We’re sitting quietly, Cecil and I, our breakfast long since finished. The usual, give or take, leaning more standard fare today, I’d say. Eggs, bacon, the home fries, toast, whole wheat in a vain nod to our health. 
No exotic venturing this morning, bowls and such. No sides of guacamole. Continue reading
(We here at All Fried Up in the Big Smoke are doing our damnedest to adhere to a very strict American boycott policy. Since we don’t pay anyone for contributing to this site, technically speaking, we’re not purchasing a U.S. product with today’s post. And besides, our Los Angeles correspondent, Ned Teitelbaum, is one of the good ones. With the subject matter being public transit, a favourite topic of ours, look at it as endeavouring to build a bridge between two beefing allies, no tolls applied.)
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Charles Mingus gave free concerts on the Red Car. Reyner Banham missed it. Continue reading
There are more than a few of you reading these words, I’m sure, of the few of you here reading these words, thinking, What the fuck is this site even? Old men ranting old men things. Old people reminiscing. Erratic politic opining. Continue reading