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.
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?
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.
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.
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.
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.