Kyle Janek, a West U anesthesiologist, knocked off former GOP county chair Gary Polland by a decisive 66-34 percent margin in the spring primary for State Senate District 17, effectively putting to sleep Polland's incipient political career. Janek also may have ended Polland's reign as political payout king of the Harris County courts, where Republican judges for years have showered the defense attorney with lucrative appointments to represent indigent defendants. Janek, a rock-ribbed conservative, had to weather a Polland campaign attack that accused him of being a "left-winger." When Republican voters stopped laughing, they went to the polls and voted Janek.

This 40-year-old native Houstonian went public with his battle with severe depression in 1994, and since then he's become a leader in public health care legislation. He's been repeatedly lauded by Texas Monthly in its yearly evaluation of lawmakers and honored by the Texas Medical Association. After disclosing his illness, Coleman began taking antidepressants to control his condition. Last year the legislator was arrested on charges of assaulting the owner of a Montessori school attended by his children. He eventually pled to a misdemeanor and apologized to the man. Coleman denies that the incident was related to his mental illness. Associates point to family history: Coleman's father, the late Dr. John Coleman, a political kingmaker in Houston's black community, was famous for his temper. Coleman also may be taking up the kingmaking role of his dad. He was heavily involved in the campaign of Ada Edwards for the District D City Council seat last fall. Although most of the heavy hitters in the black community went with her opponent, Gerald Womack, Coleman's candidate won.

Shelley Sekula-Gibbs feels compelled to add her personal two cents to anything any citizen happens to say during the City Council public session. A dermatologist, Sekula-Gibbs has also appointed herself the resident expert on all matters medical. Like any gadfly, she means well but can drive colleagues up the wall with her time-consuming gab.

Retiring Harris County elections supervisor Tony Sirvello, a veteran at the county for two decades and a favorite with media, oversaw the computerization of county election returns as well as the installation of a new computerized voting system to replace the much-maligned "hanging chad" punch ballots. He wanted to stay through the fall general election, but County Clerk Beverly Kaufman decided otherwise, forcing his resignation. Sirvello won the respect of Houston political reporters and campaign consultants through his accessibility and nonpartisan handling of his job. The jury's still out on Kaufman's new election crew. It took three people to replace him. Can they fill his capacious shoes? Wait and see; time will cast its vote.

Brenda Flynn Flores, an Arkansas-born mother of ten, is the electronic bullhorn for a group of municipal workers who call themselves "The Silent Voice." Since HOUSNITCH's founding three years ago, hundreds of would-be whistle-blowers have found a forum to vent their grievances -- and internal documents -- for all to see. Flores, nicknamed Juera, or Blondie, is far from perfect, and at times the Web site has seemed more like an out-of-control attack vehicle for her political allies, like District A Councilman Bruce Tatro. Nevertheless, Flores continues to be a thorn in the side of complacent city bureaucrats and incompetent public works managers. Long may she snitch!

The beauty of Houston, in a perverted way, is the wealth of opportunities for individuals to rise up amid corruption and misconduct and take their moral stand, consequences be damned. Just in the last year, there was the implosion of Enron, the callous cunning of Arthur Andersen and the market manipulations from other energy companies here. So has the Bayou City's moral backbone gone to the dogs? In this Best of Houston winner, we're proud to say it has. Sam Levingston, a 72-year-old veterinarian at the city's animal pound, wouldn't remain quiet about reports of atrocities: workers viciously mistreating dogs and cats, holding them under water with choke sticks. At least once, they even washed puppies down the drains of their cages. His investigations and reports to supervisors got him fired. He then had to endure the backlash of city allegations that he'd been canned for incompetence. While a pound spokeswoman continues to deny the awful actions there, a jury heard the facts -- and hit the city with a $1.2 million verdict. For Houston's sake, let's hope there are more Sam Levingstons in local government.

Bob "Alwalee" Lee proclaims himself "Da Mayor of Fifth Ward." This retired social worker is already a legend in his northeast Houston community for his person-to-person efforts to help the disabled and elderly. And he's backed by a prime political connection. His brother is none other than Harris County Commissioner El Franco Lee. Those on Da Mayor's mailing list are also treated to a stream of politically oriented collages that poke fun at everyone from preacher pimps to former Enron chairman Ken Lay. He has labeled State Senator Rodney Ellis an "honorary white boy" and skewered former city councilman Michael Yarbrough as "Yardboy." A recent mailout pictures Houston City Councilman Michael Berry and Congressman Tom DeLay, while blasting "opportunistic white politicians who chase our votes by kissing black babies, old folks and pretending to like fried chitlins."

Most fixations require cross-dressing midgets, trailer-park love triangles or an element of Satan worship to be worthy of the tabloid TV circuit. But the odd obsession of this industrial filmmaker is a touchy-feely affair. Yaqi, who derives his name from Carlos Castaneda's Teachings of Don Juan: A Yaqui Way of Knowledge, believes tickling is the road to enlightenment. Yes, there's some tying to bedposts involved (his subjects can't be allowed to get away, now, can they?), and they are videotaped in their underwear (the skin must be exposed, you see, for his wandering fingers to have the maximum effect). But when all's considered, this fetish is about as benign as they come, yet is still strange enough to have made this New Age pornographer a regular on Howard Stern, and to be featured by other chroniclers of weirdness on MTV and elsewhere.

Soudavar flew back from a visit with her Iranian relatives to find a greeting party of HPD robbery detectives at Bush Intercontinental Airport awaiting her arrival. A friend, Christina Girard, had ratted Soudavar out to the police for allegedly stealing some pricey earrings and a watch from her home and peddling the baubles at a posh Galleria resale shop. Soudavar wound up spending several days in Harris County's five-star jail while authorities investigated her immigration status. She fared better in Judge Jim Wallace's court, pleading guilty to misdemeanor theft in exchange for a year's probation and 80 hours of community service -- all to be served in Paris, France. Quelle horreur!

Bo is his real name, Pumbaa his stage name. Our zoo was able to acquire the five-year-old critter from a Denver zoo with a little help from Disney. The corporation felt, not unreasonably, that the Lion King franchise would benefit if thousands of parents dragged their offspring past his pen and said, "Look, it's Pumbaa." An actual warthog, however, offers more lessons than the flatulent fictional beast. Warthogs take no guff from anyone. Not on the savanna -- in their natural habitat warthogs use their impressive tusks to drive cheetahs away from fresh kills. Not in the zoo -- he interacts well with his keepers, but Bo is sometimes shirty with his pygmy hippo neighbors. Though slimmer and leggier than your average pig, the warthog is no beauty and entirely unconcerned about appearance. Most mornings, Bo can be seen trotting around his pen with his puny tail -- in characteristic warthog style -- straight up in the air. Despite his double-ugly name, a warthog is happy as long as he has mud for wallowing and plenty of grasses and tubers for nibbling.