the parents make human friends, too.

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.

There are busier happy hours; there are more tricked-up happy hours. But we're partial to this one because it's simply classy and smart--not unlike us. From 4 p.m. to 7 p.m., all draft beers are half-price. No muss, no fuss. The place is nice enough to bring a date or a client but not so stuffy that you can't walk right up to the bar and order a Bud Light, if you like your beer old-school. If you need to nosh while you sip, the appetizers are great, and the wood-fired pizza is delicious (the "M" gimmick they use on the menu, in which they come up with several clever names using the letter, is a bit much, but we'll let it slide). The waitstaff is attentive and friendly, the drinks cold, the bartenders knowledgeable. All of which makes us happy, happy.

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!"

Whether you're looking for a romantic escape or just a respite from the big-city traffic and street repairs, the Baroness Inn is only a 45-minute drive away. Host Evelyn Williams offers visitors a taste of yesteryear's peace and quiet with all the modern conveniences. For prices ranging from $100 to $160 per night, you can sleep in the comfort of billowy linens, soak in your in-room whirlpool, then lounge in the plush robe you'll be provided. Williams serves a gourmet breakfast, complete with fresh baked bread and buttermilk scones, at the civilized hour of 9:30 a.m. --and you're invited to raid the fridge for ice cream or dip into the always-filled cookie jar at any time. If you want to get out and about, bicycles are available. The pace is nice and slow, so plan to veg out.

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.

Whether you've got a kid or just feel like one, the model trains at Children's Medical Center look really cool. More than a half-dozen trains run on an elaborate set of tracks complete with landscaping that includes mountains and a variety of scenery. There is no charge to view the trains, and if you don't spend more than an hour there, you can park for free.