"Paint It Blue, (Then Watch It Turn Green): Roll Up Folks For Trump’s Summer extravaganza !"

To those who read this, please be aware that I am not American; I have only visited America a few times ( I loved it). However, even where I live, on a small island in Indonesia, we are bombarded daily with the shenanigans going on in the USA, all led by one Donald J Trump.

 Lately, I sense a particular kind of fatigue dominating Trump’s presidency, a fatigue, not of outrage ( Ok a little bit of outrage), but one relating to, of all things,  bookkeeping. I say this, as it must be a full-time clerical job tallying up the $14.7 million-or-so no-bid contract to paint the floor of the reflecting pool "American flag blue."

Now, the reflecting pool, granted, was a little grubby, prompting the administration to decide whether it needed a paint job. Rather than saving on the outrageous, inflated cost, the renovator-in-chief opted for a complete makeover, rather than devoting his time to a little self-reflection.

The pool was drained, refinished and painted deep navy, allowing visitors to contemplate America's founding ideals reflected in something resembling a 1990s minivan.

The President declared the project complete via Truth Social, calling it "wonderful, and beautiful,” and saying it looked perfect for the first time since 1922.

Eleven days later, the water had turned a shade of lurid green. Not "contemplative emerald" green. Algae green. The kind of green that made National Park Service employees show up with waders, nets and bottles of chlorine  purchased no doubt from the local Home Depot.

Now, the thing is, the dark blue paint, warmed the water, which turned the normally cool water into a Club Med for the algae colonies. Naturally, the administration held firm, naturally blaming the "residual material in supply lines" on the shortcomings of the Biden administration.

Undaunted, the Commander-in-Chief, who does not believe in single-tasking when it comes to renovating the ‘people's house’ and its surrounds, ploughed on.

His efforts in the Oval Office and the Cabinet room are now festooned with gold cherubs and an overabundance of portraits of previous presidents, making the rooms look like chintzy bordellos.

The East Wing wasn’t spared and is now a distant memory, demolished to make way for a massive $1 billion ballroom so the President will have somewhere nicer to throw parties and won't have to erect those pesky marquees.

Then, of course, there is the proposed ‘triumphal arch’ to be situated next to the Arlington National Cemetery. For let’s face it, there’s nothing that reflects a "solemn tribute to the war dead" quite like a structure modelled on the kind of thing Napoleon commissioned for himself.

The Eisenhower Executive Office Building has not been spared from his renovation zeal, and will soon be subjected to an all-white paint job, on the grounds that the existing grey granite façade is, in the President's professional opinion, "a really bad colour."

Then, there was the birthday bash! Turning 80 is, for most people, an occasion for a slice of cake, maybe a quiet dinner, and an afternoon nap.

Oh no! This President marked his milestone with a UFC cage-fighting spectacle on the White House South Lawn, under a spaceship-shaped lighting rig nicknamed "The Claw," in front of 4,000 cage-side guests and tens of thousands more watching on jumbotrons.

Fighter jets thundered overhead. The Marine Band played fight-entrance music, two men were knocked into mild concussion in what was billed as a salute to the 250th anniversary of American independence!.

The crass spectacle cost some $60 million, with some of the costs slightly offset by corporate sponsors, namely beer, crypto, and Vape pens. I mean, if you're going to commemorate the signing of the Declaration of Independence, what better way to jazz it up than with beer and nicotine banners strung between the pillars of the White House.

Was the date chosen to coincide with his own birthday?

Oh no, the President insisted it was a mere coincidence.

Somewhere, in between bloody gladiatorial contests, motorcycles performing aerial feats and military jets flying low over the adoring crowds, and a vague "deal" to end the conflict with Iran was announced.

Then the octogenarian jetted off to the G7 summit, largely overshadowed by all of the above earth-shattering events. In fact, it managed to make a gathering of the world's largest economies feel like a supporting act.

Thinking back, it is hard to recall many specifics of the illustrious meeting, mostly because by the time the summit wrapped, most American’s attention had already rotated back to whether the Reflecting Pool's algae was a public health crisis or a debate over the colour labelled American Blue.

What came out of all of this?

The paint job, the cage fights, the arch, the deal, the algae or the summit; nobody can quite remember. It seemed like an operatic commitment to paper over the ongoing national and global upheaval caused by the 80-year-old man himself.

To his credit, as he put it, things must look finished and beautiful even though Biden’s pipes are still harbouring algae refugees that keep finding their way back in.

The entire project feels less like governance than performance art. Drain the pool, paint it blue, declare victory, then watch the algae return by Monday morning. The details hardly matter anymore.

Visitors to Washington—and the rest of us watching from afar—are left staring at the water, waiting to see what colour it turns next. In the meantime, visitors and residents of Washington are left watching the water, waiting to see what colour it turns next.

But, please let us know as all in Indonesia are waiting with bated breath.

Paul v Walters is the  author of six novels and an anthology of short stories. His latest offering RITUAL, was recently launched at the International Ubud Readers and Writers Festival.