For the past 20 years, the third weekend in April has brought the wildest beach party in the South. Everyone still calls it the Kappa Beach Party, but its official name is the Texas Beach Party. Started by Kappa Alpha Psi, an African-American fraternity, this fiesta has united fraternities and sororities from across the country. But, of course, liquor, college students, Galveston police and thongs don't mix too well, so the Kappas pulled their sponsorship from the event in the mid-'90s, leaving everybody with a forgettable beach party name and unforgettable memories ("what happens at the Kappa stays at the Kappa"). As soon as springtime comes along, folks start hitting 24 Hour Fitness to get fine for this weekend. If you've never seen a thong before, you'll find many examples at the Kappa. Mardi Gras didn't provide enough drunken foolery for ya? Hit the Kappa.
We're hoping this year has less drama than last. After complaints in past years about racism and police harassment, the organizers of the Texas Beach Party seem to have worked things out. Concerts, pool parties and celebrity appearances have been scheduled to the hilt. Roy Jones Jr., Choppa and Scarface will be rapping along the seawall, while the revelers on East Beach will be drinking legally. (Remember, it's illegal to drink on the seawall.) Don't start no shit, won't be no shit. Friday through Sunday, April 16 through 18. Galveston. For information, call 409-763-6564 or visit www.kappabeachfest.com. Free. -- Felicia Johnson-LeBlanc
THE STAG'S HEAD'S ABSOLUT AND SODA
The night should have been caught on tape. I met an old friend for drinks so we could catch up on who was sleeping with whom. She wasn't doing a whole lot of talking, but egged me on to spill the beans about two girls I'd been carrying on with at the same time. I must have come off as a pompous ass, because what followed definitely put me in my place. The dump we were at was a bore, so we dropped in at the Stag's Head Pub (2128 Portsmouth, 713-533-1199) and proceeded to get completely shit-faced. Every time I turned around, we had another round of Absolut and sodas in front of us, but the second I looked away, she'd be gone! At first it was rather amusing. She'd introduce me to some good ol' boys she knew, get me engaged in some dumb-ass conversation, and then ditch me to go hit on some guy around the corner. Then she'd reappear, call out for more drinks, and get me talking to yet another fat bastard I barely knew. By the time we were playing darts with some Aussie, I couldn't even stand up. I wasn't sure if she'd found the right guy or not, but it damn sure wasn't me. Last call produced two more drinks, at which point she yelled at me and then left in a cab. I stood there drunk and speechless, watching her take off into the night, and then I crawled into the back of my truck.
2 ounces Absolut vodka
3 ounces soda water
Take a pint glass and fill it with ice. Measure out vodka (at least for the first couple of rounds) and top off with soda water. Not the kind of libation you need a paper umbrella for, and if you're thinking lime wedge here, don't waste your time. Revenge sucks. -- J.W. Crooker
Recipe for Sexy
Start with beautiful people and beautiful clothes. Then throw downtown's ultraswank M Bar in the mix, and you've got the makings of a pretty steamy happening. The Spring 2004 Fashion Showcase, a forecast for what's hot this season, is all about pretty: "You've got pretty girls, pretty boys, and they're all there to look good," says organizer Michael Malik of M2M fashions. In-house DJ Mike Masters waxes in the upstairs, while DJ Soul Train spins below. If checking out lines from Dolce & Gabbana or Armani Jeans isn't your thing, grab a drink and chat up a model. 9 p.m. to 11 p.m. Friday, April 16. M Bar, 402 Main. For information, call 713-222-1022. $10. -- Steven Devadanam
Stick "deep house" right up there with some of the great oxymora of late: "reality series," "natural blond," "compassionate conservative." Deep house isn't deep. It's buoyant, fluffy, playful. You walk in ready to get sweaty and, if the DJ gets the job done, you stagger out more booty-shaken than soul-stirred. Or, hell, maybe you do have a religious moment on the dance floor. At any rate, count on Jay-J to get the job done. Homeboy's been holding it down for the better part of a decade in San Francisco, an ironic mecca for the sun-soaked sound. On this go-round, Jay-J will be spinning to promote his new volume in the "Loveslapped" series. Local decknicians Little Martin and Brotha Jibril open. 9:30 p.m. Saturday, April 17. Union, 202 Tuam. For information, call 713-529-5296. $10. -- Michael Serazio