At the Sarasota airport today, I am looking at Air Force One. It is a massive 747 jumbo-jet. The top is painted bright white. The tail displays the American flag. The middle layer of color is lavender-blue. And the rest of the gigantic plane is the cerulean color of the Florida sky. The cockpit towers three stories above the tarmac. The engine cowlings are decked out in chrome, like a Harley. "UNITED STATES OF AMERICA" is written in kerned letters spaced with a dignified authority. The circled presidential seal is under the forward windows.

A cluster of reporters with telephoto lenses can be seen sequestered a hundred yards out from the terminal. Four helicopters appear in the scattered clouds on the far side of the airport. Deep bass thumps are heard through the windows as they get nearer. They land and taxi to positions on either side of the plane. These are dark green and obviously armed military aircraft. "UNITED STATES MARINE CORPS" is painted under the slooping propellors. When the helicopters taxi to a stop, groups of men dressed in black fatigues and carrying gym bags jog to their black Chevy Suburbans.

There is more thumping and a new speck appears on the horizon.   It materializes as a smaller, less menacing Marine helicopter, sleek and pointed like a green reptile. It lands on the stark concrete and remains motionless.   It's the decoy helicopter. Another speck appears in the sky. This is the real one. It lands and the propellers spin down.   A marine in dress blues opens the door, and several men get out. One of them is tall and athletic, and he takes long strides toward the reporters. It's Obama. He walks alone, with his entourage behind him.

Surprisingly, he reaches the reporters, stops for a few moments, and turns back toward the steps of the blue plane. Obama skips up the steps to his flying office. He does so purposefully and energetically.   He turns and waves; and with a forest of antennas from television vans in the foreground, climbing into the sky, he disappears into the plane.

Passengers turn back from the windows to the gate agents and the boarding process. The worlds returns to a comparatively boring reality. For a few minutes, Air Force One brought us a sense of purpose and urgency and power. It seems to trivialize our own lives. It's neurotic, but I guarantee you that everyone in the airport feels that to a certain degree.

As Air Force One takes off, I am thinking that maybe Florida will be getting its groove back. I wonder why it took Barack Obama to remind us that our principal export is sunshine. That the same photons that sunburn tourists and grow organges and heat the gulf can produce millions of gigawatts of clean energy.   That we can do more than the infant solar farm in Arcadia.   That perhaps the developers and the banks that have built the empty houses and condominiums across this state can now focus on a new commodity.   No house flips. No scams.  Just sunshine - and power.

#airport

Air Force One and the Sun

Vice president of the bathroom