Those of you who spent money doing a tasteful, unified, down to the studs, architect-involved remodel of your home after living there for a couple of years, I’m begging you, please, please put your home up for sale. I will buy it. If you live in a nice neighborhood with a fenced backyard I will pay you my first born (well okay, up to $1,000,000). Just put it up for sale. Maybe you could look into a job transfer. I hear California is a lot cheaper these days.

For those of you whose homes are currently for sale - I’m sorry you have to sell your home. I hope it is not the result of a nasty divorce, putting your aging parents in a home, or shilling out $20,000 for aesthetic updates and expecting a $200,000 return (Flippers).

But odds are - you are one of these.

So, hey there, homeowner. Just take a look around at all the homes that have come back onto the market after being UNSOLD for an entire year. Even new listings that come back on the market after a week of being Subject to Inspection. Note the plethora of For Sale signs growing cobwebs. Yep, the days of 30% profit on a house owned for four years of less with no updates are over. The days of 200% returns on cheaply remodeled Ballard, Green Lake, Magnolia bungalows are gone, gone.

What’s selling in today’s market is what will sell in ANY market. A house with a decent floor plan, enough square footage to turn around in, and a yard for Fido or Baby. Oh, in a good neighborhood. Generally these are noted by the absence of whispering neighbors fixed to sidewalks or front windows scoping out all the potential buyers. For your home, yes, some updating is expected (like 2 full bathrooms or a kitchen that doesn’t have a backdoor that opens into your refrigerator) but you should start with a foundation free of cracking, support posts free of water damage and rot, a basement, attic or crawl space free of rodents, pests and asbestos.

Human hands should have touched the plumbing in the last 50 years. Likewise that relic of an electrical panel pulsing out 125 watts should meet its maker and be replaced with a 200 watt panel from this century.

And that abandoned oil tank you claim was removed years ago but have no documentation for ~ yeah, that’s gonna be a problem. It takes one half cup of oil to pollute a entire swimming pool worth of ground water. You will spend $65,000 in cleanup costs only to be put on the EPA probation list for 2 years during which you are not allowed to sell your home. So homeowners do check into some PLIA insurance is you are still believing your trusty oil tank that hasn’t seen the light of day in 25 years is a safer (cheaper) alternative to modern gas. Likewise make darn certain the yokels who converted your oil furnace to gas got better than passing marks at the Gas Furnace School of Installation.

If you are still in the dark about your home’s ability to sell without losing the crapload of money you paid for it here’s a few pointers (aka Caveat Emptor):

1) If I step out of my car onto your curb in front of your home and put my foot into dog shit ~ you don’t have a nice house.

2) If I trip over broken pavement, uneven stairs and the handrail or doorknob comes off in my hand ~ you don’t have a nice house.

3) If I have to wrestle garbage and recycling bins out of the way to reach the front door at the top of several sets of stairs (with a stroller in tow) – your house sucks.

4) If I open the front door and see stairs, a brick wall, the dining area, or basically anything other than a foyer, hallway or coat closet ~ your house sucks.

5) If you only spent money painting each room a different “hip” color – your house sucks.

6) If you put your kitchen in the basement or attic or anywhere I can’t waltz into with a bag of groceries steps from my car – your house sucks.

7) If I find no room bigger than my car joined by series of twisting narrow hallways and your agent mentions “good flow” – your house sucks.

8 )If you converted your attic into a “stunning master suite” and shoehorned a bathroom and wardrobe into the crawl spaces a microbe couldn’t stand up in without bumping their teeny biomorphic head – your house sucks.

9) If the opposing walls of your house lean inward – your house sucks.

10) If you put the window into the master bathtub/shower overlooking the neighbors - your house sucks.

11) If the floorboards don’t quite meet the walls and the plaster on the ceiling that your agent listed as charming period detail falls in my eye – your house sucks.

12) If I have to take my life in my hands traversing a narrow set of steep stairs to a low ceiling basement to retrieve my laundry – your house sucks.

13) If the next door neighbors have installed a permanent basketball court with floodlights behind your house – your house sucks.

14) If your neighbors are senior citizens who spend a lot of time drinking and plotting against you - your house sucks.

15) If the neighborhood teens like to steal your lawn ornaments - your house sucks.

16) If your house is positioned onto the far back corner of your lot and the exposed yard is prey to passing cars throwing beer bottles onto your lawn – your house sucks.

17) If those “mature garden” trees and plants are filling your sewer lines with roots, lifting your foundation and pinching your gutters shut - your house sucks.

18) If your gutters empty out onto a concrete block 6 inches from your foundation –your house sucks.

19) If you spent $10,000 installing storm windows over those “charming” single leaded glass panes but ignored the frayed sash cords and crumbling sills – your house sucks.

20) If you’ve never fixed anything broken in your house (e.g. leaking plumbing) but live a fabulous neighborhood and want to retire to California - your house sucks and I hope you can never afford more than a yurt in San Jose.

21) If I stand outside and hear I-5, 520, 99, or your house fronts a major traffic artery please understand that delightful water feature you installed (but never cleaned) or that “Zen” outdoor room with Trex deck studded with rare potted plants – won’t save you.

22) If I stand outside and catch the diesel breeze of a passing freight train – your house sucks.

23) If you built your house in a slide zone but your never built a retaining wall or fixed that hinge crack in your basement or never heard of pin piling - your house sucks.

24) If you are a developer or builder and bought a shoehorn or transitional lot and constructed a $400,000 Craftsman on it that looks into every neighbor’s backyard down the entire block and you are asking $1,000,000 for it – your house sucks.

25) If I feel better standing outside your house than standing inside of it – your house sucks.
Thank you,

Tired of Looking at Crappy Houses in a Down Market for 2 Years Running

Ships. A few feet away mammoth cruise ships attach themselves to Pier like leeches and belch out a mixture of 16,000 gallons of raw human waste into our Sound. They dock and emit a dense oily plume of diesel smoke that settles over everything in Belltown in an ignaminous mantle. Our dependence on this industry to bring $ to our local economy is in need of questioning. Estimates range from $40-$75 million annually in cruise ship income. But at what cost to our environment and quality of life?

30 days accumulation of particulate air matter on my A/C filter from July 5 to August 4, 2007 . Note the cruise ship at Pier 66 in the background. Beyond are rows of the orange colored diesel-powered cranes that work continuously to unload container ships into the Port. The Alaska Way Viaduct is just out of frame to the left.

Cars and freight trains. If you live anywhere along the water north of Georgetown and south of the Ship Canal Bridge you are in the highest category of risk for inhaling toxic cancer-causing carcinogens in the form of particulate matter. The greatest contributor to air pollution is traffic.

bumper stickers. Yep, we’ve seen ‘em. Love it you may, but from 7-9am and 4-7pm the Alaska Way Viaduct becomes a parking lot. It is well known that Alaska Way Viaduct is a crumbling anachronism that needs to be torn down and replaced with a thoroughfare that allows safe and attractive access to Seattle’s greatest asset - our waterfront. But the voters who don’t use it don’t want to pay for a replacement. And those who commute over it to reach their homes in Seattle’s bedroom communities enjoy the water view too much. But replacing it must happen, and can be done well. I refer you to Seattle’s new Sculpture Garden which has successfully joined pedestrian with waterfront access. People are even holding their wedding receptions at the Sculpture Park ~ though it’s difficult to ignore the blasts of the train horns passing below. Ultimately this park is successful in conquering the eyesore and danger of the Burlington Northern freight trains bogarting our city waterfront.

These freight trains are nothing less than a blight on this city. The noise, the pollution, the ugliness. The usurpation of waterfront access. A problem without solution it seems as the city has leased its waterfront in perpetuity to a set of train tracks. Talk is of a 3rd rail to be added to the existing set, devouring even more the residential front yards and small gardens planted along these tracks. All for freight traffic. What a shame that the means for cleaner, faster, cheaper transportation is within our grasp via Amtrack commuter trains. The ride and clean and smooth and quiet as a ghost on rails with views of nesting eagles and Puget Sound to boot. Yet Amtrack appears to have all but foundered due to the lack of ridership on this route.

Planes. Just to the south we have 2 major airports filling the skies with constant air traffic. Here is a map of Seatac’s jet air traffic from 6am to 10pm. Red paths are arrivals, green are departures. Is it any wonder that jet fuel shows up in breast milk?

Events and construction in the downtown core. In addition to the habitual purveyors of pollution bisecting our city ( I-5 and Aurora), we also have event pollution: the Blue Angels, fireworks downtown for the opening of Christmas shopping season (Macy’s), New Year’s Eve (Space Needle), simultaneous 4th of July displays by Ivar’s, AT&T (Gasworks sponsored by WaMu this year).

Construction pollution. Diesel cranes blot the skies in the downtown core. In a class by itself is the rampant development of the downtown core, each project spewing large quantities of dust, dirt, and diesel into the air in order to build their plethora of 1 million dollar shoebox condos after the recent coup in lifting building height limits…though nothing has changed the downtown core to make it more liveable. The sidewalks and alleys are still as dirty, loud and crime-ridden as ever.

As for the amenities to serve all those new downtown condos, well, eh…The new designated Belltown dog park is a mecca for the local pitbull population and other ill-willed dogs that circle the woodchipped dirt mounds enclosed by cyclone fencing. The much touted new Whole Foods location on Denny is woefully short on familial comestibles. Toothpaste is a rarity here. There is one kind of diaper. Recyclable of course. Here you CAN have your pick of single person’s meals on the go as well as 100 different kinds of energy bars. There is hope that they will expand their local and organic food sections from the current anemic offerings. But its worth the visit simply to regard a tower of oranges prominently labeled “Conventially Grown in California”. Without Organic, there would be no definition for Conventionally Grown, now would there?

So we are left scratching our heads at the quality of life currently offered in Seattle. Are we to fall in line with the mayor and governer’s plans to expand the downtown core in density housing yet suffer from the lack of green spaces and the inability to enjoy a family experience? Just when are there ENOUGH high-end shoebox condos with parking spaces just big enough for a motorcycle? If we are supposed to walk to all our amenities, as the mayor planned, don’t those amenities need to be able to service all of us, not just the 20-something set driving around the latest Hummer until they find a valet? Eventually the 20-something Hummer driver in search of a party in Bell Town must learn to slow down for news anchor Steve Raible walking his dog after work.

It’s always a scramble to get out of the city on a clement June weekend. It’s even rarer to find accommodations that include the family dog. We were lucky enough [or so we thought] to find such a place at a moment’s notice on Orcas Island, WA.

“Once in a Blue Moon Farm” website featured many pictures of charming pastoral scenes: children with horses; a vividly painted old farmhouse afloat a sea of casual flowers; tempting invitations to ‘come sit in your own flower garden with a glass of wine or read a book by the many ponds across the 35 acre farm’. We were enchanted. My husband had never been to Orcas or seen the view from the top of Mt. Constitution which rivaled that of Bellagio overlooking Lake Como in northern Italy where we had honeymooned.

Living in downtown Seattle is a world away from where I grew up in the lush green Tolt River Valley. Outside my window a cruise ship casts a long plume of diesel smoke into air and empties raw sewage into Puget Sound. A Burlington Northern freight train chugs through the recently installed Sculpture Park spewing more diesel and sullying the air. Directly overhead jets dump their fuel reserves on us they head for Boeing Field. Every part of Belltown seems sticky, dirty, sooty, polluted, and an invitation to carcinoma. Orcas seemed like a perfect smog-free getaway. We poured over the Washington State ferry schedule and gaged the distance from Seattle to Anacortes and arrived at a travel time of 2.5 hours.

An emergency call from the owner of Once in a Blue Moon farm interrupted our calculations. Shana had a favor to ask. The farm tractor had broken down and they were up a creek without tractor oil. Would we mind picking some up on our way? There was a John Deere tractor outlet in Marysville…it would only take 10 minutes of our time. She seemed desperate and how much oil could a tractor need? A tractor is smaller than a car, which uses quarts. We agreed and left with plenty of time.

We encountered our first of many slow downs traveling I-5 north near Everett. Car accident…road construction…speed trap [Bellingham]…ferry traffic…the usual I-5 Friday afternoon experience. At Marysville we realized we were cutting it awfully close to catch the 3:30 Anacortes-Orcas ferry. I sprinted into John Deere waving a piece of paper with owner of Blue Moon Farm’s name on it. 3:01 pm.

Four large men looked up at me from the counter of the John Deere Parts Department as if I had just crashed their habitual afternoon tea party. An obliging smile later and 2 enormous(!) drums of tractor oil were loaded, barely fitting into the generous trunk of my VW sedan. It was only then after a tenuous moment over the receipt that I discovered that oil had been pre-paid. Loaded up like the Exxon Valdez Oil we rushed to the ferry. 3:08 pm.

“Where are you going?” said the State Ferry booth employee. I hestitated for a half second thrown by this ontological query. “Orcas,” I spat out, “we bought the tickets online but never received the link the print them out. Here’s the receipt.” “Mmm’kay, that’ll be $56. And here’s a claim form for a refund. Are you going to come back later?” I looked at my watch. 3:37 pm. Eh? Apparently the 3:30 ferry we were viewing obligingly at the dock had been sold out for hours. Despondent, we pulled into the lane for the 5:10 ferry which graced us with its presence at 5:47 pm.

Aboard the ferry we propped our dog next to a side deck window where we were parked to catch scent of the ocean air which was heavily laced with diesel fuel. His head drooped and he seemed to wonder why he was here, not at home in his comfortable bed. To him the air smelled just as diesel-laden. Dogs aren’t allowed on the upper ferry decks so we took turns at coffee runs, stretching our legs amidst crying babies, distracted mothers, catatonic fathers, and abused vending machines. Remember the days when you could get hot food or a cup of chowder aboard a State Ferry? Alas, no more. To experience such fine fare you’ll have to alter longitude and cross the border to the tonier Canadian ferry system.

6 hours of traveling had led us to a gravel road 2 miles from the ferry landing. We searched in vain for a Blue Moon Farm sign. The road abruptly turned 90 degrees uphill outside a fenced pasture. A group of women stood talking behind the pasture gates. There was a tiny handprinted sign attached to the first gate. It simply said “Guests call ahead.” We were perplexed. Apparently this was Once in a Blue Moon Farm.

One of the women in the group broke away and undulated down to the first gate. She sported colorful dyed hair, tattoos and an over exposed décolletage…the owner had mentioned “interns”. We had arrived at the wrong gate. Guest quarters and farm quarters did not directly communicate. The guest ‘parking lot’ we were directed to was a sloped pile of gravel below a tool shed. As I began to creep slowly into the pile of gravel the owner of the farm directed us to the tool shed. The tool shed was known to the owner as the “Patio Level Home“. This is what we had rented. Nearby in consective muddy lanes two large trailer homes huddled together.

After some awkward introductions and the reassurance that we had the tractor oil, the owner sheepishly said something about having the residential trailers towed but hadn’t had time. Noting the pair of worn shoes near the trailer door and other clues of long-time residence (a cat curled up underneath) I wondered at the owners sincerity.

Shana continued to explain tenderly that the nearest trailer belonged to her farm manager, a perhaps Australian named Henri (or was that just a hippie affectation?) who was helping her manage the farm/guest operation. During her nattering on all I wanted to say was “Oh my god, please stop talking, you’re killing me,” and crawl into a hot bath. She continued to fawn a bit over our grumpy and exhausted dog and promising a tour of the flower gardens (really torture at this point) before finally leading us under the deck into the lower portion of the shed, or “Patio Level Home“. Overheated and exhausted we kept our exchange brief. We hauled our stocked Coleman cooler inside and sat down to take in our surroundings.

The “Patio Level Home” was the bottom portion of the “View Deck Home“. This Patio Level was filled with 2nd, 3rd and 4th hand knick-knacks. Posters and unloveable paintings crowded the walls. Printed calico quilts and matching pillows swarmed over the furniture. Bookcases filled chipped plates and worn tupperware lined the walls. A dusty heap of plastic toys lay next to a sooty wood burning stove. An antique television set rested in the coffin of a vacated projection screen tv. The refrigerator was the temperature of an attic on a hot summer’s day. The contents of a desk revealed a broken pencil and an incomplete deck of child’s cards. A stack of mismatched worn towels sat out on a side table with a hand printed note: “1 per guest“.

Everywhere on the walls, taped onto appliances there were signs directing guests. “No long showers.” “Hot and cold reversed.” “No leaving anything in the garbage.” “Don’t even think about putting food down the sink.” “Feed food scraps to the chickens.” “Empty coffee grounds on the compost pile.” We began to suss out the true nature of our relationship with the owner of Blue Moon Farm.

As the sun sank over the empty pasture beyond our front door mosquito biting picked up. There appeared to be no other guests at the farm despite their website showing bookings so we ventured out onto the rickety deck of the “View Level Home” [first floor] above us. We could see out over the pasture where the owner had been weeding a flower bed for the last hour. The valley beyond opened up and we saw the distant hills of Orcas tinged with pink, a bit of ocean beyond. Below our 14 inch tall dog disappeared into the pasture grasses as he snacked on tender leaves. Sunset in the country.

As remote as the farm was, a truck or car traveled down the gravel road every half hour. We retired early, repelled by the florescent orange bulbs that inhabited every light bulb socket. In the nightmarish and industrial glow I pulled back the covers of the double bed to check for spiders (one was resting above us on the ceiling as we watched tv). My husband awoke in the morning to find welts on his legs where he had been bitten during the night.

Having been promised a breakfast cooked by the owner in exchange for the tractor oil we sat begging the clock to move faster if only to hasten our departure. Finally at 8 am we made our way over to the main farmhouse. We wandered about finding no one. The horses, chickens and llamas were adverse to our presence though we walked silently.

We heard stirrings in the detached garage and one of the young hippie girl interns abruptly appeared. She directed us to one of two metal tables near the house among the flowers. As the girls giggled and cooked up our breakfast in the detached garage, we sat speculating at the owner running a B&B, breakfast not included. She had seemingly found a way to keep her farm running by emptying the pockets of those desperate for clean air and green fields beyond the Seattle plume of sprawl and particulate matter.

Our suspicions were soon confirmed by the affable interns who brought us a breakfast of beans and duck eggs studded with odd garden flowers. After setting down the plate (1 plate for both of us) one of the girls stepped back and drew a camera out her pocket. She shyly asked if they could take our picture. It was the first breakfast they’d ever served to guests. We looked into the camera and smiled like a pair city slickers being fleeced.

Once in a Blue Moon Farm is aptly named because this is how often you will want to come here. We never saw more than 100 feet of this 35 acre farm. There were plenty of signs directing guest what NOT to do, but not a single one directing guests to any of the enjoyable aspects of this retreat touted by the owner and the website. If there was welcome mat anywhere on this farm it had been apprenticed as a bath towel long ago…

According the current manager of Belltown Starbucks the company is no longer allowing customers to walk in with dogs while picking up an order. We were given a comment card and a snotty remark by the manager the “We as a corporation are have a policy. And the FDA won’t allow it.” The manager admitted that the issue stems from Starbucks employees who work this location and NOT the customers who patronize it.

Starbucks Belltown location’s new policy is puzzling indeed considering there are plenty of other coffee shops yards away in Belltown that welcome your pooch into their establishments, Cherry Street Bistro, Le Pet’t Bistro, 64 Stewart Street Restaurant, corner grocers, dry cleaners, sandwich shops. All these Belltown business are well aware that a large percentile of their well-heeled customers are dog-owners. Pedigree pooches stroll the new Seattle Sculpture Garden near Elliot park, frequent Seattle Center.

With so few green places in Belltown and so little time in our lives we bring dogs into establishments and have come to expect this courtesy as we pay hundreds of dollars to the city of Seattle for their licences, vaccinations, neutering or spaying, grooming, feeding and doggie day care. The failure of the dingy Belltown Dog Park (a former drug-dealing spot) to provide clean, secure and attractive surroundings is unfortunate. However, the popularity of the Marymoor Dog Park is evidence that dog owners are an appreciative and lucrative demographic. We will drive 30 miles and pay a dollar to park at Marymoor in order to patronize this park. Locally there are mobile dog washing and walking services. Dog groomers in Seattle and environs can make top dollar. Clearly dog owners matter.

In fact there are NO federal laws prohibiting dogs in restaurants. The FDA Food Code is a recommendation, not a law. Municipalities can opt out and allow dogs in businesses. Business owners also make that decision for themselves. As I reminded the precious 20-year old manager at Belltown Starbucks that HE in fact was not a corporation, but rather worked for one and there was no policy, I remembered seeing an article about permitting dogs in bars locally.

In January 2007 Senator Ken Jacobsen introduced Senate Bill SB 5484 that would allow dog owners to bring their well-behaved dogs into bars while patronizing the business. The intent of this bill was instantly perverted by the Senate Committe into a shameful substitute bill that would ban dogs from entering establishments and only allow dogs only into designated OUTDOOR areas for establishments that served mainly COFFEE or alcohol. Hmm. Do I smell Starbuck’s hand in the Senate Committe? Yes, I do.

If passed, this substitute bill would forever and entirely defeat the intent of the first bill. At this time this substitute 5484 bill has been to passed to the Rules Committee for a 2nd reading. Senators Ken Jacobsen, Ed Murray, Adam Kline and Eric Poulsen are sponsoring the bill. Be sure let them know you aren’t represented by Starbucks Corporation or their policies and are not amused this kind of corporate meddling with Senate bills.

As the chicks began to gestate needles punctured their shells and shot vaccine into their amneotic fluid. How they missed the chicks I’ll never know. As the chicks began to break through the shells on their own (quite exhausting for a chick) suction cups abruptly clamped down on their escape holes and cut off their air supply. The suction cups flipped the hatching eggs onto trays that soon became overcrowded, chick stepping on chick, as more emerged from their shells. Then the fun really started.

Newly hatched chicks were then dumped by conveyor belts ONTO gears. The gears were diabolically spaced to force the chicks to fall through onto another conveyor belt below while empty shells rolled over the gears. Leg and wings were caught in the gears and painfully twisted as they fell into darkness beneath. Repeatedly the distressed chicks were forced to fall considerable distances to the next conveyor belt. Each belt was going in an opposite direction from the first. No human could see this without some reaction regardless of whether you subscribe to the philosophy that a society can only be measured by how well it treats its animals. By now I was personally so upset at seeing this flinging and dropping of the hapless chicks I was literally shouting “Stop it!” at the tv set. But there was more.

In the final stage the chicks were “sorted” by workers who pinched the chicks’ wings open (their first contact with human life) to determine their sex. Next these workers balled the chicks up like a pair of dirty socks and flung them down one of two steeply descending tubes. Some workers gathered the chicks by their ankles and flung them at the tubes, banking the chicks off the metal walls. Tiny, newborn, still living, tossed away like dead animals. Over this footage the narrator touted the effiency, the marvel of this commercial operation: Just 36 days to laying or meat grade!

You could have knocked me over with a feather. Did I really just see that? Was the Discovery Channel on crack? What teacher, parent would expose their child to this? Puzzling that this episode did not appear among the complete episodes list of “How Its Made” on Discovery.com. Did anyone else post about this? I found only one blog whose comments dated back a year ago. Must have been when it first aired.

I am disgusted and yet glad Discovery Channel aired this particular episode. It sheds much needed light on the highly abusive practice of commercial animal husbandry. We simply don’t want our food treated this way. More and more people are choosing organic and “FREE RANGE” and hence the stipulations for organic and free-range animals are becoming more stringent. One wonders why nothing has been done to improve these animals lives.

In this episode we see firsthand how our government creates federal mandates to remove nutritive value from food so delighted Corporations can re-inject their own synthetic and inferior additives. These additives create more health problems for the consumer than unaltered food. For example, Snackwell brand touts itself as low calorie but in fact, its Oreos are only 6 calories lighter than regular Oreos. Also witnessed here is the troubling reliance of the food industry on drug companies to keep the food supply “disease-free” (it can’t) and production up utilizing egg vaccines, bovine rBst, even genetically altered crops.

While this may be great business for the drug food industry it is bad news for the the food supply and all of us. Scientists just don’t know the long term effects of their chemicals in our milk, yogurt, ice cream, cheese, grains, meat. But they do know in that rBst, the bovine growth hormone degrades the health of cows. Cows on rBst must be given additional antibiotics to keep their udders from becoming infected with the constant and artificially induced milk. The milk coming from these cows can still be infected. This industry has to do better.

The French are onto something. I’ve read quite a bit about the benefits of unpasteurized milk and cheese. We’ve been trained in the US to shun anything that isn’t pasteurized but in fact pasteurization removes a scary amount of nutritive value from food. Unfortunately due to the 2002 bioterrorism laws there are increased restrictions on food imports. Basically anything from France that is edible and delicious is forbidden. Cheeses, not just the runny ones, wines, pastries like Calissons. I’ve had harmless French tea cookies sent back to France by the FDA. France has if not the highest then a highly excellent food quality. These import restrictions are definitely arbitrary and political. I’ve read that even Customs agents are confused by the FDA laws and when in doubt they deny entry. But if we can’t import chemical-free food in this country due to rigorous FDA bioterrorism laws, we are forced to eat a toxic food supply.

Consumers need to be extremely careful. Really read those labels and ask about the conditions in which your food supply is raised. Free-range is often not. Keep tabs on companies that fail health requirements. Then check again and make sure they aren’t covering up problems with vaccines and poor production conditions. With enough raised eyebrows, the industry must capitulate and offer a saner safer alternative.

12,500 participate in 3.5 mile St. Patrick’s Day Dash during rip roaring Pineapple Express downpour. Gusty winds and warm rain originating in Hawaii intervened during the Seattle Center to Qwest Field fun run.

Unfortunately I can’t help thinking that priorities are askew here. 12,500 could make an immense difference by raising their voices against prevailing issues OUTSIDE the world of exercise. 12,500 well-heeled, tax-paying, latte-swilling citizens COULD effect change. Chilling that this fun run isn’t even for a good cause like cancer or childhood diseases. It’s the St. Patrick’s Day Run. So, have we TURNED OUR BACKS on the issues that plague our generation? Have we become experts at out-running, dodging the issues and leaving them to the next generation? People, have you seen the next generation?

Shockingly new first blossoms appearing under the Space Needle on a balmy January day.

Culture clash. Downtown commuters find themselves trapped near Lenora as police and emergency vehicles block off the area. Today a shooter wounded 3 women inside a downtown building near the Moore Theatre. You may chalk it up to the area’s ongoing trend of violent and bizarre behavior (see July 4th post). But additionally, there are troubling rumors that federal funding has been cut for mental patient programs in the area. The same for disadvantaged housing programs.

Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Check local police statistics on violent crime in your area. You may be shocked. No neighborhood counsel meeting can alter the fact that the police department is quite overextended in Seattle. No officer is around long enough to know the people and the neighborhood they work for. Unfortunately it cripples the intent that the police force should be part and parcel, an extension, of the neighborhood they serve. So when local police call annually asking households for donations and funding they shouldn’t be surprised at the apparent lack of charity.