Good Idea: Going for a swim to cool off on a Texas summer day.

Bad Idea: Paying $30/month for a gym membership for pool access.

…and that is why MeVersus has compiled a list of easily accessible swimming pools… for cheap!

Dallas: $1 – 11 and under, and $2 – 12 and over.

Richardson: FREE – 5 and under, $2 – everyone else

Plano: pricing varies, $2-3

Mesquite: pricing varies, FREE – $4

Garland: pricing varies, FREE – $3

Although listed under Garland, I’d like to call special attention to:

Surf and Swim: $5/6 – Four-acre aquatic complex, a half million gallon wave pool. Enough said.

The problem is that cheesesteaks are the type of thing you shouldn’t eat unless it’s superbly created. When you order one there’s the implicit agreement between the mind and body that you’re about to consume something that will, in some fashion, devastate every organ you have. Anything less than near-perfection is a bad trade.

I’ve encountered this “cheesesteak remorse” on many occasions – that feeling that a sub-standard cheesesteak has claimed that little piece of health that should have gone toward a kick-ass cheesteak. It takes the right mix of spices, onions, meat texture, and cheese to make a convincing argument against living a few more years. That’s why I roll my eyes when I see Subway trying to make them.

So, it is with great consideration that I recommend Fred’s Downtown Philly Cheesesteaks in Richardson and Plano as the tops in town. They’ve got it down to an art: chopped-up peppered-steak jiblets toasted crisp and mixed with caramelized onions, layered within a well-proportioned hoagie on a bed of melty-cheese. It makes that golden cru-squersh sound with every bite. No regrets here.

Fred’s looks slightly more appealing than a mess hall, but, like the main dish, it’s not meant to be pretty. You get a sense of the place by seeing their website devote a page to “Our Women Patrons.”

Hats off to all the cheesesteak eatin’ ladies out there.

I’m a traditional girl with romantic notions of Christmas: stockings over the chimney (or wall in my case), handwritten cards sent to friends and family, hot chocolate, ribbon-wrapped presents, snow… and of course, The Nutcracker.

Recent newscasts have predicted a downturn in holiday shopping, which may equate to a downturn in the holiday spirit for some. People are losing their jobs. The financial scene is definitely bleak. My family had to resort to a joint-gifts program for this year; and we didn’t even put the family Christmas tree up. I feared the Christmas spirit had been killed. (Damn you, Economy Grinch!)

But last weekend, I took my sister to The Nutcracker, performed by Dallas Repertoire Ballet, in hopes of a distraction. I was completely mesmerized! The company is mostly comprised of dance students, so naturally, the technique can be improved upon. However, form and grace is all intact and beautifully presented still. The flexibility of the Arabian queen is to be envied. The costumes were brilliant. The atmosphere was simply magical. Even men can enjoy the spectacle of sculpted bodies twirling in unison. Either that, or they’ll look on with envy and may even be inspired to hit the gym.

Regardless of what tickles your fancy, you will certainly leave the show with a sense of alleviation, satisfaction, and Christmas spirit restored. $30 well spent!

On your average morning to work I stop by to pick up my favorite breakfast pick-me-up, a delectable jalapeño-cheese kolache. Upon entering I’m instantly greeted with that toasty, fresh out of the what-ever-they-make-it-in smell of donuts.

But my favorite part is the shop owners, a Korean (I believe) couple who are always working tirelessly to keep the place running. Whenever they see me, they flash me a warm smile and instantly say, “one jalapeño” without me saying a word. When my kolache is handed over the counter it is done so with the utmost deference: a two-handed pass, one hand lightly holding the top of the bag while the other is supporting the base like a serving tray, and with a subtle bow of the head and eyes closed. I feel like I’m receiving a golden idol or someone’s liver transplant.

It may be a cheesy sense of respect, or merely the fact that I feel like a human being rather than an ATM, but it’s just the thing I need before a mind-numbing day at the office.

I salute you Creamy Donuts. May your golden kolaches reap the years of prosperity you have deservedly claimed from my colon.