After my annual reading of J R R Tolkien's The Lord of the Rings, I found myself interested for the first time in re-reading the tales of The First Age, and of the destruction of Númenor. I found a pleasantly hefty, illustrated edition of The Silmarillion and began anew through Tolkien's cosmogony. Even as he unraveled the mysteries of his world's creation -- John Donne would have appreciated how the spheres came into being literally through song -- he established the characters and tone for the weighty conclusion of his Lord of the Rings story.
I also stumbled upon the delightful Crackpot Tolkien Theories page, which collects some of the more loony pieces from rec.arts.books.tolkien, including one that reaches the astonishing conclusion that Tom Bombadil and The Witch-King of Angmar, Chief of the Ringwraiths, are one and the same person. What did Gandalf want to talk about with Bombadil, anyway?
The Lower Haight's much-beloved pile of poop, Duboce Park, will go from being like Paris to being like 1920s Shanghai. The Recreation and Park Commission will carve the park into three parts.
The article quotes a woman who does not want to scoop her dog's poop: that, she says, is what she pays property taxes for.
I do'n't care that San Francisco has more smelly dogs (120,000) than stinky kids (110,000): once a dog poops or pees on a grassy area, there is no way that I would sit down and enjoy a picnic. San Francisco's violently vocal dog owners are all too eager to ignore the perils of hygiene that dogs create, and not only in the parks. Hardly a day passes that I do'n't nearly trip over solidifed shit on the sidewalk. This is why I refuse to wear shoes inside the house.