Stateside: In Transit On The Fourth Of July

I've moved to the land where Jesus es el senor, and the brother at the diner yesterday morning wished me a blessed day. Well, I'm not quite moved -- there's still a bunch of stuff back at the old place, but it's getting near dark and I'm waiting to be able to see the fireworks I can hear outside.

Some of them are so percussive that they set off car alarms, adding to the general aural overload I've been experiencing over the past hour as I've been on my way home. At one point I thought there must be a sign on my BART carriage saying "Lunatics here." Only a lunatic would be trying to move half a studio apartment using public transit, a hand truck, and two bungee cords. Little Miss Independence, that's me!

On the third run of the day, and running late because I fell asleep and missed my station returning from the second run, a chap with his own plastic chair plumped it down opposite me and started a rant about Gore and Cheney and how America is all about lies. Uncertain whether he was a performance artist or certifiable, I did what everyone does in these situations and looked away.

Straight at the guy who is definitely certifiable, who stands on a street corner with his artwork -- always featuring the colour black -- and raves. On the train he was raving about sodomy and the church, which blew Mr Plastic Chair's cover, since he then incorporated that into his act, saying scornfully he was obviously sitting on a liberal train and he wouldn't have so much fun back in South Florida.

The day before, one of my fellow travellers told me he can't have so much fun back in North Georgia because the transit there isn't wheelchair accessible. He had come to San Francisco to the little people's conference and "smiled so much my cheeks hurt." I too am newly appreciative of California's rigorous implementation of the Americans with Disabilities Act, as it made my work with the hand truck so much easier -- especially the kerb cuts at every intersection and lifts at all the stations.

Aah! It's dark enough to see the fireworks. These are people's personal Fourth of July fireworks, perhaps at the traditional barbecue, and since I now look towards the Oakland hills, I can see quite a selection of them. The big public displays will start soon, but I look away from those. Could always watch them on the telly, I suppose, if I knew which box it was in!

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