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.

Something about those big old whatever-they-are whole fish with the gnarly teeth and frozen eyeballs in the seafood department, and you know you're not in a white-bread Anglo-two-shoes store anymore when you come to Fiesta. Mariachi music on the PA system, a light sprinkling of lettuce fragments on the floor, the world's most complete assortment of hot sauces, babies speaking Spanish to their grandmas: This is the place to come when you need a break from Martha Stewart. And Fiesta has waaay better shrimp than the gringo stores.

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.

When the missus said she was taking the kid to a beach in Fort Worth, well, let's say we wondered if she was in any state to drive around the block, much less to Tarrant County. But damned if she wasn't right: In the middle of nowhere, and about 50 years back in time, sits a 30-acre park known as Burger's Lake, where two sandy beaches lay alongside a one-acre spring-fed lake. Dangling over it is a 25-foot trapeze. Say wha? Add to that six diving boards and a 20-foot water slide, and it sounds like a little bit of paradise. And kids love it, no matter the age. The water's clean, the air cool even in the dead of summer (so much shade) and the vibe peaceful and safe (all the lifeguards are certified). And there are more than 300 picnic tables, as well as countless charcoal grills, which means you can arrive early and stay late and still wonder where the time's gone. To 1954, we reckon. Timeless. Only downside: It's open Mother's Day through Labor Day, and no booze allowed.

Readers' Pick

Six Flags Over Texas

2201 Road to Six Flags, Arlington

817-530-6000

www.sixflags.com

If you're into Mexican or seafood, or Mexican seafood, you'll be into La Acapulquena, an unassuming little place that bumps up against a laundry. Which comes in handy if you start playing fast and loose with the salsa. But the real draw here is the mariachi duo that makes its way around the restaurant at night, providing a pleasant soundtrack to a pleasant meal. Plus, on the way home, you'll probably be in the mood to recite a few of your favorite lines from Three Amigos (pretty much anything El Guapo says, for example), and that's always a good thing.

White Rock Lake meets our short list of essential criteria for a perfect picnic spot. It's clean and close by, with choice scenery, and hardly anyone ever gets murdered there. White Rock Lake spans 1,873 acres and offers so many interesting venues, it would be tough to get tired of it as a picnic paradise. People fish, feed the ducks, walk, run, bike, sightsee, bird-watch, paddle and sail, enjoying the water, six playgrounds, 11 miles of trails, Dallas' first dog park and historic buildings such as Bath House Cultural Center, created in the 1930s.

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.

Consider Sambuca the Rafael Palmeiro of local nightclubs, a consistent and sometimes exceptional performer that is constantly overshadowed. Forget about jazz joints: No one else in this city, no one else in Fort Worth or Denton or Plano or wherever even comes close, save for Sambuca's other location in Addison. Here's the deal: The acts are always solid, and the atmosphere is even better. If there's something else that makes for a good jazz club (or a good club, period), then we must not know about it. Or, more likely, it doesn't really matter. There's no spot better than Sambuca, and none more versatile: The music is great whether you're looking for a soundtrack or a solo, whether you want it in the background or right up front. It's an oasis in a city full of empty water coolers. And like Palmeiro, Sambuca is having a Hall of Fame career even though it will probably never be MVP.

Most Italian liqueurs are mean-spirited, bitter things. If they don't kill you outright, they'll most certainly crinkle your skin. At the very least, Campari, Fernet Branca and the like will make hair sprout from a man's ears and cause women to grow mustaches. That's why mirto, available at Arcodoro & Pomodoro, is such a surprise. A viscous, deep red product of the myrtle berry, it buries all but a hint of bitter zing behind a unique flavor best described as fruity, but not sweet--almost like Crunchberries without the sugar coating (and without the Cap'n Crunch). The restaurant serves it chilled, which further mutes any unpleasant bitterness. Remember, flavors open up when you allow a drink to warm. Certain things, such as vodka or Bud Light or the aforementioned liqueurs, develop some rather nasty characteristics as they open. Mirto, on the other hand, remains wonderfully subdued.