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.

This Museum District median was immortalized in the film Rushmore (Bill Murray and Olivia Williams stared at each other under its arch of live oaks), but the pretty street would make anyone feel like they're on the set of a movie. The sunlight slicing through the branches warms the quaint cobblestone path, and the live oaks seem to go on forever. Even better, this upper-crust neighborhood is a great place to pretend you're loaded. Just grab your dog or put on your running shoes and travel up the median nodding hello to all your wealthy neighbors. You'll be tempted to ask Jeeves to pull the car around front.

Sure, the Clutterless Recovery Group has its merits, and a good many more of us should be visiting Anger Management, but when it comes to mutual support, the Genesis Ballet is tops in our book. Interestingly enough, the dance company didn't start out that way. According to the troupe's founder, Marie Plauché-Gustin, it was chance that all their members happened to be suffering from either cancer, abuse, addiction or cult brainwashing. This nondenominational liturgical interpretation of creation simply allowed them to cope with their particular problems through the art of dance. Vive la différence.

Just another example of how overrated pop music songcraft is. Since a catchy five- or ten-second hook is usually described as genius, the little bit of pop profundity known as the Mossy Nissan commercial jingle also deserves as glowing a description. Over a snappy beat, a male voice sings the name of the dealership over and over. "Mos-sey Neeee-sahhhhn / Mos-sey Neeee-sahhhn / Whoooooooo!" Okay, so the lyrics aren't as deep as, say, "Oh, baby, baby," but they do roll easily off the tongue. The jingle is the brainchild of L.A.-based A&M Advertising.

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.

When the good women from Blue Willow Books on Memorial Drive discovered that Jill Connor Browne, author of The Sweet Potato Queen's Book of Love, didn't include Houston in her book tour of her most recent release, God Save the Sweet Potato Queens, they took matters into their own hands. Well, arms really. They challenged the tiara-wearin' writer to an arm-wrestling contest to get her to come to Houston. Donning T-shirts that read, "Tough Broads vs. Tammy's," the women from Blue Willow Books put on a party fit for the Boss Queen and her loyal royals. The event was held at the Mesa Grill on the west side before it closed, and women from all over Houston showed up, decked in their very own royal finery. Some wore cowboy hats and star-shaped sunglasses instead of tiaras and called themselves the Texas Tater Tarts. Others wore wigs, feather boas, sequined dresses and crowns. While sipping margaritas, the official drink of the Sweet Potato Queens, the women engaged in raunchy, ribald revelry. At the same time, they raised money for Houston's Pink Ribbons Project, a benevolent act by a group of majestic queens.

While more and more old downtown structures are getting well-deserved restorations, this makeover is much more than skin-deep. The former 1926 Post-Dispatch building had long been an example of urban blight, a boxlike building that was boarded up and hardly worthy of notice for decades. But the Magnolia hotel chain, headquartered in Denver, has turned this ugly duckling into dynamic new lodging -- and given it an exciting new look for all of Houston to enjoy. Foremost for visitors is the ultraposh and sleek lobby, a showcase of wavy walls, luxurious woods and modern furnishings. Don't miss the upstairs billiards and bar area. And taking a lap-pool dip on the roof right across from the stately Christ Church Cathedral is some kind of scenic experience.

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.

It was a sunny spring day. We were killing time before an IMAX movie; we'd already bought a shiny rock from the Museum of Natural Science gift store and grabbed some McDonald's hot fudge sundaes and wandered outside. We walked along looking at the green, green grass, thinking about what a pretty day it was and talking about life and love and relationships gone bad as we walked toward the duck pond. Ducks are happy, and we have happy childhood memories of feeding ducks endless bread crumbs. But the ducks were very hungry that day, and they wanted more than stale sourdough. Toward the edge of the pond we saw one duck eating the eyes out of another duck. We'd always thought ducks were vegetarians. At first we thought maybe the first duck had died and the other duck was kissing him goodnight and good-bye, the way Grandma gently grazed her lips against Grandpa's closed eyelids as he lay in his coffin. But we kept looking, and the duck wasn't giving the other one a gentle peck. He was eating him. So, please, people -- get these birds some bread crumbs.

Despite the antics of perhaps the most micromanaging governmental board in the Houston area, the third-largest community college system in the state continues to provide cost-effective education to 53,000 students enrolled at 17 sites around the city and its suburbs. HCCS offers vocational, adult literacy and accredited college-level courses at a fraction of the tuition of state and private universities. Voters will have the opportunity this November to vote on a $151 million bond referendum to finance campus improvement projects. At a cost of $15.70 a year to the owner of a $100,000 home, it's an education bargain too good to pass up.