David Buss understands how Stone Age hookups made us who we are—but can that help me get a date?

Each year, some 55,000 talented high school musicians try out for 1,500 chairs at the Super Bowl of band geekery: the Texas Music Educators Association Clinic/Convention in San Antonio. Once upon a time, I made the cut.

Twenty-five years after his death, Sam Hopkins is still one of the most influential bluesmen in history—that much we know. But we don’t know nearly enough about who he was.

How Dirk Fowler became the state’s latest, greatest poster artist.

The best beaches in Texas for—among other summertime pursuits—shelling, strolling, birding, fishing, treasure hunting, turtle herding, solitude, and surfing, dude.

My instructor is a Flabbo Nazi, and other tales from the aerobics wars.

How Ric Williamson became public enemy number one.

A liberal newspaperman in George W. Bush’s backyard.

Why I have James Salter—and Andypants—to thank for my new tattoo.

What the late LBJ confidant Jack Valenti remembered about the longest day of his life.

William Martin reviews our places of worship.

Where have all the cowboys gone?

Fire ants forever. (sigh.)

A historic neighborhood reemerges with a new edge.

Lela Rose on buying a wedding dress.

Free advice for Devin Durant.

The DA and the DNA.

The shirt off your back.

The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas at 25.

“The only way you hit that next level in terms of film persona is to let go and accept the fact that, for better or worse, you’re all you’ve got . . . The camera’s not as concerned with what you are can do as who you are.”