It's easy to screw up a first date. You could: a) come on too strong or not strong enough, b) bring a vegetarian to a steak house or c) spend the evening detailing your sexual history. If you have a propensity for answer c, we can't help you. But choosing the perfect first-date venue could solve your other problems. Backstreet Cafe will send your date the right message. It's classy, but it's not Mark's -- that would signify that you're trying too hard. At Backstreet, there are no tablecloths, but there's a sommelier. The menu offers not only sandwiches but also fancier steak and fish dishes. And just in case your date has forsworn flesh, there's a killer veggie plate. The restaurant is a converted two-story house with intimate dining areas in several rooms, and its easy combination of romance and casualness will set the perfect tone for your evening. If you manage to steer clear of ex-talk, you're virtually guaranteed a smooch or two.

What does a city full of businesspeople need? How about a radio station that follows the stock market? Brent Clanton's morning drive-time show updates listeners on yesterday's market movement so they'll be ready for the opening bell. Street Talk, the afternoon drive-time show with investment planner-financial adviser Lance Roberts, wraps up the trading day and provides more specific stock and market trend advice. Sandwiched between those weekday financial heroes are all kinds of helpful programs, from stock and fund shows to the popular Dave Ramsey, who advises folks on how to get rid of their credit cards and stay out of debt. Weekends offer everything from a fitness program to the only show about advertising for advertisers. The caustically witty two-hour event called The Ad Show actually proves entertaining to the layperson as well, with vintage commercials played between breaks.

On June 16, the New Black Panthers had every right to be pissed. They'd dressed all in eye-catching black. They arrived at the state GOP convention in Houston in a rare Hummer limousine. And most of them came to the protest party armed with all manner of menacing weapons: rifles, shotguns and an AK-47 or two. They were hunting, all right -- hunting for attention. And that kind of preparation ought to attract ample publicity. Instead, it was A.J. McClure, a 71-year-old nobody Republican delegate from Kaufman County, who grabbed the limelight. What started as a verbal confrontation with the Panthers ended when he either fell or was pushed by a member of the militant entourage. For the next few days, the battles sifted to state legislators and city councilmembers and police and a mayor all arguing over the charge and actions -- or inactivity -- of the police. Meanwhile, McClure's tumble took him, or at least the footage of him going to the mat, onto the national network stage. Stories that touched on the incident totaled more than 2,000 words in the Houston Chronicle and on the Associated Press wire. Yep. It was a prime-time dive. Lots of old-timers may go headlong -- A.J. went headline.

Wayne Dolcefino has become a brand name in Houston -- the name that government bureaucrats hate to see on their "While You Were Out" message pads. His melodramatic touches can be a bit much -- and Lord knows he doesn't need to do anymore strip-club pieces -- but the fact is Dolcefino, 45, comes up with some impressive stuff each sweeps month. Whether it's City Hall types wildly overcounting the amount of parkland in Houston, the number of potholes they've allegedly filled or the total of truck-safety violations given, watching Wayne put their feet to the fire is always a cheap thrill.

The love's run dry, and it's time to sit down and talk with the person you've been seeing. It would be rude to suggest a meeting at KFC. It would be misleading to go to somewhere romantic, like Aries. And it would be dangerous to visit any bar, which could lead to excessive drinking -- and a final shag. We suggest breaking up at Amazón Grill. The atmosphere is clean, bright, loud and decidedly neutral; the walk-up service casual; and the Latin cuisine, especially the corn empanadas and tacos, delish. Admittedly, the margaritas are also tasty and fairly strong, so allow yourself only one, just to get your nerve up before doing the deed. If it doesn't go well, you can tell your dinner companion that you're off for plantain chips and cilantro sauce and bolt for the parking lot.

A year ago, historic Oyster Creek was on the verge of extinction. Today, it's got a chance, thanks to Lisa Rogers. On behalf of Brazoria County ranchers, including her husband, Rogers forced an investigation into the illegal diversion of the Oyster, which had watered her family's cattle for 175 years. The state put the blame on the Sienna Plantation Levee Improvement District, which employed the considerable legal and political power of Vinson & Elkins to stonewall the accusations. When state regulators backed down, Rogers upped the volume and threatened to drag the administration of former Texas governor George W. Bush into court. The levee district quickly put together an engineering plan to restore the downstream flow of Oyster Creek. While that work has yet to begin, it would be hard to bet against someone like Rogers. Not long ago, over lunch at the Sienna Plantation Country Club, a V&E lawyer asked Rogers to drop her threat of future legal action. She refused, of course, but not before she expressed some admiration for her host's youth and good looks.

Judge Burdette was popped for DWI on Montrose after he tried to leave the scene. Burdette is a good ol' boy Democrat who managed to hang on as a visiting district judge in Harris County after getting dumped by voters twice. But his days of holding court at local bars may have been permanently ended when he slammed his Jaguar into the rear of Patti Lyn Simon's pickup truck last March. According to Simon, Burdette was so polluted he tried to drive away, telling bystanders, "I'm drunk. I've got to go home now." The Texas Commission on Judicial Conduct sanctioned Burdette for his actions and ordered him to take educational courses on alcoholism and to attend antidrinking therapy sessions. Whether his judicial friends will continue to recommend him for visiting appointments remains to be seen.

Not far away, traffic is snarled on the Southwest Freeway as motorists fight to regain those lost minutes of lunchtime. Even closer, the crowds are crushing into Shepherd Plaza-area eateries for the midday rush. Thankfully, no such frenzies will ever find their way into The Lexington Grill. Tucked away on a quiet side street, this small restaurant thrives on its atmosphere of peaceful calm. Diners at the handful of tables may be closing a business deal or deep in romantic bliss. Their common love at the Lexington, however, is the dynamic food (including unrivaled crab cakes), splendid service and sense of intimacy -- the ingredients for truly memorable meals.

Where in the world is traffic reporter Susie Loucks (a.k.a. Elaine Closure) after the Clear Channel blowout? (And to make things perfectly clear, she was not fired but replaced by Clear Channel's own in-house traffic service.) These days, you can find her wild and wacky style of traffic reporting on 95.7 FM with Rick Lovett, and on their sister stations Business Radio 650 AM and KILT Sports Radio 610 with John and Lance. Since leaving Sunny 99.1 and Rock KLOL (remember phone sex traffic?), the comely Susie was snatched up by the folks at Infinity Broadcasting, where she now stretches her comedic talents reporting on traffic and weather with her candid, often controversial twist on traffic tie-ups. She often lapses into impersonations. There's Sharon Osbourne, Anna Nicole Smith and her dog Sugar Pie, Cha-Cha Closure and "Kim," her naughty nail technician of sorts. "I've lived in Houston my whole life. Traffic sucks here, so why hype it up and freak people out? Instead, let's have a good laugh," she says. That's our Susie. Often copied, never duplicated. Tune in.

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Courthouse regulars were worried a few years ago when longtime judge Doug Shaver announced his retirement from the 262nd bench. He was one of the few Democrats left in any court in the county, and certainly one of the more independent-minded jurists of any affiliation. Concerns about keeping the proverbial level playing field only increased among defense attorneys when voters chose his replacement, a 17-year prosecutor and husband of another assistant district attorney. But Judge Mike Anderson has aptly filled Shaver's black robe -- and then some. He's drawn among the top ratings in Houston Bar Association polls and attracted solid admiration from attorneys for both the state and the defense. Anderson is building a reputation as somebody who will listen to both sides and be beholden to neither. Better yet, he doesn't take himself too seriously. That was shown in the aftermath of Tropical Storm Allison, when beleaguered county justice workers were treated to a street-side barbecue cooked up by, among others, Judge Anderson.