"Now it's me time. YouTube videos-just let me scroll for fifteen minutes. Make that an hour. I can use the bathroom while I do this. You won't know I'm gone, and I'll be multitasking. Might check out the Criterion Collection for a bit. Some old movie that is, frankly, not very well made but is just "sturdy" and "does the trick"-"feels like a movie." Know what I mean? Doesn't matter. Let me have this."
"After that, I will walk to the helicopter and shout answers to questions over the chopper-blade noise. This will be exciting, and no one expects clear, concise, profound answers, so I will provide unclear, messy, shallow answers, and mostly say some version of "We're working on that very thing right now!" I'll mention that I'm in a hurry, salute the marine, and board the helicopter."
"I will attend any and all evening events, but only for the first half hour. I'm happy to take pictures, happy to introduce folks, happy to shake hands and smile and wish everyone well. Then it's an "Irish goodbye"-out the back door, home to the home part of the house, and a small bowl of yogurt (plain, some granola in it) and a bowl of popcorn (salt and pepper, no butter, no cheese)."
The routine centers on extended personal downtime spent scrolling videos and watching comfort films while multitasking. Press moments are brief, noisy, and deliberately superficial, with evasive answers like "We're working on that very thing right now!" Public events receive only half-hour attendance, followed by discreet exits and quiet evenings at home with simple snacks. A close aide remains nearby to alert the leader to any emergency. Genuine empathy is reserved for real disasters, but otherwise performative kindness and selective Bible reading are used to maintain appearances. Personal habits and staged gestures prioritize comfort over sustained engagement.
Read at The New Yorker
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