Stepping into the large building of T.H. Rogers school a mile or so west of the Galleria is almost always an uplifting experience. First there's the incredible mix of students: The school's a magnet program, so every socioeconomic level is represented; it's both an elementary and a middle school, so there's a wide range of ages; and it's home to programs for both talented-and-gifted kids and those who are deaf or otherwise impaired. Second, there's the reason these varied groups all mix happily: the dedicated and enthusiastic teachers and staff. It's definitely one of HISD's finest success stories.

Directly across the street from Lamar High School is the place to find out what the kids are wearing, what they're listening to and what's cool. Rid your mind of all of the negative press about teenagers these days, and go hang out at 31 Flavors. You'll meet friendly, open, intelligent kids who, according to the staff there, do nothing wrong, just buy lots of ice cream. The girls dress like J. Lo and the guys like Vin Diesel. They may appear unapproachable, but that's not the case. Buy a cone, sit down and start a conversation. When they're sure you're not a cop or a narc, a surprisingly pleasant conversation will ensue.

Okay, it's not really a room, per se, but the huge trophy case next to the front entrance of this old school holds bizarre and fascinating pieces of Houston memorabilia. Track-and-field trophies from the '20s sit alongside photographs of generations of local junior-highers with funny haircuts who brought home the brass for good ol' LMS. There are women's trophies from way back when, for archery, cheerleading, etc. What's most interesting is how the representations of winning athletes change over time, from clearly male and clearly female to genderless, then back again. It's an odd window into our ever-changing perception of athletes, both male and female.

As the song goes, "Ain't nothin' like the real thing." If you're doing a dino-party, you really can't beat the ambience of celebrating amid actual dinosaurs. Consider the price regularly paid to set up moonwalks and hire magicians and hungover clowns. Then consider cleaning it all up off a suburban lawn. Think about it too long and you're likely to have an anxiety attack. Calm down. Take deep breaths. Rent out the Houston Museum of Natural Science paleontology hall instead. Comparatively, it's a reasonable expense. For $1,500, the birthday boy or girl and friends can enjoy cake and punch in the presence of ceratopsian (a.k.a. triceratops), a giant pterosaur and the infamous T. Rex. Guests are free to explore the exhibits on the first floor, but special parties do not include the perk of flaunting the "do not touch" rules. Want more structure? Space Mission parties in the Challenger Learning Center start at $200. Up to 20 children (with a couple of helpers per child) can enjoy a mission during museum hours.

The Nutcracker ballet matinee performance just before Christmas is kid central. Any fidgeting, screaming, crying or other nontraditional theater behavior by your offspring will disturb only the other, already harried, parents. Afterward, take them backstage to meet the dancers. All are welcome. A six-year-old we know got her ballet shoes signed, took them home, built an impromptu shrine to them and didn't stop talking about the encounter until after Valentine's Day.

Whether you're going north or south, get your kicks for free anytime you like with hot merging action. Spin out into the frenetic traffic after taking a hairpin curve on this wily on-ramp. Feel your senses come alive with the zooms, whirs and honks of passersby. Recent landscaping on the north side raises the stakes by obscuring the uphill view of other drivers. Think of it as a putt-putt course -- for motorists. Or maybe as a living version of Frogger, and you're the frog, but this time you have your own set of wheels. Take a deep breath, keep both eyes open, check your blind spot and space cushion, and remember: Driving is a privilege. Get yer Fahrvergnügen on, baby. Vin Diesel's got nothing on you.

After Tropical Storm Allison, the Wortham Theater Center, home of the ballet and opera, had six feet of water in its basement. The two bottom floors of the Alley Theatre were totally submerged, ruining the stage, rehearsal hall and electrical systems. Jones Hall, home of Society for the Performing Arts and the Houston Symphony, was so full of water that desks floated away and expensive musical instruments were ruined. But the can-do spirit of the city prevailed, and a little over a year later, things are not only back to normal, they might be better than before. While the cancellation of some performances was inevitable, the arts groups got back on track as soon as possible (the symphony, for example, presented all its summer concerts at substitute locations). Jones Hall reopened in September; the Alley used the opportunity to enlarge its restrooms and lobby and work wonders with its smaller Neuhaus Stage. Under the guidance of Barry Mandel, executive director of the Theater District, and with the assistance of donations and federal funds, the city's arts groups truly embodied that dear old sentiment: The show must go on.

Galveston needed a four-star hotel, and the San Luis gave it one, complete with a truly fabulous steak house (one of the top ten in Texas), a completely redesigned pool area with swim-up bar, and all the little niceties any sophisticate would expect. What you might not expect, but what you do get nonetheless at this upper-crust refuge, is good old-fashioned Texas friendliness. Even the room service attendants remember your name and stop to chat about the weather and what's going on around the island.

If you want to see really funny pictures of your friends, and possibly yourself, making waves in Houston's nightlife, this is the site to visit. There are pages and pages of pics from Houston's clubs and their raucous partyers. From the Lotus Lounge to the Social, you can peruse photo albums of people gettin' jiggy with it. Some of you should log on just to make sure there's no incriminating evidence on you. If you have a friend coming to H-town who's looking for the lowdown on the hottest party spots, send 'em here. It's interesting to see how the nights progress (these pics are not for the faint of heart). If anyone should say Houstonians don't know how to get their groove on, the Pimp will prove them wrong with a bitch-slappin', off-the-hook site.

Face it. Even the friskiest Fido eventually gets bored doing those leg lifts in the same old neighborhood spots. And the Great Dane becomes mundane when marking the same trees day in, day out. The leash, uh, least one can do is break the monotony with a pilgrimage to every mutt's mecca. There's an hour or so drive involved, but that just gives the dog the necessary time to muster up that once-in-a-lifetime leak. Pack him in the car and head east on Interstate 10 to Beaumont; take the downtown exit. Lurking around the corner at the Fire Museum of Texas is every dog's dream. It came all the way from Disneyland, where it was crafted to promote the rerelease of the 101 Dalmatians video. The fiberglass structure has a reinforced interior of 1,000 feet of steel and weighs 4,500 pounds. And the shape? You guessed it. A 24-foot-tall fire hydrant, white with dalmatian dots. Nearly three stories of sheer canine excitement.