Sixty years ago, Rockmount Ranchwear's Jack A. Weil put the snap in snap-button shirts. And today, as the country's oldest working CEO at 105 (as of March 28), he's still full of snappy repartee. CBS News profiled Jack A. (his son, Jack B., works in the business, as does grandson Steve) earlier this year, following him through Rockmount's once-and-future headquarters at 1626 Wazee Street, showing its museum of Westernwear as well as its current lines, coveted by stars and working cowboys alike. But the real showstopper, as always, was Jack A., who had this reply to the reporter's question of how he wanted to be remembered: "I don't give a damn."

After 36 years in Aspen Park, the historic Coney Island hot dog stand is now an official resident of Bailey, where the giant stucco landmark will be open by summer. But should gentrification -- or one of those wildfires that always seem headed for Bailey -- endanger the hot dog's new home, we have the perfect placement for Coney Island's next incarnation: Tiny Town, just off U.S. 285 along South Turkey Creek Road. Frankly, we relish how majestic that building would look sitting by the tiny railroad, near all those diminutive dwellings. Hot dog!

With Union Station slated for a major overhaul, it looked like one of its tenants might have reached the end of the line. The Colorado Midland Railway, the oldest model-railroad layout in the country, has been tucked into the basement of Union Station since 1935, where it's been run by volunteers from the Denver Society of Model Railroaders. But a model railroad wasn't in the plans for Union Station's redevelopment -- not until one particular train buff jumped on board. The layout, which is open to the public for two hours on the last Friday of every month, is a particular favorite of John and Teddy Hickenlooper, and thanks to some mayoral maneuvering, this train will be pulling into the station for years to come.

It was fun while it lasted. Not. Over the past five years, we've all had ample opportunity to get up-close and personal with T-Rex, the massive, $1.67 billion project designed to ease congestion and speed up traffic through the southeast metro corridor but in the meantime blocking roads and sending drivers off on thrill-ride detours. Still, if the pace of construction is any indication of T-Rex's ultimate success, we'll all soon be speeding along I-25 -- in cars or on light-rail trains. At of the start of the year, the project was 91 percent complete, with the last stretches in the seventeen-mile paving process scheduled for fall completion and the complete light-rail system slated to open on November 17, 2006. Keep your fingers crossed -- and both eyes on the road.

Sometime in the next month or so, the wrappings will come off the Daniel Libeskind-designed addition to the Denver Art Museum, and while work continues on the interior, the exterior will be complete. But even before that, the DAM will announce an official opening date for the Frederic C. Hamilton building, as well as a schedule for the accompanying celebration. At this point, though, the museum will only say that the project is on track for a debut sometime this fall, as has always been the plan. We're betting on November 8, 2006 -- which, not coincidentally, is the day that the 2006 edition of the Farmers Almanac predicts that Denver will get its first major dump of snow. (Hey, things couldn't go smoothly forever.) Fortunately, those Libeskind angles will stand out even in a blizzard.

At the University of Colorado, Ward Churchill has outlasted athletic director Dick Tharpe, chancellor Richard Bynny, president Betsy Hoffman, even football coach Gary Barnett. But we're predicting he won't outlast current president Hank Brown. The committee reviewing Churchill's work is supposed to turn in its report by May -- and with any luck, by then the regents will have come to their senses and made Brown's interim appointment permanent. That, and a handy chunk of change (but less than it cost to get rid of Barnett) should be all it takes to make Churchill disappear from CU. He won't have any problem finding another public podium, of course. But at least Colorado will be able to close the book on one of its most unsavory chapters.

There are strips that are faster, but when you're heading west across central Denver, there's no more scenic route than Thirteenth Avenue. And if you happen to get stopped at the light at Broadway -- as you inevitably will -- your route will seem positively inspired. Rather than fume silently at the crimson glow overhead, use the time to ponder Denver's rapid ascension into a bona fide city of cultural note. To your immediate right, there's the Colorado History Museum, with its buffalo sculptures, exhibit banners and exasperated teachers bookending chains of linked-armed kids. Across the street, there's the massive central branch of the Denver Public Library, alternately spilling out and sucking in the bookish, the homeless, the hurried. To your left, a museum devoted to the work of Clyfford Still will soon join the galleries and theaters that already dot the Golden Triangle. And there, straight ahead, like some strange metal spaceship, is Daniel Libeskind's sprawling addition to the Denver Art Museum, slated to open this fall. Imagine the influx of art and architecture buffs; envision the lines out the door. Think about all the great concerts you've seen recently, all the creative, artistic people you know. Could this city be on the verge of something big? Twirling in the second floor of the Colorado Ballet building, the Degas ballerinas smile down on your still-stopped car. To them, that's the dumbest question in the world.

Bart Simpson used to stand on highway overpasses just like this one and spit on the anonymous traffic below. God bless that little fucker. We can't believe there's no barrier here, no chain-link fence, nothing. We could hurl ourselves right over this railing right now, and nobody could stop us. The fall might not kill us, but one of those cars whipping by at 65 mph sure would. Man, we'd love to see the look on Johnny SUV's face when we came crashing through his windshield! It'd be priceless. And look at Invesco Field over there. Oh, we're sorry, Invesco Field at Mile High. Like anyone even says Mile High. It's all about Invesco; corporations always win. God, it's so depressing. And look at REI -- that used to be the Forney Museum with all those cool cars and that Alfred Packer diorama. Now look at the place: cobwebs to kayaks, train cars to trail mix. We ought to end this right now. For chrissakes, there's an aquarium with a seafood restaurant in it right over there by the Children's Museum. In Denver! That's it, we're going over the rail, right now. But what's that? That burst of laughter from the open door of My Brother's Bar just down the road? That's the oldest bar in town; Neal Cassady still has an outstanding tab there. Maybe we should head over for a drink. Yeah, why not? Just one.

The bridge at Genesee Pass, which separates the Clear Creek and Bear Creek drainages, as well as Gilpin County from Clear Creek County, may well be the most elegant structure in the state. The perfect fusion of form and function, achieved with perfect economy of means, it stands in silent mockery of the many overwrought, pseudo-historical pastiches that have sprouted like weeds along the Front Range. Designed by in-house Colorado Department of Transportation engineer Frank Lundburg, it was completed in 1970 for $410,000 -- but would have been a bargain at many times that, so beautifully does it frame the view of the Continental Divide for west-bound motorists. Literally and figuratively, this is the gateway to the Rockies.

From the street, Civic Center Park may just look like a good place to score cheap dope and tweak out, but climb to the seventh floor of the central branch of the Denver Public Library, step out onto the deck -- and it's as if you're Eva Peron, staring down at a world of graciousness and beauty. In the summer, the trees form a soft, green canopy over the park and frame all of Colorado's governmental power institutions; in winter, the branches make the view look like an abstract-expressionist painting. Staring down from these heights, you almost feel sorry for the governor and mayor toiling away in their puny little buildings. No wonder City Librarian Rick Ashton had his office up here.