Last night I went to Boulder to have dinner with Lisa. If you've never been, Boulder is to Denver as Berkeley is to San Francisco, except on a smaller, less world-class-city scale. We've got mountains; they have hills and the Bay. We have traffic; they have throw-yourself-on-a-Ginsu-knife traffic.

Back to Boulder. I'm one of the few people who actually dislikes the city. Don't get me wrong, it's a great place to visit. How can you miss? Set against the haunches of the Flat Irons, you've got million-dollar homes, one of the most beautiful universities in the country and really, really pretty people. Why it's so nice, it's like an architectural rendering of a city. Wasn't it Boulder, which established an ordinance against fat people, or am I mistaken?

Spied on the Mall last night: A 50-year-old man on a scooter.

At one point in the evening, we went searching for a bathroom. We stopped into two ice cream stores; both loos were locked. In typical fashion eyes rolling, I remarked, "That's so Boulder."

Lisa: "Oh, stop it, everyone does that."

Me: "Really? I could walk into the Carl's Jr. in Florence tomorrow and sit right down."

So there.