At the Topia Inn in Adams, Mass., the walls are painted in clay, the insulation is made of recycled blue jeans, and you can drink all the fair-trade coffee you want, reports Sara Rimer in the New York Times (2/5/10). The driveway, well, it's made "of grass, organic soil and recycled plastic." The roof is solar and the lights low-voltage, and there's turndown service without chocolates because they might stain the organic sheets. The inn itself is recycled from an old, abandoned hotel sitting next to a railroad station that used to be busy back when Adams, which is in the Berkshires, was an industrial mill town.

Now the inn is part of a plan by its owners, Caryn Heilman and Nana Simopoulos, to support a non-profits arts center, which they are assembling in "an abandoned vaudeville theater," which sits next to a restaurant, which they also own (Note: Alice doesn't live in the restaurant, she lives in the church nearby the restaurant, in the bell-tower, with her husband Ray and Fasha the dog). But if you want to stay at the Topia Inn, be prepared to take off your shoes at the door so you don't track in any pesticides and leave all your eco-unfriendly toiletries at home.

Caryn and Nana might give you some hemp slippers to wear instead, provide all kinds of organic grooming products and you can treat yourself to chromotherapy, which is a lavender bath illuminated by colored lights. And you get your choice of any of 10 themed rooms -- Moroccan, Greek, French, Zen, Native American. The wireless is free and you can watch anything you want on the flat-screen television. Breakfast is "freshly baked banana bread, baked pears with pomegranate seeds and an egg souffle (made with a rotary beater)." And all the fair-trade coffee you can drink.

The science-fiction dream of "smart dust" is still a ways off, but moving closer to reality, reports Steve Lohr in the New York Times (1/31/10). Hewlett-Packard has embarked on a ten-year mission "to embed up to a trillion pushpin-size sensors around the globe (link)." The dream is to connect "the physical world to computing as never before," using so-called "smart dust" sensors to enable "buildings that manage their own energy use, bridges that sense motion and metal fatigue, cars that track traffic patterns and report potholes, and fruit and vegetable shipments that tell grocers when they ripen and begin to spoil."

The hangup is that the sensors need batteries: "Instead of dust ... the sensors would be the size of grapefruits." But the battery barrier is coming down, which is expanding "the potential data workloads that sensors can handle and the distance over which they can communicate -- without batteries." The key is that "the more sensors there are, the better the data quality should be. When mined and analyzed, better data should in turn help people make smarter decisions about things as diverse as energy policy and product marketing."

If this happens, some envision the result to be something like "an internet for things," giving rise to "fresh demand for a wide range of hardware and software to store, process and search the new data for nuggets of useful information." Others, such as computer scientist Deborah Estrin, says that future is already here -- in the form of the cellphone, which are in fact "versatile data collectors" that can monitor a person's daily life (link). Deborah thinks the killer app "is personalized health and wellness," saying, "The potential to help people make behavior changes and lead healthier lives is tremendous."

When it comes to taking fitness supplements, there seems to be something that separates the boys from the girls, reports Max Roosevelt in the New York Times (1/14/10). A young guy like Alex Feintuch, 20, for instance, has "spent more than $1,000 on fitness supplements" over the past year. Before heading to the gym, he takes a pill called Arimatest, to raise his testosterone levels. "Before, during and after his workout, he drinks "a branch-chain amino acid powder mixed in water to hasten muscle recovery. And he caps his gym visits with a whey powder shake."

Steve Hoffman, a trainer, approves of certain supplements, too. "If you're looking to bust through a plateau, taking five grams of creatine before your workout might help you do that," he says. Steve also likes "products with arginine (an amino acid) or caffeine." He says, "They're awesome for working out -- just be careful." However, Dr. Teri M. McCambridge, a pediatric sports doctor, says most youngsters don't need supplements and "don't know the importance of a recommended dose" anyway. She's also worried that using supplements might lead to harder stuff, "like anabolic steroids and human growth hormone."

Stacey Zimmerman, 25, is similarly wary. "The idea of needing to take a supplement to reach my fitness goals seems to counter the goal itself," she says. Another issue is that the supplements, while widely available, "are also minimally regulated, with a majority going untested by the Food and Drug Administration." Alex Feintuch admits this is a problem, and notes that he's wasted a good sum on ineffective supplements. Gunnar Peterson, a celebrity trainer, thinks that's reason enough to get the F.D.A. involved in regulating supplements. But he does see some pyschological benefit, even if the stuff doesn't actually work. "It's like putting jumper cables on motivation," he says.

"We need to put food back in the heart of health care," says Zoe Finch Totten, chief executive of Full Yield, in a New York Times piece by Melanie Warner (11/29/09). "It's the cheapest way to deal with health and the simplest, and definitely the most pleasurable," she adds. Zoe's focus is on the way people eat in the workplace. Her solution is Full Yield, a branded "12-month nutritional program" that's designed to "take the guesswork out of what constitutes a healthy diet" and help reduce health-care costs.

The Full Yield menu features "fresh items made with natural, whole ingredients" and "will be sold in corporate cafeterias and in the prepared-foods section of local supermarkets" in the Boston area. John Hancock, the insurance company, is among Zoe's first customers, with some 300 of its employees adopting Full Yield next year. Meals are priced at $6 to $7 a meal, and employees will receive "$100 worth of coupons that can be used in John Hancock's cafeteria and at 18 local Roche Brothers grocery stores."

The program is not without its controversy, however. Full Yield encourages people to eat until they are full, which some health experts say is bad because most people don't know when to stop. Zoe counters that only processed foods "trick the body's beautiful ability to self-regulate" and that healthy foods help people recover "protective mechanisms." Full Yield plans to take various biometric measurements of Hancock participants throughout the year, and then "analyze the data against insurance claims to gauge improvements in health."

The federal government is using public-school cafeterias as a dumping ground for stringy, bony, salmonella-infested chicken parts, reports Blake Morrison, et. al., in USA Today (12/9/09). According to a USA Today investigation, the government school-lunch program spent some $145 million over the past eight years -- a total of 77 million pounds -- on sketchy meat from so-called "spent-hens." Any spent-hen meat that isn't fed to school children goes into pet food or compost.

Spent-hens are chickens that are past their prime as egg-producers -- about 100 million of them must be culled annually: "Because the hens are usually restricted to tiny cages, they often suffer from osteoporosis and have especially brittle bones that easily splinter." The splinters sometimes show up in the meat. Even worse, "scientists believe spent-hen meat is more likely to carry salmonella, which can be especially dangerous for children."

That's because the hen's cages usually are stacked to the ceiling, exposing the birds "to high levels of fecal dust and ... heavy stress, which can contribute to higher infection rates." Government officials meanwhile say that spent hen is "safe and nutritious" and complies "with the same safety standards as any other chicken processed and sold to consumers." However, at least one food marketer, Campbell Soup, "stopped using spent-hen meat more than a decade ago" because of "quality considerations."

"It's nice to be around people who understand your medicine," says Madeline Martinez, explaining the appeal of Portland's Cannabis Cafe, reports Tracy Loew in USA Today (11/25/09). The cafe, "where people approved to use marijuana for medical purposes" are free to take one toke over the line, opened "after the Obama adminstration's decision last month to soften the federal stance on medical marijuana." It is operated and monitored by the Oregon chapter of the National Organization for the Reform of Marijuana laws (or, Norml), of which Madeline is director.

Portland was selected "because the city's mayor and police chief signed an executive order in 2007 prohibiting police from assisting with investigations or prosecutions of people acting under the state's medical marijuana act." Another, smaller, lounge, called Highway 420 -- "a number pot users have used as a code for marijuana" -- also opened across town. Predictably, the neighbors aren't completely thrilled, although some say it's preferable to the establishment that preceded the Cannabis Cafe, a bar called Rumpspankers. You can just imagine.

But its patrons love the cafe. "It's really a nice place to hang out. It's real mellow," says Jim Hickam, who smokes dope for his, uh, back injury. Russ Belville of Norml, lauds the cafe's "revolutionary" model, in which marijuana is donated or swapped by customers because buying and selling it remains illegal. Patrons simply pay a $5 cover charge, and must present a state medical marijuana permit, as well as a Norml membership card. To date, 14 states permit the cultivation and use of marijuana for medical purposes, and five -- Maine, Colorado, New Mexico, Rhode Island and California -- "allow retail pot dispensaries." A total of 23,900 Oregon residents have medical marijuana permits.

Few people believe that alcoholic drinks can prevent influenza, but a few enterprising bartenders don't mind "playing doctor," reports Jonathan Miles in the New York Times (11/22/09). For example, Signe Grant, of a bar called Drop Off Service, offers a drink called the Flu Shot: "It's a mixture of garlic-infused tequila, orange-lemon ginger puree and a few drops of liquid echinacea." Signe insists it's therapeutic.

"You've got your vitamin C in there, and the garlic is an antiviral, and the ginger is also an antiviral and an immunity booster," she says. She has another concoction, which she calls Throat Coat. That one involves "honey-and-pepper-infused vodka and B&B, a French liqueur ... combined in a snifter with a spoonful of honey." Apotheke, a Chinatown bar, meanwhile, offers various "pharmaceutically themed cocktails, featuring ingredients such as thyme, lavender, cinnamon, warm rum, hibiscus and rose hips."

At the Harrison, Adam Petronzio prescribes the Western Smash, which combines a lemon-balm infused syrup with whiskey and mint, which supposedly has "antioxidant and antiviral properties." Dr. Ronald B. Turner of the University of Virginia acknowledges honey might help with cough relief, but otherwise says the drinks are, at best, placebos. "But I don't think there's any reason to avoid it," he says, adding, "If it makes you feel better, go for it."

In the 1960s, Bernard Jankelson came up with the idea that the right kind of mouth guard could improve athletic performance, reports J. Michael Falgoust in USA Today (11/17/09). Bernard is no longer with us, but his son, Robert, continues to pioneer what his father termed, "neuromuscular dentistry." Simply put, the goal is to use a mouth guard to position and relax jaw and facial muscles "to kick start a chain reaction to make the human body perform at a higher level."

According to Robert, the mouth guard "allows the best joint function and recruitment of the power muscles of the jaw, that's when you increase your athletic efficiency ... This power train goes all the way down, from the teeth, to the neck, the vertebrae, the back." Or, as Alex Naini, another neuromuscular dentist, explains, "Anything that pulls the jaw forward opens the airway ... You have more space to let oxygen into your lungs." The result, it's said, is an "oxygen bump" that improves "endurance, strength and flexibility."

While the American Dental Association doesn't recognize "neuromuscular dentistry" as a speciality, much less approve the use of such mouth guards, Redskins lineman Derrick Dockery says his breathing is "different" and he feels more energetic when he's using one. But at least one study found the mouth guards ineffective, and even Derrick says he's not sure the difference isn't just psychological. But others believe that if the science is tested, and the concept confirmed, neuromuscular mouth guards will become "the standard of care," in the NFL, not unlike the way sports beverages gained acceptance.

The trouble with football helmets is that they might cause more injuries than they prevent, report Reed Albergotti and Shirley S. Wang in the Wall Street Journal (11/11/09). In fact, the earliest "hard-shell helmets, which became popular in the 1940s, weren't designed to prevent concussions but to keep players ... from suffering catastrophic injuries like fractured skulls." But while the helmets may well have reduced the number of fatalities, they introduced a more aggressive style of play that, over time, can cause brain damage.

"The growing body of research on former football players suggests that brain damage isn't necessarily the result of any one trauma, but the accumulation of thousands of seemingly innocuous blows to the head." As Cincinnati Bengals linebacker Dhani Jones observes, "In football, you're taught to hit with your face." Some suggest rules changes that would prevent linemen "from springing head-first into other players" as well as better enforcement of rules against "helmet-to-helmet hits."

Unfortunately, designing helmets to protect players from the long-term trauma of multiple blows would require making them bigger with more padding, which would likely result in more neck injuries. Plus it would look really dumb. So, some favor banning helmets altogether, which might discourage players from knocking heads. That's the way football is played in Australia, and those players sustain about 25 percent fewer head injuries. It's also noted that helmetless players might be more attractive to sponsors. The only problem with that, notes P. David Halstead of Nocsae, is that the game "wouldn't be football."

Corner grocery stores, long viewed as a cause of obesity, are increasingly seen as a solution, reports Kevin Granville in the New York Times (11/2/09). In Newark, for instance, city officials are treating Francisco Baez to two new refrigerators, to be installed at the front of his small grocery store and filled with fruits and vegetables. Because of his can-do attitude, Francisco was chosen from among 80 local grocers as the first to try replacing junk food with fresh food. He simply likes "the idea of offering customers an expanded selection of produce."

He also likes the new, checkout scanner system he was given to sweeten the deal. The Newark program is similar to those in other cities, in which "public health organizations and economic development agencies" offer "new equipment, marketing expertise or neighborhood promotions to encourage them to stock more fresh produce, whole wheat bread and other healthy offerings." In New York City, for example, the "Healthy Bodegas" program so far "has reached out to 1,000 stores in a variety of ways, including helping owners secure zoning permits to allow fruit and vegetable displays on the sidewalk."

Such programs have gained currency because cities have largely failed to attract major supermarkets that might introduce healthier grocery options into poor, city neighborhoods. Newark, a city of 279,000, has just three supermarkets, for example. It's a lot riskier selling fresh produce than packaged chips, obviously, and not necessarily more profitable. But Francisco Baez isn't worried about that: "Will I make any more money? I have no idea," he shrugs. Anne Gross, a participating grocer in Cleveland is similarly altruistic: "Even if it changes a couple of people's habits it would be a huge benefit," she says.