In some tribal societies, if you save someone's life, that person becomes your servant for the rest of their days. That's kind of how it works at the SPCA. The sad reality is that there are more pets out there than people who want to own them, and those that don't get adopted will eventually be put down, euthanized, put to sleep--pick your euphemism. If you've ever been chased down a Managua alley by a pack of feral dogs, you'll realize why this is necessary. But for an animal lover, it's heartbreaking. One way to help is to support the various organizations that spay and neuter strays, and the SPCA is one of the best. Your adoption fee of around $100 gets you a neutered, fully vaccinated and disease-free pet that will be your faithful and adoring companion, not just because it owes you its life but also because it doesn't know any better.

If we have to hear one more inane radio contest or another DJ promotion for a local LASIK surgeon, we will pull this car over and rip the radio straight from the dash. We swear. While some people would protest that the JACK format is sterile and computerized, we suggest that, more often than not, adding humans to radio only degrades the quality of the music played--when it has devolved to ridiculous DJ banter, endless plugs for this and that or dedications from 14-year-olds, we say let the computers take over. Plus, any computer that plays John Mellencamp immediately following MC Hammer must have a sense of humor.

One important yet overlooked facet of the Wright Amendment debate is the "Wayne's World effect." Eliminating the Wright Amendment's limits on Southwest Airlines flights from Love Field would be an important change for that small subset of humanity that gets its kicks watching jets land from up close. The best spot to do that is Founder's Plaza, a small park near the south end of DFW's main runway set aside just for planespotting. But if the Wright Amendment is repealed, traffic to Love will increase, with some experts predicting a wholesale DFW desertion. In that case, jet-watching junkies will undoubtedly begin to frequent Bachman Lake Park, just north of Love's landing strip. In either case, bring your earplugs.

Isaac Mizrahi has a line of clothing for dogs, and you've bought most of it. Your kitty has different collars for different moods. Your pets eat the highest-quality food. But what of their cultural growth? Lucy needs her horizons broadened with a little Mozart, a little Saint-Saens. This is apparently what 101.1 WRR was thinking when they compiled the Roll Over Beethoven "collection of classical music for pets and the people who love them." Now before you go scoffing at what could seem like a rather zany idea with a $12.99 price tag, notice that the proceeds benefit the SPCA of Texas and Operation Kindness.

A night out in Uptown might convince an alien visitor that human cloning is a thriving industry in Dallas. Deviation from the unrelentingly fratty aesthetic is rare, and opportunities for real conversation are virtually nonexistent. The Ginger Man, however, offers an alternative even as it remains an Uptown mainstay, thanks to its spacious back patio. While the valiant young software designers try to win the hands of the giddy PR consultants by showing their mastery of the impressive array of beers or their prowess at darts inside, folks of different ages or hues preferring to chat under the trees can plop down at the picnic table benches on the patio and jaw away. Of course, the communal seating is also a good way to "accidentally" meet an interesting stranger, but you'd better have something to say for yourself.

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Ozona Bar & Grill 4615 Greenville Ave. 214-265-9105

For years, the diehard fans of the Dallas Burn (now FC Dallas) struggled to create some kind of atmosphere in the cavernous Cotton Bowl. Not surprisingly, the professional soccer team's two booster groups, La Raza Latina and The Inferno, became experts in all aspects of soccer pageantry: singing, waving flags, wearing funny hats. But above all, they drum--on snares, bongos, bass, even those harnessed "quad toms" from band camp. Sometimes together, sometimes taking turns soloing, the two groups filled the giant stadium with thunder. Now, in their new, cozy Frisco home, their job will be a lot easier, but one thing will stay the same. After every victory, the groups will gather behind the stands and pound away until the lights go out, a la brasilena, joined by dozens of revelers moved by the irresistible rhythms or perhaps the giant plastic cups of beer. Either way, this beats a hippie drum circle.

Why do people crowd onto streetside patios in Dallas? Do we love the acrid smell of exhaust, the damp spray of misters turning well-gelled hair into sticky slime or the possibility that someone whipping by at 40 mph will recognize us and droop in envy? None of that's possible at Daniele Osteria, the comfortable Italian spot tucked underneath the Bank One building on Oak Lawn Avenue. It's below street level, so your friends can't spy you unless they stroll along the sidewalk and glance down into the concrete dugout that makes up the patio. The place draws very little wind and reflects heat, so forget about summertime, but when temps cool, however, it's a spacious outdoor room with trees, a few garden benches and plenty of distance between tables. In the fall they project old movies on the whitewashed walls bordering the cavity. No sound, just something to distract you from your date's pointless babbling about family or American Idol.

Ever just sit back and watch Adam Salazar work? We have, largely because we were propped up against the bar. This guy serves a good drink, no matter the cocktail. He knows alcohol and all the intricacies of running a bar. Remembers names and faces, too. No other bartender can claim his following, which includes people of various age groups and geographic locations. He can handle high-volume jobs but speaks with some authority on the important barroom topics, as well--sports, babes, etc. What's really interesting when you're clinging to the bar watching him work is the understated, easy and almost graceful way he arrays empty glasses, flicks bottles from the well and pours multiple drinks, all while scanning the room and laughing with customers. It bespeaks a man of experience, a professional.

A few years back, entrepreneur Todd Wagner was looking for philanthropic ways to spend his billions. He and Mark Cuban had just sold Broadcast.com to Yahoo and now Wagner had the Foundation for Community Empowerment on the phone, asking for a local nonprofit that was really making a difference in the area. Head to Oak Cliff, the foundation said. Find Greg Hatley. Out of his garage, Hatley taught kids how to box. But he didn't just teach boxing; he taught boys to be men. And he didn't just teach any kids. He found the worst: the truants running the streets, lucky if they had one parent to raise them, luckier still if that parent had a job. Hatley somehow could turn that kid's life around. Impressed with Hatley, Wagner built him a barn of a gym in Lancaster. Today, Li'l Chris, Brutus, any fighter at the Oak Cliff Boxing Club--they all say the same thing: Coach saved my life.

Inspired by The Food Network's Iron Chef, Iron Bartender presents its drink slingers with quite a challenge: They draw two liquors out of a hat and then have five minutes to turn those ingredients into a kick-ass cocktail. The performance is then rated by a panel of judges, who are a group of highly trained and highly discerning individuals--and we're not just saying that because we were one of them. Patrons get to sample all of the concoctions, and it seems like everyone has a great time. At least we think so. The last time we were there, we woke up the next morning wearing a tiara and someone else's clothes. Iron Bartender takes place occasionally and at the whim of the guys who run Down Bar and Lounge. So pay attention.