If all you want is a few minutes in front of a working microphone, this odd little venue has nearly cornered the market on the open-mike night. Their weekly 8:30 p.m. Wednesday slot has hosted everyone from Native American poet Soldier Blue to the "Gay Poet Laureate" Howard Mikehael, and was the platform that sent the Houston Poetry Slam Team off to the national competition in Minneapolis. The reading is followed by its bawdier counterpart, the O.P.P. poetry open mike at 11, where you'll hear everything from feminist porn to guys lamenting their wish to be lesbians. And that's just the poetry. Monday nights, while DJs spin jazzy varieties of house for a chess tournament on the first floor (the coolest concept night outside San Francisco), the Trade leads a jazz open-mike upstairs. Aspiring blues musicians flock to the 9 p.m. Tuesday jam sessions, and musicians of all stripes have the chance to play a few bars at 9 p.m. on Thursdays. The talent varies, but the location is steady and reliable.

When beautiful badass Karen Finely came to town, theatergoers lined up at the door for a ticket to Theater LaB to see the woman that British tabloids have called "the high priestess of pornography." It was clear that some of the lone men who stood in the moonlight waiting to see the show were not your average theater fans. Once they got hold of their programs, they clutched them tight, in sweaty palms, eagerly looking around with grins on their twitching faces. Of course, it makes perfect sense that Finely would attract the odd weirdo here and there. She became famous by getting naked and making Jesse Helms mad for being so darned "obscene." But while the Theater LaB production of Shut Up and Love Me featured a very naked Finely slathering herself with pitchers of golden honey, the show hardly seemed obscene. Mostly, it was funny. The feminist, who rails against the way women are objectified, riffed on everything from incest to bad art. In the end, though, there she was, in all her naked glory, honey dripping down her belly and sliding down her lovely thighs. Every freak in the place went home happy.

When beautiful badass Karen Finely came to town, theatergoers lined up at the door for a ticket to Theater LaB to see the woman that British tabloids have called "the high priestess of pornography." It was clear that some of the lone men who stood in the moonlight waiting to see the show were not your average theater fans. Once they got hold of their programs, they clutched them tight, in sweaty palms, eagerly looking around with grins on their twitching faces. Of course, it makes perfect sense that Finely would attract the odd weirdo here and there. She became famous by getting naked and making Jesse Helms mad for being so darned "obscene." But while the Theater LaB production of Shut Up and Love Me featured a very naked Finely slathering herself with pitchers of golden honey, the show hardly seemed obscene. Mostly, it was funny. The feminist, who rails against the way women are objectified, riffed on everything from incest to bad art. In the end, though, there she was, in all her naked glory, honey dripping down her belly and sliding down her lovely thighs. Every freak in the place went home happy.

They all turned out for the opening: clowns, artists, drunks, Santa Clauses, strippers…and none of those categories was mutually exclusive. Organized by Paul Horn and Dolan Smith (sporting a ringmaster costume), the one-night-only Vegas-meets-Ringling Bros. art extravaganza/bacchanal took over the entire 80th floor of the Holiday Inn Select, except for the rooms occupied by one unfortunate and horrified wedding party. In a staggering act of faith, the hotel rented the artists suites and blocks of rooms, saying, "Well, you can't be any worse than the drag queen pageant." It was a hell of a party, with art in the bathtubs, art hanging from the chandeliers and stolen art. Clowns played strip poker, pillow fights broke out, DJs spun and people watched porn in the art-filled guest rooms, all accompanied by inordinate amounts of drinking and smoking. Aurora Picture Show's Carlos Lama had a digital karaoke machine wired to his wheelchair and fronted a motley chorus line of bombed Kris Kringles, fat guys in streaked clown makeup and scantily dressed women with his inspired rendition of "I Love Rock and Roll" -- and that was all before 10 p.m.

They all turned out for the opening: clowns, artists, drunks, Santa Clauses, strippers…and none of those categories was mutually exclusive. Organized by Paul Horn and Dolan Smith (sporting a ringmaster costume), the one-night-only Vegas-meets-Ringling Bros. art extravaganza/bacchanal took over the entire 80th floor of the Holiday Inn Select, except for the rooms occupied by one unfortunate and horrified wedding party. In a staggering act of faith, the hotel rented the artists suites and blocks of rooms, saying, "Well, you can't be any worse than the drag queen pageant." It was a hell of a party, with art in the bathtubs, art hanging from the chandeliers and stolen art. Clowns played strip poker, pillow fights broke out, DJs spun and people watched porn in the art-filled guest rooms, all accompanied by inordinate amounts of drinking and smoking. Aurora Picture Show's Carlos Lama had a digital karaoke machine wired to his wheelchair and fronted a motley chorus line of bombed Kris Kringles, fat guys in streaked clown makeup and scantily dressed women with his inspired rendition of "I Love Rock and Roll" -- and that was all before 10 p.m.

The level of local contemporary dance rose several notches when Jane Weiner came to town in 1997. She brought with her ten years of dancing with Doug Elkins's company and gave generously of her art and talent. She danced, she taught, she networked with other artists. She created her own company, Hope Stone, to perform original works of her own. Somehow, in between all that, she also helped care for her sister, Susan, who was recovering from breast cancer. Then the two of them started Pink Ribbons: Dancers in Motion Against Breast Cancer. They put the fun back in fund-raising, throwing galas at the Wortham Theater Center with fabulous dancers and fairy-tale decorations. Thus far, they've raised a half-million dollars for breast cancer awareness, testing and treatment. Art and saving lives: It's all in a day's work for Weiner.

The level of local contemporary dance rose several notches when Jane Weiner came to town in 1997. She brought with her ten years of dancing with Doug Elkins's company and gave generously of her art and talent. She danced, she taught, she networked with other artists. She created her own company, Hope Stone, to perform original works of her own. Somehow, in between all that, she also helped care for her sister, Susan, who was recovering from breast cancer. Then the two of them started Pink Ribbons: Dancers in Motion Against Breast Cancer. They put the fun back in fund-raising, throwing galas at the Wortham Theater Center with fabulous dancers and fairy-tale decorations. Thus far, they've raised a half-million dollars for breast cancer awareness, testing and treatment. Art and saving lives: It's all in a day's work for Weiner.

Native Dubliner Robert Cremins is an English teacher at Strake Jesuit College Prep, and likely the sort of man of whom his alter ego, Tom Iremonger, would not have approved. Iremonger, the protagonist in Cremins's A Sort of Homecoming, is a pill-popping, hard-drinking, womanizing, inheritance-squandering young nihilist fresh back in Celtic Tiger Ireland after six months' debauchery on the Continent. According to an Irish ad campaign, he is also "Ireland's greatest resource." The first face Iremonger sees on his return from Europe is his own on a poster. Nevertheless, his swollen ego soon takes a battering as he realizes that he is not as sophisticated as he thinks, nor is his country as provincial as he believes nor his long-suffering girlfriend as faithful as he had assumed. Cremins's novel is among the first in a new subgenre in Irish fiction that concerns itself not with rural starving drunkards nor Dublin's huddled masses but rather with freshly minted Dublin high society. The Times of London said that the author has "the smart touch of a young Martin Amis."

Native Dubliner Robert Cremins is an English teacher at Strake Jesuit College Prep, and likely the sort of man of whom his alter ego, Tom Iremonger, would not have approved. Iremonger, the protagonist in Cremins's A Sort of Homecoming, is a pill-popping, hard-drinking, womanizing, inheritance-squandering young nihilist fresh back in Celtic Tiger Ireland after six months' debauchery on the Continent. According to an Irish ad campaign, he is also "Ireland's greatest resource." The first face Iremonger sees on his return from Europe is his own on a poster. Nevertheless, his swollen ego soon takes a battering as he realizes that he is not as sophisticated as he thinks, nor is his country as provincial as he believes nor his long-suffering girlfriend as faithful as he had assumed. Cremins's novel is among the first in a new subgenre in Irish fiction that concerns itself not with rural starving drunkards nor Dublin's huddled masses but rather with freshly minted Dublin high society. The Times of London said that the author has "the smart touch of a young Martin Amis."

This bar is located in the heart of River Oaks, and we're always leery of anyplace called a "saloon" that sits amid so much gentrification. But our doubts vanished the moment we saw the sign off San Felipe boasting a "large TV." Next, when the barmaid announced, "What can I get you, honey?" like an oral history of the South itself, we knew this place was genuine. The clientele isn't all River Oaks, either, but a mix of folks from all walks of Houston life who know a good thing when they drink in it. If you wanna play pool, though, you may have to wait; the Roll'N runs a bit short on tables (there's only one). But folks go there for the relaxed mood, the friendly staff and the great atmosphere. The drinks are pretty good, too.