If you live anywhere in the DC metro area, you might have heard about the hundreds of deceased pets found dumped in Hampshire County, WV. The situation is similar to the Tri-State Crematory case in Georgia; the crematory didn’t dispose of the bodies in the agreed-upon manner, which is illegal.

I heard about the pets in West Virginia yesterday on the radio but I didn’t pay much attention. This morning, during a local news segment on NPR, I heard more about it, including the fact that Fairfax County (where I live) was somehow involved. I couldn’t help wondering if it was the place we took Wu, but the news moved on and I forgot about it. Tonight, after we finished dinner, A started a philosophical discussion about souls and bodies and what happens after we die. I didn’t know what she was leading up to, so we talked about it for a while before she broke the news.

Family Pet Creations, in Chantilly, was where we took Wu, and they are presently under investigation in the dumping case. A found out about this during the day today, and she called the Fairfax County police to ask what was being done with the animals. She learned they had already been destroyed, and no attempts were made to identify any of them individually, only that most (if not all) had come from the Fairfax County animal shelter. The officer she spoke with was very sympathetic - in fact, she had taken her cat to the same place a year ago. The officer said she was “choosing to believe” that they had cremated her pet as promised and returned the ashes to her.

So we talked about how we felt about the situation. We opened the white box for the first time and held the sealed clear plastic bag while we talked about it. We agreed that although the company may have dumped shelter animals because they didn’t get paid enough for them, they probably treated individual pets brought to them as they were supposed to be treated. We brought Wu in ourselves, we paid for her individual cremation, and we think we received the actual ashes of our cat and only her. So I don’t think we were lied to or mistreated by Family Pet Cremations, but I am really mad at them for putting the doubt into my mind in the first place. A has disputed the charge on her credit card.

When we finished talking, we finally opened the urn we bought for her. A put in some loose catnip, I put in two milk jug rings and her favorite piece of string, and then I put in the bag without opening it. We got our sweet girl, I’m sure of it, but I just don’t understand why some people can’t do their jobs right in the first place.

The British publication The Independent has published an editorial entitled Just listen to that choreography, and I found enough to discuss that I wanted to give it more than just quicklink status.

The editorial, about a signed performance of the Rambert Dance Company, is quite offensive. Author Lynne Walker claims this is “political correctness taken to an extreme.” While she is right that dance can usually be enjoyed without interpretation because there are not normally words associated with it, that does not mean that this particular performance had anything to do with that. It seems that even though she spoke with the company’s artistic director she still didn’t find out the point of the signed performance, whatever that may have been. It’s ridiculous for her to put down a form of expression simply because she doesn’t understand its purpose.

She refers to the signer, Paul Whittaker, as “valiant” - why, for attempting such a fool’s errand? Did he have good intentions but ultimately fail in his task? Walker has no idea, because she freely admits that she knows no sign language. In fact, she not only admits it, she is proud of it. “I’m fortunate enough not to have sign language as my first language” is an incredibly ignorant and rude statement that dismisses the status of sign languages as true languages rather than just “gesturing” (as she describes Whittaker’s movements). She admits that “SLIPs” (sign language interpreted performances - new term to me, might be British?) are worthwhile in theater and opera but is exceptionally annoyed by the idea of having an interpreted dance performance.

You know what, Ms. Walker? If you are so concerned about the possibility of someone interpreting at your beloved dance shows, perhaps you should call ahead and make sure to attend a performance that will not be interpreted. Deaf people are quite used to finding out when shows will be interpreted, you can most certainly do the same thing.

Please indulge me in a bit of self-righteousness and indignancy as I continue to challenge the femme invisibility barrier.

I’d heard a few days ago that someone had complained that J and I were not lesbians. Of course we thought that was silly, but we weren’t sure who had said it, as the information seemed to have gone through a long grapevine. That night at dinner one of the deaf men I was eating with asked me if I was a lesbian. I said yes and he seemed fine with that. The question nagged at me though, until tonight. It was toward the end of the cruise, I was chatting with a deaf guy and his hearing boyfriend at the leather party, and I told them about this trange question. They were surprised by that, and we talked about it for a few moments. And then who should walk up but the guy I suspected all along. Now, this guy is a hearing interpreter from Baltimore; I did not know him before the cruise. He walked up, said hello, and then we had this exchange:

Him: Can I ask you a personal question?
Me: Sure. (knowing what’s coming)
Him: Are you a lesbian?
Me: Yes. (conversation was in ASL; I used an emphatic form of yes)
Him: Are you in a relationship?
Me: Yes, for seven years.
Him: How nice for you. Do you have a picture of your partner?
Me: Uh, not on me, no.
Deaf guy: Do you have a picture of your boyfriend?
Him: Well, he’s here. I can bring him over.
Me: She’s not here because she’s already going on a cruise this month with her mom, blah blah blah.

So then he went off, and the deaf guy, his boyfriend, and I marveled at the guy’s balls that he asked me such a thing to my face. I was miffed, but we talked about things like narrow-mindedness and interpreter ethics. I finally decided I was going to go, and I said goodbye to my friends. On the way out, though, I decided I was going to give the guy a big fuck you.

At first I went to the computer cafe to search for the guy’s email address. I didn’t find it, so I went to Flickr, found a suitable picture and printed it, then logged off. The total cost was $2.65 for this. Now, the picture I’d chosen was specific. It has me and A standing with Teddy, International Mr. Deaf Leather 2004, between us. Perfect. So I took it back downstairs to the party. (By the way, I did have a rum and coke in me at this point.) I couldn’t find the guy at first, but I ended up telling a couploe of other deaf people why I was looking for him. I also told M, the male terp, who mentioned that he’s been getting asked all week if J & I are straight. (At least five times, by hearing people but not the guy I was after.)

Finally the nice deaf guy spotted the guy dancing far away. I couldn’t see him, so the deaf guy offered to take the printout over to him. After a few minutes he returned and said “I showed it to him. He knows the guy in the middle [Teddy]. You’re safe!”

So I felt pretty good. But I still can’t fathom the question. Femme lesbians do exist, dammit! Just because 99% of the lesbians on this cruise are (sometimes soft) butch does not mean femme dykes are a straight man’s fantasy? (I think he might have been jealous that he didn’t get my job but rather had to pay to be there.)

I was checking my referrers and I noticed a few people had gotten to me from Crystal’s site. It turns out my automated TrackBack caught Crystal’s eye, and she felt the need to respond and let me (and everybody else) know that she doesn’t agree with my beliefs. That’s perfectly okay with me, because diversity is what makes the world go around. And yet I couldn’t help noticing one of the Blogsnob ads on her site:

Yup. Crystal’s site displayed a link to one of my new favorite blogs, SistersTalk. Click the picture to enlarge. Too awesome!

I had just picked up a book from the library and I was on my way home. As I got to the exit of the library parking lot, I saw a woman was blocking the entire exit so I couldn’t get out. She was in a line of cars waiting for a red light to turn green. As I pulled up and stopped, she inched forward. I stayed put. She inched up a little more; the car behind her didn’t move. I eyeballed the distance between her and the minivan in front of her, and decided that I couldn’t make it through. I started to inch forward anyway, thinking that she might take the hint and back up so I could get out. I was angled to turn right, into her lane, but I really wanted to get into the left turn lane at the intersection - I wasn’t trying to get in front of her, I just wanted to get past her, as she was in the lane to go straight across. She saw that I was creeping up, and honked at me, then when I looked up at her she tapped her watch to indicate she was in a hurry. Immediately very annoyed, I gestured that I was trying to get between the cars, not in front of her car. She figured it out and moved back, and I was able to go around and into the left turn lane.

Her arrogance, though, was appalling. She was in that big a hurry that letting me in front of her would have ruined something? How long does it take to make a right turn out of a parking lot - five, ten seconds? Is that really going to have an impact? Unless she was in labor, it couldn’t have possibly made a difference to let me in. Sure, we’ve all been in a hurry, and I’d be annoyed if somebody wanted in front of me, too, but I would still let them in, rather than deliberately blocking their path. In fact, after I had made my left turn and was waiting at another light, somebody wanted to do the same thing - make a right turn into my lane. I hadn’t seen him at first, but since there was nobody behind me I was able to back up and let him in. He couldn’t quite make the turn yet because the car ahead of me was in the way, but when the light turned green and the cars moved, he went in front of me and I continued on my way home.

I swear…some people!