I have carefully avoided the subject thus far because it’s almost too easy, and it’s already been beaten to death. But it is one of the biggest elephants in the White House these days, so let’s tackle it once and for all.

We’ve all seen hundreds of still photos and videos of Donald Trump appearing to fall asleep — in Oval Office meetings, Cabinet meetings, summit meetings, and even while standing straight up, which completely defies the laws of physics and which, I have to admit, I find oddly fascinating.

The White House, of course, continues to deny the existence of a problem, claiming that the photographers have caught Trump thinking with his eyes shut, or alternatively, “slow blinking.” And that last excuse has itself become the object of considerable scorn.

Well, I’m here — not to poke fun, or to refute the claims of Trump’s superhuman mental and physical acuity — but to assure you that there is indeed such a thing as the “slow blink.” And it did not originate with him.

How do I know this? I know, because I mastered it many years ago.

Slow blinking goes beyond just nodding off while watching the 87th rerun of a M*A*S*H episode, or trying once again to plow your way through The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Anyone can do that.

And during my many decades of working in offices, I have (too frequently) been found seated at my desk, facing my computer screen, both hands poised on the keyboard . . . sound asleep. That was usually in mid-afternoon, after a fairly substantial lunch. Food seems to have that effect on me.

But — and this is where it gets impressive — I am also able to lay claim to having slow blinked while listening to Henry Kissinger speak at a luncheon in Washington, D.C., back in the ‘80s.

No kidding.

Now, Kissinger was a brilliant individual and a remarkable statesman, whose many accomplishments included reopening (along with Richard Nixon) diplomatic relations with the People’s Republic of China, advancing detente with the Soviet Union during the Cold War, negotiating the Paris Peace Accords of 1973, and instituting the “shuttle diplomacy” that helped end the Yom Kippur War in the Middle East. So he had a lot to say, and I was thrilled to have the opportunity to hear him speak in person.

But for all of his brilliance, I’m sorry to report that Dr. Kissinger had a speaking voice that can best be compared to Russian baritone Dmitry Hvorostovsky singing Vecherny Zvon on a 78 r.p.m. vinyl recording being played at 33-1/3 r.p.m. (Or — for those who have no earthly idea who Dmitry Hvorostovsky was or what Vecherny Zvon sounds like — just think of an up-close recording of a hive of really angry bees droning on . . . and on . . . and on . . . in a heavy German accent.)

So, on top of a fairly heavy meal (there’s that food thing again), what should have been an exciting experience turned out to be a major snooze. I’m happy to report that at least I didn’t snore, and I didn’t face-plant into the chocolate mousse. But there were definitely a few slow blinks, followed by much gulping of water to get me through the rest of his keynote speech without humiliating myself.

Please don’t ask me what he spoke about; I have no clue.

*. *. *

Then there was my first attendance at what became my all-time favorite musical: the incomparable Les Miz.

I know, I know: It’s impossible to imagine dozing off while the barricades are being stormed to the accompaniment of “Do You Hear the People Sing.” But let me explain.

It was 1988. I had returned just two days earlier from my first trip to the then Soviet Union, and I was still somewhat jet-lagged, and physically and emotionally exhausted from the two-week schlep from Moscow to Tbilisi (Georgia) to Sochi to Leningrad. When I finally set foot back in Washington, my sister surprised me with tickets to the hottest show in town: Les Miz at the Kennedy Center. How could I refuse?

There was no Kissinger-style droning to excuse my behavior this time. The entire performance — the music, the acting, the story of the French uprising reminding me of the plight of the Russian people I had just left behind — was riveting. But sometimes our bodies just do what they want to do, no matter how hard we fight against them. And toward the end of the first act, my eyelids began to bli-i-i-ink, bli-i-i-ink, bli-i-i-ink . . .

Luckily, that was just about the time the orchestra hit its finest crescendo, bringing me a good two inches up out of my seat. Our box seats were just across the hallway from a ladies room, and I made a beeline to it, splashed some cold water on my face, and managed to revive sufficiently to make it through the second act.

(P.S.: I have since seen Les Miz a total of six times in various venues . . . but never again on the heels of an overseas trip.)

*. *. *

So yes, even during an event that should preclude one from losing the plot and declining into slow-blink mode, it can happen. I’m living proof of that. And on those occasions, I was a good deal younger, and in better health, than Donald Trump is now. So maybe he could be excused for being tired and nodding off now and then . . .

. . . if only he weren’t the guy in charge of the nuclear codes.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
6/3/26