Behind the Lines
On winning the National Magazine Award.
On winning the National Magazine Award.
A professional educator flunks the test. He asks all the wrong questions and gives the wrong answers.
Austrian artists entered the twentieth century a few years early.
The Alley turns Artichoke into candy. Whorehouse comes to Texas, where it belongs. The audience talks back to Women and Men.
Austin City Limits makes pop music on television worth watching-and listening to. Also, musings on the superiority of Metroplex radio.
The first shot in Clements’ campaign to cut 25,000 state employees fells 68 casualties.
When You Comin’ Back, Red Ryder? was already a bad play before it became a terrible movie.
Good-bye, tacos. Hello, sukiyaki. A few restaurants are showing Texans the art of Japanese cooking.
J. S. Bach thrives in San Antonio and Fort Worth. Austin’s Dickran Atamian proves he’s a better pianist than entrepreneur.
China wants to drill for oil—and guess who knows how.
The medical miasma.
Houston’s Museum of Fine Art resurrects the genius of Mark Rothko. James Surls tries to answer the tricky question: what is Texas art? Amarillo hosts five pioneers of American photography.
The best thing about a trip to Florida is coming back to Padre Island.
Dallas Theater Center welcomes Nazis to its stage. Houston’s Theatre Under the Stars turns Dickens into a funky musical.
Houston guitarist Rocky Hill is a rising star; catch him if you can.
The breads that won the West aren’t getting older, they’re getting better.
Austin and Corpus Christi like their symphony orchestras just fine, thank you. Texas Opera Theater tries to break the language barrier.
Trees came crashing down, power lines writhed on the ground, the lights went out, and the heat went off. It was Dallas’ trial by ice.
Forget the church, forget the steeple, turn on the tube to see all the people.
A farewell to celebrities and to arms.
Barthelme is a humane writer, but in Great Days he erased al his humans. Also, a look at two novels of the Texas hinterlands.
Look, but don’t touch-three museums with glittering antiques from Pompeii, India, and Peru.
Theatre Three in Dallas went out on a limb with their production of Happy End. Oops.
And T-shirts and photos and Elvis’ dinner jacket-all at the first Dallas-Fort Worth Records Collectors’ Convention.
Can a Texas revolutionary find happiness exiled in Europe? Not when his revolution is in Mexico.
Chemical waste disposal sits are environmental time bombs-if they don’t get you know, they’ll get you later.
Clint Eastwood stars in a movie about a macho man with a heart of gold and a sense of humor.
Artistic director Ben Stevenson keeps Houston Ballet on its toes.
The best thing about the weather is complaining about it.
‘Twas the season to see Dallas Civic Opera.
As New Ulm went, so goes New York.
Way down up on the Suwannee River and uptown Saturday night; tracking a few Southern women.
Why can’t grown-up theater be as good as children’s?
The difference between eleven-man and six-man football is a lot more than five men.
At last the truth about beauty salon make-overs: the new you may not be a change for the better.
Last year’s jazz records are this year’s best buys.
French chefs are revolting against classical cuisine, and some of their new creations are definitely revolting.
San Antonio Symphony audiences are ready for another rendezvous with François Huybrechts.
Stone walls do not a prison make.
Old embroidery doesn’t die, it just becomes art.
Alley Theater’s season opener, Scream, was about Jews and Nazis. It was also about how not to run a regional theater.
The Rockefellers are coming, and J.C. Lewis thinks they’re after the American farmer.
Don’t laugh at a model railroader or call his little train a toy.
Music to live in Austin for.
The New York Film Festival is a movie addict’s biggest fix.
If Jesus had tried to feed the multitudes with today’s bread, he would have been drummed out of the miracle business.
Cows are dumb, they eat a lot, and they cost more to raise than they’re worth. Still, you can’t help loving ’em.
Now you like it, now you don’t, now you like it again—Houston Grand Opera’s Norma.
A funny thing happened on the way to the governor’s office.