From the heights of the Dallas social heap, they leaped to the national celebrity circuit. Rich, young, and fashionable, Twinkle and Bradley Bayoud are a case study on how to rise to the top.

There are bass in Sam Rayburn Reservoir, and the gals were out to hook ‘em. And Rhonda Wilcox hoped to hook the biggest one of all.

Alice in Wonderland never discovered a mushroom half as exotic as Texas’ own native fungi.

The rudest, crudest, and most obnoxious disc jockeys are on in the mornings. Here’s the best—or the worst—of the lot.

The continuing saga of the Hermann estate scandal was a shocking lesson in how Houston’s most respected philanthropists, civic leaders, and biggest deal makers had abused their power.

When cedars start to mate, Texans start to suffer.

Muddling along in Dallas.

Some new recordings of old symphonies reveal how the composers really wanted things to sound.

Cradle Cap was nothing, diaper rash was a breeze. But when my son brought home head lice—well, it made the plague look good.

“Hiiidee yodelo oh, hodeleh dee whoo,” sang Randy, and I knew I’d found the man for me.

Down and out in Beverly Hills is Mazursky magic; Clan of the Cave Bear is Sheena of the Stone Age; Trouble in Mind is—never mind.

T. R. Fehrenbach’s Lone Star is now a series on public television. Watch it and sleep.

Rio Hondo’s Broadway producer; Boys’ Life’s ripe old age; etiquette’s ups and downs.

Ted Krechel, honorary winter Texan mayor of Pharr, oversees a culture as arcane as a Melanesian cargo cult.

Look into the Houston sky—those helicopters are full of commuters who are having fun.

At the singles bar of the eighties, is it’s not love, it could still be a good investment opportunity.

Look sharp!

Sesquicentennial notes.

How much will $15 oil coast Mark White?; two new R’s for school districts: resistin’ reform; the truth about those bank rumors.

Five-finger exercises.