Nightmare World: Facebook Wants Your Bank Account

I'll be honest with you, fellas:  Much as I try to keep a stiff upper lip about the decay of civilization, there are days when any attempt at optimism seems hopeless, and the vision of a nightmare world that surpasses anything Orwell ever dreamed of seems not merely imminent, but already present.

Facebook is not your friend, despite the happy college-kid face it presents to the world.  They now want to "partner" with banks to "improve customer service" and "benefit the consumer."  If you believe that, you are a fool.  It's a business, a huge, sprawling, corporation without a human soul.  A corporation is a machine to make money with - like any tool, it can be used for good or ill purposes.  But what all corporations want is to increase their stock prices and dividends, and too many corporate leaders tend not to care if any and all consumers get screwed in the process - hey, too bad, it's progress, wheeeee!

"Privacy" notice I got a few days ago from Google.  Even what your or I watch on YouTube or what places we look up on Google Maps are all tracked under the unceasing, unblinking eye of Big Brother, and filed in his unforgetting, ineradicable memory.  
If Google can follow your every stray thought, who else can too?  And is?

I could go on and on and on about the madness that has engulfed us all in the last 25 years since the advent of the Internet - and even though some antisocial types, like me, have never joined Facebook, there are who knows how many other companies, like Google, and countless little ones nobody ever heard of, all busily digging into everyone's privacy every minute of every hour of every day.  There is in fact no privacy left in the world for anyone, except maybe for some of those lost tribes in the Amazon jungle, and even their remote little world is being steadily invaded.

And it's not merely things that you think of as data-sharing sites.  There's also the ghastly Internet of Things, which to put it another way, means that your car, your refrigerator, your dishwasher, your microwave, and just about any other electronic gadget can in fact be made to spy on you and report everything you do, every word you say, and how you spend every second of your life, waking or sleeping.

From "sponsored content" about harvesting your privacy from the Internet of Things at Politico, 7/16/18.  Click to enlarge.

And every utility - electricity, gas, water - is produced, distributed, and metered by mini-minds that can also be misdirected or shut down.

And furthermore, every last one of those devices, in your home, or at the power plant, can be unlocked and controlled, probably, by some teenage hacker down the street or some spymaster on the other side of the world, with a few taps on a keyboard.

Just last year, somebody in Dallas broadcast a radio signal that activated all 156 of the city's tornado alarms, an amazing feat of digital malevolence.  Lily Hay Newman reported for Wired:

The Dallas incident fits with the broader uptick in infrastructure hacks around the country. From electric road signs to emergency text alert systems to suburban dams, hackers have targeted vulnerable structures with increasing boldness. And while the Dallas sirens did have some alarming secondary effects—over 4,000 calls to 911 flooded the city's emergency response lines for several hours—it's nothing next to the real danger that hacks like these could cause.

"There’s a steady drumbeat of these types of attacks and they’re all pretty benign right now, but what’s next? Is it water? Is it sewage?" says Chris Pogue, the chief information security officer at the data analysis firm Nuix. "Let’s not waste the potential lessons learned by saying it’s an isolated incident."

I don't want to be part of this nightmare.  And I don't want to be part of this ugly, vulgar, hate-filled century, which I'm afraid will one day make the horrors of the 20th century look like a Sunday-school picnic.  But what can any of us do now?  We walked into the enticing trap of the Internet willingly, all unsuspecting, and now the doors are closing on us, it seems.  One day, sooner than you think, Siri and Alexa and other talking boxes will not be optional - they will be required in every home.  Maybe even in every brain.  And then the last hope of resistance - of truly independent human personality - will have vanished.

And it won't be fresh-faced, innocent-looking types like Mark Zuckerberg pulling your strings.  It will be the ruthless, power-hungry leaders of the left or right - when they have a good grip on you with the ruthless digital hand, it won't much matter which side they are.

You may say, "Oh, Russ, you're just being melodramatic, don't get so excited, just chill."  Well, okay, boys - if you all don't think there's any danger to worry about, you just sit back and relax.  While you can.

But when a day comes that your bank balance is zeroed out, your credit cards too, and your car won't start, and you have no electricity - unless you do as you are told - for gosh sakes, don't come whine to me about it, "Oh I never dreamed this could happen."

It can.  Be afraid.  Be very afraid.

You have been warned.


P. S. -- Of course, I could be wrong. So was Orwell, so was Bradbury, so was Forster, so was Wells, and so were a lot of other writers who have rung the alarm bells about present trends and coming events, if you look only only at the small details of what they prophesied.  I don't have the talent for spinning a fascinating yarn as they did, either.

Nevertheless, no one doubts that they were right to sound a warning.  Forewarned is forearmed.

Beach Mix, 8/5/18

Let's have a beach party!

Sunday Drive is on summer hiatus while I offer some favorites from the mid-sixties for fun in the sun and tans on the sands.

What memories do these songs bring back for you?


Little Deuce Coupe, Beach Boys, 1963




Shotgun, Jr. Walker and the All Stars, 1966




1-2-3, Len Barry, 1966




Look Out (Here Comes Tomorrow), Monkees ft. Davy Jones, 1967




Oh, Pretty Woman, Roy Orbison, American Bandstand, 1966 (recorded 1964)

Waitin' for the Weekend

Kids These Days: Class of 2022

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Piña Colada Icebox Pie

I do believe this lovely confection would be mighty cool and refreshing after supper on one of these hot summer nights. But though she gives good directions, you can tell this poor child has been livin' up Nawth too long: nobody down heyah says PEE-can. Either that, or she's gone and married a Yankee! Poor little thing. Bless her heart.

Oh well, it don't hurt the taste of the pie none, so give it a try, fellas.  Recipe here.  And of course, you can always just pick up a ready-made graham cracker pie crust at the store, instead of making your own.





P.S.--FYI, last night M.P., who is on a low-carb kick, surprised me with two big plates of steaming quesadillas garnished with diced tomatoes, and oh my goodness, were they good, stuffed with chicken bits and all the usual fixin's. He's purty good at whippin' out Tex-Mex dishes. But lo and behold, come to find out those soft, delicious tortillas were made with - can you believe this? - nothin' but plain old cauliflower, grated, boiled, mashed, spread, and baked to a golden brown. Well sir, you coulda knocked me over with a feather. But they sure were some kinda good - I tell you what.

The appetizer was squash-and-onion soup made with cream and a parmesan garnish - luscious. Also fresh-made guacamole in scooped-out avocado shells as a complement. Just an ordinary weeknight dinner here for the Pork Boys, as we unworthy sinners are somehow blessed to enjoy.

But what we had the night before was good enough to write home about - crisply sauteed swai fish fillets, each one as big as two hands put together, oh so good! We never had it before, but M.P. found it on sale and thought it worth a try, and boy is it ever - so thick, white, flakey, and scrumptious. You oughta try some yourselves, I 'spect you'll like it a lot, boys. Be sure to stir you up some tartar sauce to go with it (= mayo + sweet relish, too simple for words).

Sides were deep-fried Brussels sprouts, mmm-mmmm! And an utterly delightful new dish: butternut squash souffle, a sweet, earthy delight with an airy, festive texture like sweet potato souffle, and a mighty fine thing indeed to complement the two savory items. Corn muffins with butter rounded things out. Now that was a dinner fit for company, yessir.

(You do know what sweet potato souffle is, don't you?)

Sorry I have no pics to show you, but just wanted to share our humble cuisine with you, none of it expensive at all, and plenty to go around - maybe it will give y'all some ideas.

Robert Reich: "A Malignant Megalomaniac" and How to Stop HIm

The Trump-O-Matic
one of many intriguing prints and posters available at The Art of Mark Bryan

Robert Reich (b. 1946) is a political commentator, professor, and author who served as Secretary of Labor during the Clinton Administration.  He currently teaches in the Goldman School of Public Policy at Berkeley.  (Note for the benefit of my overseas truckbuddies:  Berkeley, just across the bay from San Francisco, has always been a hotbed of left-wing thought.  The 1960's were invented there.)

Reich has made a number of short, thought-provoking YouTube essays on the current constitutional crisis;  here is a sampling.

Beach Mix, 7/29/18

Let's have a beach party!

Sunday Drive is on summer hiatus while I offer some favorites from the mid-sixties for fun in the sun and tans on the sands.

What memories do these songs bring back for you?


Fun, Fun, Fun, Beach Boys, 1964




Going to a Go-Go, Smokey Robinson and the Miracles, 1965




The "In" Crowd, Dobie Gray, Shindig! 1964




See You in September, Happenings, 1966




Come See About Me, Supremes, Shindig! 1964





P.S. -- Is there a gay man alive who hasn't mimed the Supremes in front of a mirror, somewhere, sometime?  Oh come on, girlfriend, tell the truth.

Waitin' for the Weekend

All About Grits

Grits are good, grits are fine. Grits are scrumptious any old time.
Grits are groovy, grits are great. Eat them up and lick the plate.

--Traditional Southern lullaby

For all you Yankee boys who don't know what's good, Southern Living's test kitchen director Robby Melvin stopped by the Blue Truck today to give you a quick lesson in fine dining.




And all you peckerwoods wearing out your intertubes a-worrying about climate change should be glad to hear that grits are eco-friendly:  they can be made with nothing more than rocks and water.  I'm telling you the Gospel truth!  Just looky here at this little fillum, and you might learn something:




What's that you ask? You say you want to know more about the goodness of grits? Well, then, go read "Why Southerners Must Know Their Grits" over at the Southern Living website.  That will tell you all you never knew you wanted to know about grits, and then some.  You might also be surprised to know that the Italian word for grits is polenta.  Well, almost.


But now listen to ol' Russ: you don't need to fool with all that high-falutin' history and technology and stuff.  (And do NOT even think about doing anything with lye - your grandma knew how, but the secret died with her.)  Just run yourself over to the store and grab you a round canister of quick 5-minute grits - any brand will do, and any color, too - yellow is prettier, but the standard white is just fine.

Now fellas, if you can boil water, you can make grits.  It's that doggone easy, I swear it is. Just follow the extremely simple directions on the package. In five minutes, if you have a lick of sense, you will have a steaming hot pot of perfect grits, and then you can commence to eating and enjoying one of God's greatest gifts to the South - and to the world.

Just add butter and black pepper, and ooooowheeeee! You got something good there, boys, for breakfast, dinner, supper, or midnight snack. Goes with anything and everything. Plumb delicious. You'll feel better and live longer, too. I tell you what.


What's that you say? You went to the store and they didn't have nary a box of grits to be found? Well sir, that's a mighty sad thing, yes indeed. And I feel just as sorry as I can for all you underprivileged folks living in the undeveloped world. I'll pray for you.

The preceding has been a public service announcement from Russ Manley and the Blue Truck Educational Trust.

Beach Mix, 7/22/18

Let's have a beach party!  

Sunday Drive is on summer hiatus while I offer some favorites from the mid-sixties for fun in the sun and tans on the sands.

What memories do these songs bring back for you?


Surfin' USA, Beach Boys, 1964:




Uptight (Everything's Alright), Stevie Wonder, 1965:




Let's Hang On, Four Seasons, 1965:




I Only Want to Be with You, Dusty Springfield, 1964:




Nowhere to Run, Martha and the Vandellas, Ready Steady Go! 1965:

George Will: "This Sad, Embarrassing Wreck of a Man"

Embed from Getty Images

"Want to play with my ball, Donny?"

Your Head Trucker finds it odd that people keep trying to pin the label of mental illness on Trump, when instead it is patently obvious that he is no more than a big, dumb buffoon - a consummately vain, overgrown rich kid who learned little from his expensive education, and remembers less - a reality-show actor who keeps flubbing his lines and missing his marks - a mental infant in the paunchy body of a 70-year-old blowhard.  Had he remained in private life, the only ones really hurt by his incorrigible self-worship would be his many creditors, probably.

But as president, with the active connivance and abetting of the entire sycophantic Republican Party - and perhaps with the encouragement and blackmail of Trump's Machiavellian father-figure, Putin - Trump, like a rogue elephant in a bazaar, is doing incalculable damage day by day not only to the foundations of this Republic, but also to the finely balanced bulwarks and linkages of the Western world that have, in broad terms, kept the peace and enabled the general prosperity of the whole world these seventy years.  (I do not say it is or ever has been a perfect world - but just try to imagine how much worse a world it would be without America in the lead, morally, financially, and militarily.)

He also has made himself, not really the leader, but rather the tool of those hateful, benighted forces in this country that are inimical to liberty, equality, decency, and democracy, with baleful results we have already seen; even worse may be to come. If his childish, lurching rampage is not soon stopped, or at least neutralized, he stands a good chance of going down in history as an enemy of the human race and a betrayer, whether by sheer stupidity or malicious design, of all that America is and has been and should be.

When I was younger and more idealistic, not to say naive, I thought it a very strange and rather silly thing, that custom of the ancient Egyptians and Romans, among others, to pronounce damnatio memoriae - oblivion - upon a despised ruler, once he was removed from office.  I must say that I have in recent years come to understand much better just why they did that.

George Will, one of the leading conservative pundits for the past four decades, a man of high intelligence and fine writing, who left the Republican Party in 2016 with the advent of Trump, began a column in the Washington Post this week with the same metaphor of an infantile leader:

America’s child president had a play date with a KGB alumnus, who surely enjoyed providing day care. It was a useful, because illuminating, event: Now we shall see how many Republicans retain a capacity for embarrassment. . . .

I recommend the whole essay for the perusal of my truckbuddies. But if you haven't the time to read it, Will summarized his views in the first five minutes of this clip from Wednesday's Morning Joe program:




I believe Trump will not last very long on the spotlit stage he occupies now - as them ol' Greek boys put it, after hubris comes nemesis, and a miserable end. But Trump is merely the image of the beast - a fake president, to use his favorite adjective - the willing, gullible pawn of evil men who are only too glad to feed his gluttonous self-love while using him to further their hellacious schemes - and beyond them, the credulous millions who eagerly follow and support, an army of willing tools and fools, worshipers of a god made in their own image.

If Trump for some reason were to fall silent tomorrow and depart the White House for some quieter spot, do you not think there would be plenty of others ready to fill the space he vacated?  Be sure that the fakery show would continue as planned, regardless of who sits in the Oval Office.  The dire problem we face is not simply that of one churlish buffoon alone.

If you want to see a preview of the next episode in this filthy saga, look no further than Steve Bannon, Trump's erstwhile campaign manager and political incubus, who has stated his own evil intentions quite plainly, for all the world to hear: "I'd rather reign in hell, than serve in heaven."  What he is now organizing is a world alliance of far-right nationalist parties, united in one revolutionary goal: the exaltation of dictatorship, tribal hatreds, and willful ignorance, along with the utter destruction of liberal democracy, the rule of law, and fundamental human rights; that is to say, the triumph of lust over love, of greed over goodwill, of darkness over light in the human soul.

Do not be deceived, my friends:  the long, pleasant Indian summer of the postwar era, so dearly bought with blood, toil, tears, and sweat, may be drawing to its close sooner than you think, if the present danger is not swiftly and firmly averted.

And somewhere, the cunning jackal Putin is licking his chops hungrily, while the foolish Europeans and Americans split and re-split themselves into warring camps:  divide et impera. I do not know the remedy to all this - I only point to the rising flames.

So quit fretting about Trump's mindless tweets, a child's babbling, a mere sideshow, and focus instead on the real peril, the mortal danger that lies straight ahead. Bannon's declared intentions are unmistakable, undiluted evil, straight from the mouth of the Devil.

And now you can't say you weren't warned.