Larry Buchanan made movies that were so cheap, so incredibly flawed, and so dumb, they’re lovingly celebrated as the worst movies ever made. And he made them all in Dallas.
Chanel boaters! Street bras! Step right up for a peek at this summer’s French-inspired fashions.
I smoked marijuana all day every day for several years. It took me almost a year to quit—and now I wonder if I’ll ever get straight.
Texas universities take their knocks and learn their lessons from the best in the country.
They’re the oldest foes and the biggest rivals. Now the contest has moved into the arena that really counts—the classroom.
Everyone agreed it was time for greatness at UT. But after a nationwide search for a new president, the only man the regents could agree on was a campus insider who professed no great vision at all.
So long, OPEC. So long, $27 oil. The Merc is king now.
Yesterday those onions and carrots were in the ground. Today they’re on your table, thanks to Texas’ bountiful roadside fruit and vegetable stands.
Here are some pin pals you’ll want to get to know.
A boondoggle for coal means more trouble for natural gas; the Houston Chronicle doesn’t rate with HL&P; defense lawyers judge a judge.
The Dallas movie board is antiquated and eccentric, like a wacky uncle.
At the Crescent’s opening, old, excessive Texas came face to face with new, designer Texas.
Somervell County suffers an identity crisis; an Alamo freak takes twenty years to build a diorama; Merlin Tuttle is batty.
Bobby Jack Nelson—roughneck, cowhand, prospector, and Australian talk show host—is also a fine novelist; Larry L. King writes about writing.
Photographer Robert Frank held up a mirror to America. Now Houston’s Museum of Fine Arts turns the mirror on him.
A Room With a View takes in edifying sights; Gung Ho settles for schmaltz; Just Between Friends makes glib chat.