No disposable containers on the river? No problem. Read Story
The LatestSee All
A Notrees man thinks dousing meat in boiling water is akin to cheating.
A Brownsville woman wants to spend eternity in close proximity to Ma and Pa Ferguson.
A visitor from Iowa was baffled by his recent drive through the Lone Star State.
An Arizona woman just doesn’t get the appeal of Mrs. Baird’s Bread or Hill Country Fare cut green beans.
Plus, a pink-diaper-wearing emotional support pigeon was reunited with its owner.
A Montanan turned Houstonian’s first summer in Texas isn’t going all that well.
A Houston man knows that the Carolina Reaper will cause him pain. He’s worried that it might cause him real harm, too.
In our new video series, David Courtney takes you into some of the weird, whimsical, and lesser-known aspects of our beloved state.
Contrary to popular belief, optimism is neither intrinsic nor a passive disposition. In fact, optimism—choosing to look favorably at what’s possible in any situation—is a choice, a way of seeing the world, an active approach to living life that has real and tangible benefits. We know this trait well in Texas, and at Texas Monthly. Are you ready to put optimism to work for you?
The TexanistSee All
Q: I’m a transplant to Texas from the country’s northern regions, and one thing that has struck me since I got here is that there are virtually no basements in people’s houses. As someone who did a lot of growing up in basements—playing air hockey, watching Fast Times at Ridgemont High a few hundred times, maybe engaging in some occasional necking, etc.—this seems like a major disadvantage of living in Texas. Can… Read Story
Country NotesSee All
Ninety-three-year-old Armando Vasquez tells of a place that used to be.
My cat was a fearless hunter who stalked the countryside—until she squared off with a rattlesnake.
The West Texan has sold more art than Picasso.
Outsiders remain fascinated with unraveling the secrets of this place. But locals can explain, one story at a time.
For these young boxers in West Texas, learning to fight means more than throwing a punch.
Pronghorn were almost perfectly fitted to the West Texas landscape. And then people started building fences.
Twenty years ago, a brown-skinned boy was shot to death near the Rio Grande. What fate awaits my own son?
In West Texas, we've learned to live with our slithery neighbors. Not that we have a choice.