The last weekend of July was spent in Ballard, a neighborhood in the northwest corner of Seattle. My sister played host, and because the host sways the experience, time was spent happy houring and playing with a 4-pound chihuahua named Pinky. I think we squeezed my sister’s six months in Ballard into my 72 hours in Ballard, which meant we weaved in and out of six bars and restaurants on Saturday alone. For better or for worse, this kind of behavior only surfaces when I’m with her. Strangely, Seattle was all sunshine and high 70s, but when I remarked, Too bad it can’t be like this all year, I was offered the Washingtonian’s canned response: The rain and clouds keep the Californians out. Touché.