Daniel wrote in after the last episode, the one about absurd transportation methods, and he noticed something that was hiding in plain sight. A lot of those machines, the moving sidewalks, the monorails, the automated highway dreams, they were built for or previewed at world's fairs. He's asking why the turn-of-the-century fairs became this incredible showcase for experimental and often completely ridiculous transportation, what made them so amazing compared to today's self-promotional trade shows, whether any modern event carries on the torch, and whether those AI boxing events going viral in China are really the best our modern age can offer to replicate that energy. I think there's a real question underneath all of it about what we've lost in how we show off new technology.
The first thing to say is that the old fairs were not trade shows. That's the category error everyone makes. A trade show is a place where companies go to sell things to other companies. A world's fair was a temporary city built from nothing, funded by governments and industrialists who were competing for prestige, not quarterly revenue. Paris in 1900 built an entire electric railway, a moving sidewalk that ran for three and a half kilometers, the first escalator, all of it running for millions of visitors. Nobody was taking purchase orders at the moving sidewalk.
And that's the thing. The moving sidewalk wasn't a product. It was a proof of concept for a way of moving crowds through a city, and it was also just a ride. People lined up to stand on a conveyor belt for the sheer novelty of it. The absurdity was the point.
The 1893 Chicago World's Fair did the same thing with the Ferris Wheel. George Ferris built it specifically to outdo the Eiffel Tower from the 1889 Paris fair. It was transportation-adjacent, a giant rotating observation platform, but it was really spectacle. It cost about three hundred and fifty thousand dollars at the time, which is somewhere north of ten million today, and it paid for itself in ticket sales. But the reason it existed was civic pride. Chicago wanted to prove it wasn't a backwater after winning the fair over New York.
And the 1939 New York World's Fair, the General Motors Futurama exhibit, that's the one people actually remember. Norman Bel Geddes designed this enormous diorama of a future America with automated highways, cars that drove themselves in lanes, traffic control towers. Eighteen million people rode through it on a conveyor. It wasn't selling a car. It was selling a vision of what the country could be in 1960.
What's wild is that the Futurama exhibit directly influenced the interstate highway system. The people who designed the Federal Aid Highway Act of 1956 had either seen it or absorbed its ideas secondhand. The automated highway part didn't happen, obviously, but the vision of a national network of limited-access highways, that came straight out of a theme park ride.
So that's the mechanism. These fairs were funded by national governments and industrialists who wanted to prove their civilization was the most advanced. The transportation exhibits were the most visible symbol of that progress because movement is the thing everyone experiences. You can't touch a telegraph network, but you can stand on a moving sidewalk.
And there was no venture capital, no product-market fit, no quarterly earnings call. If an inventor had a completely impractical idea for moving people around, he could build it as entertainment and see how the public reacted. If the public loved it, maybe it became a real thing. If the public thought it was absurd, it was still a successful exhibit because it drew crowds. The downside risk was basically zero.
The temporary city part matters too. These fairs were built from scratch in a few years, often on reclaimed land or parkland. The 1893 fair was built in Jackson Park in Chicago, something like six hundred acres of buildings, canals, and pavilions, all of it designed to be torn down afterward. When the whole thing is temporary, you can be more speculative. Nothing has to last fifty years.
The cultural context is the other piece. This was the era when technology was seen as a civilizing force, almost a moral force. The 1900 Paris Exposition was called the Exposition Universelle, and the theme was literally a century of progress. Transportation was the most visible proof that the world was getting better. Trains, steamships, electric trams, the moving sidewalk, all of it said the future is faster and more connected and you should be excited about it.
And people traveled for days to get there. That's a detail I keep thinking about. You took a steamship or a train across an ocean or a continent to stand in a crowd and watch a conveyor belt move. The journey was part of the experience. The fair was the destination, but getting there was already an adventure.
So what changed? The Second World War, mostly. After 1945, the fairs didn't stop, but the tone shifted. The 1964 New York World's Fair was still big, but it was more corporate and more commercial. And by then the trade show model was taking over. CES started in 1967 as a small electronics show in New York, and it grew into the dominant venue for technology previews. But CES is industry-facing. It's for press and buyers and analysts. The public isn't invited.
That's the key difference. A world's fair was a public spectacle that happened to showcase technology. A trade show is a private event that happens to generate press coverage. The incentives are completely different. One is funded by prestige and national pride, the other by companies trying to sell products.
And the modern World Expos still exist. Osaka 2025 just wrapped up, and it had robots and AI-driven exhibits, but the focus is nation-branding and diplomatic soft power. Countries build pavilions to present themselves as modern and innovative and worth investing in. It's not about absurd experimental transportation anymore. It's about projecting an image.
I think that's what Daniel is picking up on. The old fairs had this chaotic, optimistic, anything-goes quality. The modern equivalents feel managed and on-message. Even Osaka, for all its robots, was a carefully curated diplomatic exercise.
Which brings us to the AI boxing events in China. These are viral, public, chaotic. Two humanoid robots in a ring, throwing punches, sometimes falling over. Millions of people watch the clips on their phones. It looks like spectacle. But it's entertainment-first. The robots aren't demonstrating any particular technological breakthrough. They're performing for social media engagement.
The attention economy is the funding model. You don't need a government or an industrialist to fund a robot boxing match. You need a phone camera and an algorithm. The spectacle is the product, and the technology is just the prop.
And that's the thing Daniel is really asking. Is that the best we can do? A robot boxing match is fun to watch for thirty seconds, but it doesn't make you think about the future. It doesn't change how you imagine your city or your commute. It's a stunt.
The old fairs changed how people thought about the future. The Futurama exhibit changed how Americans thought about highways. The moving sidewalk in Paris changed how people thought about urban movement, even if the specific technology didn't catch on. The vision outlasted the machine.
So what are the modern candidates? Daniel asked if anything carries the torch. SXSW is an interactive festival with tech demos, but it's still industry-facing. Maker Faire is grassroots and weird, but it's small and underfunded. Burning Man is a temporary city with experimental art and vehicles, and it has some of the old fair's DNA, but it's not about technology as progress. It's about self-expression and community.
Burning Man is the closest to the temporary city model. It's built from scratch in a desert, it lasts a week, and then it disappears. And there are strange vehicles there, art cars and mutant vehicles that would never be allowed on a public road. But the funding is all individual, and the purpose is not to showcase technological progress. It's to create an experience.
The scale is the problem. The 1893 Chicago fair had twenty-seven million visitors. Burning Man has about eighty thousand. The 1900 Paris fair had fifty million. SXSW has a few hundred thousand. The old fairs were mass events in a way that nothing modern really is, except maybe the Olympics or a World Cup.
And the Olympics are nation-branding, not technology showcases. The opening ceremonies are spectacle, but the actual technology is hidden in the infrastructure, the stadiums and the transit systems. You don't go to the Olympics to see a new kind of train.
The other thing that's changed is that we're no longer surprised by technology. In 1900, an electric train was a miracle. In 2026, a robot that can box is mildly interesting for a day and then it's forgotten. The bar for genuine wonder is much higher.
That's part of it, but I think the deeper issue is the incentives. The old fairs were funded by people who wanted to be remembered as patrons of progress. The modern equivalents are funded by people who want clicks or sales or diplomatic influence. The money shapes the spectacle.
And the old fairs had a built-in audience that was already primed for wonder. People traveled for days to get there. They had invested in the experience before they even arrived. The fair was the payoff for a long journey. Modern events don't have that. You watch a robot boxing match on your phone while waiting for a bus.
That's a point worth sitting with. The friction of travel was part of the magic. When you've crossed an ocean to see the future, you're going to be impressed. When the future is delivered to your pocket in a thirty-second clip, it's just content.
So the question is whether any modern event can recreate that without the same funding and cultural context. I'm not sure it can. The conditions that made the old fairs work, the temporary cities, the national prestige, the public optimism about technology, those are all gone or transformed.
The optimism part is interesting. In 1900, people believed technology was making the world better. In 2026, people are more ambivalent. Technology is just as likely to be seen as a threat to jobs or privacy or democracy. The old fairs were celebrations. Modern tech events are often defensive.
And the AI boxing matches are a perfect example of the ambivalence. They're fun to watch, but there's an undercurrent of unease. These robots are learning to fight. The same technology that makes them box could be used for other things. The spectacle is entertaining, but it's not optimistic in the old sense.
The old fairs were optimistic in a way that feels almost naive now. The Futurama exhibit promised automated highways and a better America. It didn't mention traffic deaths or urban sprawl or the decline of public transit. It was a clean, hopeful vision.
And that's what we've lost. The ability to present a clean, hopeful vision of the future without immediately undercutting it with caveats and concerns. The old fairs were propaganda, but they were beautiful propaganda.
So where does that leave us? Daniel asked if there's a modern torchbearer. I think the honest answer is no, not in the same way. There are events that capture pieces of it, Maker Faire and Burning Man and even the World Expos, but none of them have the full package.
The full package being temporary cities, national prestige, public optimism, and transportation as the visible symbol of progress. That combination was specific to a particular era. It's not coming back.
But maybe the desire for it is still there. People still want to be amazed. They still want to see the future. The AI boxing matches are popular because they scratch that itch, even if they don't satisfy it.
And that's the open question. As AI and robotics accelerate, the desire for public, chaotic, optimistic technological spectacle may grow. But the incentives of the attention economy may keep it shallow. We'll get more robot boxing matches and fewer Futuramas.
Unless someone figures out how to fund the old kind of spectacle with modern money. A billionaire with a vision and a patch of desert could build a temporary city that showcases experimental transportation. The resources exist. The question is whether the will exists.
The will and the cultural context. Even if someone built it, would people travel for days to see it? Would they treat it as a pilgrimage or as content? The audience has changed as much as the funding.
I think that's the real question Daniel is asking. Not just whether the events exist, but whether the spirit can be recreated. And I'm not sure it can. The old fairs were products of their time in a way that can't be replicated.
But we can still learn from them. The old fairs showed that spectacle and substance can coexist. The moving sidewalk was absurd, but it was also a real experiment in urban movement. The Futurama was a ride, but it influenced highway policy for decades.
The lesson is that you need both. The spectacle draws the crowd, and the substance changes the world. Modern events have one or the other, rarely both.
And the AI boxing matches have the spectacle without the substance, which is why they feel hollow even when they're fun to watch.
The old fairs were funded by people who wanted to be remembered. The modern equivalents are funded by people who want to be paid. That's the shift in one line.
It's not quite that simple. The old industrialists also wanted to be paid. General Motors funded the Futurama because it wanted to sell cars. But the time horizon was different. They were willing to invest in a vision that might pay off in twenty years. Modern companies are optimizing for the next quarter.
And the old fairs were public events. Anyone could buy a ticket. The technology was shown to the masses, not just to industry insiders. That's the part that's really gone. The public no longer gets the first look at new technology. They get the press release.
The press release and the thirty-second clip. The old fairs were immersive. You walked through the Futurama and felt like you were flying over the future. You stood on the moving sidewalk and felt the ground move under you. Modern tech previews are mostly visual and mostly passive.
So the answer to Daniel's question, is there a modern torchbearer, is no, not really. But the more interesting question is why not, and what that says about how we relate to technology now.
And whether the loss matters. The old fairs changed how people thought about the future. They created a shared vision of progress. Modern tech previews are fragmented and commercialized. They don't create a shared vision. They create brand awareness.
The shared vision part is underrated. When millions of people walk through the same exhibit and come out with the same image of the future, that's a cultural event. It shapes policy and investment and public expectations. Modern tech has nothing like that.
The closest thing might be the AI moment we're in now. Everyone is talking about AI, everyone has an opinion, everyone is imagining what it will mean for their job and their life. But it's not a shared vision. It's a shared anxiety.
And it's not being showcased in a temporary city. It's being showcased in product demos and blog posts and viral videos. The medium is different, and the message is different.
The old fairs were about what technology could do for you. The modern conversation is about what technology might do to you. That's the shift in optimism.
So the AI boxing matches are the perfect symbol of the modern era. They're entertaining and chaotic and a little bit unsettling. They don't promise a better future. They just show robots hitting each other.
And they're optimized for engagement, not for wonder. The goal is to get you to watch and share, not to make you think about the future of transportation or labor or anything else.
Which is why they feel so different from the old fairs, even though they're superficially similar. Both are public spectacles featuring experimental technology. But one was funded by prestige and aimed at progress. The other is funded by attention and aimed at engagement.
The funding model shapes everything. When the money comes from governments and industrialists who want prestige, you get the Futurama. When the money comes from algorithms that want engagement, you get robot boxing.
And when the money comes from corporations that want sales, you get CES. None of the modern funding models produce the old kind of spectacle.
So the question is whether a new funding model could emerge. Could a group of cities or countries fund a new kind of world's fair, one that showcases experimental transportation and AI and robotics in a way that's public and optimistic and weird?
The World Expos are supposed to be that, but they've become diplomatic exercises. The Osaka 2025 expo had robots, but they were mostly greeting visitors and giving directions. Nothing as ambitious as a moving sidewalk or an automated highway.
And the Expos are still funded by national governments, but the goals have changed. In 1900, France wanted to prove it was the most advanced nation on earth. In 2025, Japan wanted to present itself as a leader in robotics and AI, but in a safe, non-threatening way. The ambition is different.
The old fairs were competitive. Nations and industrialists were trying to outdo each other. The Ferris Wheel was built to outdo the Eiffel Tower. That competition produced genuine innovation and genuine spectacle.
Modern events are more collaborative and more cautious. Nobody wants to build something that might fail publicly. The old fairs were full of failures, but the failures were part of the charm.
The moving sidewalk in Paris was actually a technical failure in some ways. It was slow and prone to breaking down. But people loved it anyway. The experience was the point.
And the automated highways from the Futurama never happened, but the vision shaped a generation of highway engineers. The failure of the specific technology didn't matter. The vision was what lasted.
So maybe the lesson is that we need more public failures. More absurd experiments that don't have to succeed commercially. More spectacles that are funded for prestige and wonder rather than for sales and engagement.
The problem is that nobody wants to fund public failures. The old industrialists were willing to spend money on a vision that might not pay off. Modern investors want a return on investment.
And the public has been trained to expect polish. A glitchy robot boxing match is funny for a day, but a glitchy moving sidewalk at a world's fair was part of the experience. The tolerance for imperfection has changed.
The old fairs were handmade in a way that modern events aren't. The exhibits were built by craftsmen and engineers who were figuring it out as they went. Modern tech demos are rehearsed and polished and focus-grouped.
The answer to Daniel's question is complicated. There's no modern torchbearer in the full sense, but the pieces are scattered across different events. Maker Faire has the grassroots weirdness. Burning Man has the temporary city. World Expos have the national prestige. But nothing combines them.
The AI boxing matches have the public chaos but not the substance. They're a symptom of the attention economy, not a successor to the world's fairs.
I think the honest answer is that the old fairs were a product of a particular moment in history, and that moment is gone. We can mourn it, but we can't recreate it.
But we can ask what the modern equivalent of the Futurama would look like. What would a public spectacle that changed how people think about the future look like in 2026?
It would probably involve AI and robotics, but it would need to be more than a demo. It would need to be an experience. Something that millions of people could walk through and come out with a new vision of what's possible.
It would need to be funded by someone who cared more about legacy than about quarterly earnings. That's the hard part.
The old industrialists understood that funding a world's fair exhibit was an investment in their own legacy. They wanted to be remembered as the people who built the future. Modern billionaires mostly want to be remembered as the people who disrupted something.
Disruption is a different kind of ambition. It's about tearing down the old rather than building the new. The old fairs were about building.
Maybe that's the real loss. The ambition to build something grand and public and optimistic, even if it's impractical. The old fairs were full of that ambition. Modern tech is full of the ambition to optimize and disrupt.
The AI boxing matches are the purest expression of the modern ambition. They're disruptive in the sense that they're unexpected and viral, but they don't build anything. They're just content.
Daniel's question, are the AI boxing events the best our modern age can offer, the answer is yes, and that's a little sad.
It's sad but also honest. The modern age is very good at producing viral content. It's less good at producing shared visions of the future.
The old fairs were the opposite. They were terrible at producing viral content, but they were very good at producing shared visions.
The Futurama exhibit was seen by eighteen million people in person. That's a shared vision. A viral video is seen by a hundred million people, but it's not shared in the same way. Everyone watches it alone on their phone.
The physicality matters. Standing in a crowd, watching a moving sidewalk or a Ferris Wheel, that's a collective experience. Watching a robot boxing match on your phone is a solitary one.
The old fairs were designed for crowds. The exhibits were built to be experienced together. The modern equivalents are designed for individual consumption.
The loss is not just about funding or incentives. It's about the physical experience of technology. The old fairs let you touch and feel and stand on the future. Modern tech is something you look at on a screen.
That's a point worth making. The old fairs were haptic. You stood on the moving sidewalk. You rode in the Ferris Wheel. You walked through the Futurama. Modern tech previews are almost entirely visual.
The AI boxing matches are visual too. You watch them on a screen. You don't experience them in person. The physicality is gone.
The answer to Daniel's question is that no modern event carries the torch, and the reasons are structural. The funding, the incentives, the physicality, the optimism, all of it has changed.
But the desire for spectacle is still there. People still want to be amazed. The AI boxing matches prove that. The question is whether anyone can channel that desire into something more substantial.
That's the open question we should leave listeners with. If the old fairs thrived on temporary cities, national prestige, and public optimism, can any modern event recreate that without the same funding and cultural context?
I think the answer is probably no, but I'd love to be proven wrong. If someone builds a temporary city in the desert with experimental transportation and AI and robots, and millions of people travel to see it, I'll be the first to buy a ticket.
If the robots are boxing, I'll watch the clips on my phone. But I'll know it's not the same thing.
That's where we land. The old fairs were a unique cultural moment, and they're gone. The modern equivalents are fragmented and commercialized. The AI boxing matches are fun but hollow.
The deeper question is whether we've lost something important. The old fairs created shared visions of the future. Modern tech creates brand awareness and viral clips. The difference matters.
It matters because shared visions shape policy and investment and public expectations. If we don't have shared visions of the future, we get fragmented futures. Everyone imagines their own version, and nobody builds anything grand.
The old fairs were grand. The Futurama was grand. The moving sidewalk was grand. Even the Ferris Wheel was grand. Modern tech is optimized, but it's not grand.
Grandeur requires a certain kind of ambition. The ambition to build something that doesn't have an immediate commercial return, something that exists to inspire rather than to sell.
That ambition is rare now. The people who have the money to fund it mostly want to invest in things that will make them more money. The people who have the vision mostly don't have the money.
The old industrialists had both. They had the money and the vision, and they were willing to spend the money on the vision. That combination is rare now.
Maybe the answer to Daniel's question is that the old fairs were a historical accident. A particular combination of money, vision, optimism, and cultural context that happened to coincide in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.
Like all historical accidents, it can't be recreated. But it can be studied and understood and maybe partially imitated.
The imitation would require someone with money and vision and a willingness to fail publicly. That's a rare combination.
A public that's willing to travel and be amazed rather than scroll and be entertained. That's also rare.
We're left with the AI boxing matches. They're not the torchbearer, but they're what we have. And they're not nothing.
They're not nothing, but they're not the Futurama either. They're a symptom of a culture that's forgotten how to build grand public spectacles.
Or maybe a culture that's still learning how to build them in a new medium. The old fairs were the product of the industrial age. Maybe the digital age will produce its own version of the Futurama, and we just haven't seen it yet.
That's the optimistic take. I'm not sure I believe it, but I'd like to.
The old fairs took decades to evolve. The Crystal Palace in 1851 was mostly about industry and empire. It took fifty years to get to the moving sidewalk and the Futurama. Maybe the digital age is still in its Crystal Palace phase.
That's a fair point. The internet is young. The attention economy is even younger. Maybe the grand spectacles are still coming.
Maybe the AI boxing matches are the first crude version of something that will eventually become a new kind of public spectacle. The first Ferris Wheel was crude too.
The first Ferris Wheel was also funded by civic pride and built to outdo the Eiffel Tower. The AI boxing matches are funded by engagement algorithms. The difference in ambition is the whole story.
The question is whether the ambition can return. Whether someone with money and vision will decide to build something grand and public and optimistic, and whether the public will show up.
I think the public would show up. The desire for wonder is still there. The line for the moving sidewalk in 1900 was enormous. The line for a modern equivalent would be enormous too.
The desire is there. The funding is the problem. And the cultural context. And the physicality. And the shared vision.
Basically everything is the problem except the desire.
That's not quite fair. The technology is better now. We could build a much better moving sidewalk than the one in 1900. We could build automated highways that actually work. The technical capacity is there.
The technical capacity was there in 1900 too. The moving sidewalk worked, sort of. The automated highways were technically feasible, sort of. The problem was never the technology.
The problem was always the will and the money and the cultural context. And those are the things that have changed.
We end where we started. The old fairs were amazing because they were funded by prestige and built for wonder. The modern equivalents are less amazing because they're funded by sales and built for engagement. And the AI boxing matches are the purest expression of the modern model.
The question of whether anything can carry the torch is really a question about whether we can rebuild the cultural conditions that made the old fairs possible.
I don't think we can. But I'd love to be wrong.
Hilbert: They had the wrong monorail.
I'm sorry?
Hilbert: The 1900 Paris fair. The moving sidewalk was a conveyor belt. They also had an electric train. But the monorail they built, the one everyone forgets, it was suspended from an overhead rail. Looked like a bicycle hanging from a wire. It worked fine. They just didn't promote it because the moving sidewalk got all the attention.
I didn't know there was a monorail at the 1900 fair.
Hilbert: There were two. The suspended one and another one that ran on an elevated track. Neither one caught on. The moving sidewalk was the star. But the monorail was the better technology. It just didn't have the spectacle.
That's the thing about the old fairs. The best technology didn't always win. The best spectacle did.
Hilbert: I worked on a monorail bid once. Early two thousands. A city in the Midwest wanted to host a World Expo, and they hired me to design a monorail that would wow the selection committee. I spent eight months on the blueprints. The bid failed. The monorail was never built.
What kind of monorail?
Hilbert: Elevated, single rail, driverless. It would have run from the airport to the expo site. The selection committee said it was too expensive. They went with a city in Asia instead. I still have the blueprints in a flat file under my bed.
Do you ever take them out and look at them?
Hilbert: Sometimes. My wife thinks it's embarrassing. She says I should throw them away. But I designed that thing. It would have worked.
The thing about the old fairs, the monorails and the moving sidewalks, they were built to be seen. The technology was almost secondary. The point was to make people feel like they were standing in the future.
Hilbert: That's what I was trying to do. Make people feel like they were in the future. The selection committee didn't care about that. They cared about the budget.
That's the difference in one sentence. The old fairs cared about the feeling. The modern ones care about the budget.
Hilbert: The journey was part of it too. People traveled for days to get to those fairs. By the time they arrived, they were primed to be amazed. Now you fly for six hours and you're annoyed about the legroom.
That's a real point. The friction of travel was part of the experience. The fair was the reward for a long journey.
Hilbert: I took a train to the 1982 World's Fair in Knoxville. Three days from Connecticut. By the time I got there, I would have been impressed by a parking garage.
Now the friction is gone, and the wonder is gone with it.
Hilbert: The monorail would have helped. But the city didn't want to spend the money. They wanted the prestige without the cost. That's the modern way.
The old industrialists understood that prestige has a cost. You have to spend the money to get the glory.
Hilbert: General Motors spent a fortune on the Futurama. They didn't sell a single car at the exhibit. But they sold a vision of the future that lasted for decades.
That's the thing we've lost. The willingness to spend money on a vision that doesn't have an immediate return.
Hilbert: I spent eight months on a monorail that was never built. That's eight months of my life that went into a flat file under my bed. But I don't regret it. It was a good monorail.
The best monorail never built.
Hilbert: It would have worked. The blueprints are solid. I checked the math a hundred times.
The question is whether anyone will ever build the modern equivalent. A grand public spectacle that makes people feel like they're standing in the future.
Hilbert: They'd need a reason. The old fairs had a reason. They were celebrating progress. What would a modern fair celebrate?
That's the question. The old fairs celebrated technology as a civilizing force. Modern technology is more ambivalent. What would we be celebrating?
Maybe that's why the AI boxing matches feel hollow. They're celebrating something, but nobody's sure what.
Hilbert: They're celebrating engagement. That's not the same thing.
We're left with the open question. If the old fairs thrived on temporary cities, national prestige, and public optimism, can any modern event recreate that without the same funding and cultural context?
I think the answer is probably no, but the desire is still there. People still want to be amazed. They still want to see the future. The question is whether anyone will build it for them.
Whether they'd travel to see it if someone did.
Hilbert: They'd travel. People still travel for things that matter. They just need a reason.
Maybe that's the final thought. The old fairs gave people a reason to travel and be amazed. The modern age hasn't found a replacement. The AI boxing matches are a symptom of the search, not the answer.
The search continues. Someone, somewhere, is probably designing a monorail for a fair that will never happen.
Hilbert: I hope they keep the blueprints.
This has been My Weird Prompts. Thanks to our producer, Hilbert Flumingtop, for keeping the show running and for the monorail story.
If you've been to a world's fair or a modern event that felt like a glimpse of the future, we'd love to hear about it. Email us at show at my weird prompts dot com.
We'll be back soon.
