I would like to believe that what fascinated Donald Trump about the floodwaters of Texas and pulled him to the state on Tuesday were the scenes of human suffering.

I would also like to believe that I’m a dead ringer for Brad Pitt.

But what Trump saw in Hurricane Harvey was a mirror of his own majesty. A storm worthy of a stud like him. A meteorological complement to one of his resorts, rallies or steaks. Something really, really big.

“Even experts have said they’ve never seen one like this!” Trump marveled on Twitter, and I read exultation into that not because I’m sour on the president but because I have eyes. Also because I have a memory. He has used almost exactly those words to describe a buffet of developments in his rise and reign, always with an air of self-impressed wonder.

I keep hoping against hope that a new challenge will tease out a new Trump and that if he malingers in the presidency long enough, he’ll meander in the direction of eloquence, slouch toward poetry and tumble into inspiration. Stranger things have happened. I’ll have to get back to you on what they were.