Have you heard about the AI-empowered statues in the Palace of Versailles gardens, outside Paris?
Have the right app and you can chat up the Apollo Fountain or a Sphinx statue. Ask them questions, you’ll get real-time answers in any of three languages.
Think of the wonderful applications this can have for the “National Garden of American Heroes” proposed by President Trump.
He’s already identified dozens of people he wants portrayed in the garden. One small executive order and Trump could dictate some new truths about Social Security to be spoken by an AI-powered Franklin D. Roosevelt should you happen to ask him about it.
Think how Abraham Lincoln could be educated to present “transformative insights” into the matter of slavery. And imagine how Jonas Salk could finally give us the straight skivvy on how President Trump was right when he suggested injecting bleach cures Covid.
Versailles also offers virtual-reality headsets, allowing you to see things that aren’t there. Now imagine Mount Rushmore.
No reason to wait for Congress to act on legislation introduced by a Florida congresswoman to add Trump’s image to the carved memorial high in the Black Hills. Folks who travel to South Dakota to admire the iconic images of four of our top presidents could just slip on some VR goggles and see Trump’s face, seemingly carved into the rock, right next to Washington, Jefferson, Teddy Roosevelt and Lincoln.
And there’s no reason the old, rock-solid renderings couldn’t be made to talk—all welcoming Trump and his towering legacy to Mount Rushmore. “Hey bro,” I can hear Lincoln saying. “About time you got here. Take a detour through the Stone Age?”
America’s 250th birthday is right around the corner. The virtual clock is ticking.
Hard to scratch this surface
Trump says The Wall Street Journal defamed him when it reported that he doodled an image of a naked woman in a birthday greeting to disgraced financier Jeffrey Epstein.
And he wants $10 billion in damages.
Really?
How does a fluffbomb about doodling further damage the reputation of a guy who said—you know what—on the Hollywood Access tape?
I’m not sure it can be done. It’s like someone keying a rust bucket car abandoned in a Wal-Mart parking lot.
This is the sore loser whose rhetoric fanned an insurrection. Who, in one of his first official acts in his second term, granted clemency to all those charged with the attack on the Capitol. Who has turned the Oval Office into a gilded ATM.
Trump enemies, of course, are hoping there really is a list of people to whom Epstein had supplied young women and that Trump’s name is at the very top of the tally. But even if there is and it sees the light of day, I doubt it would derail his presidency.
The gold-plating on Trump’s presidency is infused with a special coating that repels fingerprints and responsibility.
Trump has had his way with owners of CBS, ABC, Meta, X and the presidents of Ivy League universities. Let’s see what happens with the publisher of The Wall Street Journal.
Open with care
Just a note here to invite you to view my new webpage at stevevogelauthor.com.
There’s lots of stuff there—much of it related to the two criminal cases that are subjects of my two true crime books, Reasonable Doubt and The Unforgiven (the latter co-authored with Edith Brady-Lunny).
But be forewarned: If you’re really into those cases, you risk being absorbed into the deep pool of primary source material stored there.
Next Tuesday…
And speaking of Reasonable Doubt, next Tuesday night (Aug. 5) I’ll be giving a presentation about the Hendricks family murders.
“Where?” you ask. In the Bloomington, Ill., Public Library, which happens to be right across the street from the city police station where evidence from the Hendricks case remains stored in an evidence locker.
The open-to-the-public event begins at 7 p.m. In case you’re not in Central Illinois and still want to see it, my understanding is that the library will live-stream it.
A little insider-info: Three of the stories in my new memoir, Broadcast Live: 71 true stories, including some I’d just as soon forget, are related to the Hendricks case.
Another memoir
Well, wouldn’t you know: Broadcast Live is not the only memoir flooding the market these days.
There’s still a month before mine officially appears, so you have time to read (“another,” he said) good one, Sonny Boy by Al Pacino.
Pacino is one of my favorite actors. I first really came to love his work in “Serpico,” the 1973 film about a whistleblower inside New York City’s police department. But he may be best known for his role in the three “Godfather” movies.
A surprising factoid from Sonny Boy: It wasn’t until Francis Ford Coppola cast Pacino in the role of Michael Corleone that Pacino learned his Sicilian grandfather came from the town of—you guessed it—Corleone.
Another Clinton-Patterson collaboration
I don’t read much fiction. But when a book is thrust into your hands on Father’s Day, you feel kind of obligated. I now understand why James Patterson is so popular, even when President Clinton is his co-author.
First Gentleman is the third book the two have conspired on, and it’s a perfect summertime page-turner. The basic plot: the president’s husband is accused of murder while she seeks re-election and to solve the nation’s financial woes.
President Wright navigates her way through lose-lose choices in a rush of short and then even shorter chapters that keep you engaged and conjecturing.
It’s fun to speculate how much or little Clinton actually participated in the book’s first draft. More likely he offered amendments that add to its authenticity. (He, of course, came very close to being “First Gentleman” after he was president.) Near the thriller’s end, Clinton clearly takes hold with a wonkish explanation of the plan the president has to save the government from economic collapse. It almost reads like a policy proposal.
There’s a personal price that comes with the level of public service that thrusts you into the public eye and grants you power. First Gentleman rotates on it.
The Residence
Clinton’s eight years in the White House gave him an intimate knowledge of the structure and its workings. I was thinking someone very much like him must have consulted with producers of a new, whimsical (yes, you read that right) murder mystery from Netflix.
It turns out it was Kate Andersen Brower’s nonfiction book, The Residence: Inside the Private World of the White House, that lent authenticity to the new eight-part series.
It stars Uzo Aduba as an esteemed detective, sent to the White House to find out who killed the chief usher, played by another of my favorite actors, Giancarlo Esposito (remember him as the impenetrable Gustavo Fring in “Breaking Bad?”) Abuda scored an Emmy nomination for “outstanding lead actress in a comedy series.” Awards will be presented Sept. 14.
Part of what makes “The Residence” appealing is its authentic recreation of the White House—top to bottom—and insights into the workings of a a staff that stays when administrations change. This short video will likely impress you with the attention to detail and link to real-life “backstairs” happenings.
There are a lot of name actors in this series, which may help explain why it wasn’t renewed for a second season (cost considerations, we read). Among the “stars:” former U.S. Senator Al Franken as a U.S. senator. The real scene-stealer, though, is Edwina Findley as a White House butler.
Episode four may be the best of the lot. It begins with a poignant, unexpected scene where the eccentric detective explains to her nephew what led to her career—a really good moment in a series that does require some patience. But it’s mostly worth the payoff. Its creator, by the way, is Paul William Davies, who put together “Scandal.”
Night vision
Now, back to my first subject: This came to me in a dream the other night—a fantasy conversation involving Deputy Attorney General Todd Blanche. He’s the guy the Trump administration dispatched to a Florida prison to meet twice with Ghislaine Maxwell, the former Jeffrey Epstein fixer. She’s serving 20 years for sex trafficking and other crimes.
I had gone to bed, wondering why the Justice Department would send one of its top deputies, rather than a lower level prosecutor most familiar with the case, for nine hours of talk. Then I drifted to sleep and the dream unfolded:
Blanche: “Before we get started here, I wanted you to know that I just heard something that made me think of you and others here: There are documented cases where people suffer significant memory loss when they’re freed from prison.”
Ghislaine: “Hmmm. Hadn’t heard that but I think it’s possible. Yes, very possible, based on some personal experience.”
Blanche: “Not that anyone would want an ex-inmate to have a total loss of memory. That would be tragic—really grim, ya know—because information is sometimes, even often, uh, useful.”
Ghislaine: “I could see how memory impairment could be selective though. I had an episode just the other day when I could remember Clinton’s and Obama’s and Biden’s names, but for the life of me, I couldn’t recall the name of the number one pick in the NFL draft or the name of our current president or anything about him. Is that bizarre or what?”
Blanche: “That happened recently, while you’re here in prison? You couldn’t recall President Trump’s name?”
Ghislaine: “Yeah. I’ m thinking it could even become permanent when I get out of here one day, given what you heard about post-prison memory loss.”
Silence.
Then…
Blanche: “Okay. Let’s talk about Epstein.”
Ghislaine: “Sure. I remember lots about him and the people around him. At least, at this moment I do.”
That’s when I woke up, turned on the radio and heard Trump accusing Obama of treason and being asked about a possible pardon for Ghislaine. Then I read that two members of the Senate Judiciary Committee have written Blanche, demanding access to recordings and transcripts of his meetings with Ghislaine.
Dream on.
Meanwhile, thanks for reading!
We loved the Residence, too, and on a different note, we laughed about your dreamtime take on the recent infamous prison interview. Hope your next dreams are sweeter!