Gay Cowboys in Love
January 10, 2006
When Signe and I were making plans to hang out, Signe asked if I wanted to see some gay cowboys.
"Sure, why not?" I told her. "I'll see anything?"
That's not exactly true, though, because when Brian asked if I'd seen the gay cowboy movie yet, I told him, No, "And I'm not gonna see it with you."
"I know, right?" he laughed.
When I told that story to Signe, she laughed too, and told me not to worry, "I'll be your beard."
"Lord knows I've seen plenty of lesbo movies, I figure I'm overdue for some gay cowboys."
"Good point," she said.
Deborah had a different opinion, though. "It's not the same thing," she said. "But whatever, I'm just glad you two are going to see something I don't care about. Gay cowboys? No thanks."
Signe sent me a text message this morning to confirm the movie with me. "Yes," I replied. "I'll be there with bells on. Oh—uh—wait, nix the bells."
"I like the image," she responded. "I think you should go with it."
"I need a cowboy hat."
"You can probably pick one up along the way at Gay Cowboys R US, or something."
"In the words of Jon Voight in that other infamous cowboy movie, ‘I ain't a fer real cowboy, but I'm one helluva stud’.”
"We shouldn't be making fun. We need to be more respectful of the gay cowboy culture."
"I couldn't agree more," I said. "Do you think the movie will have boners in it?"
"A girl can dream, can't she? But you know what? I bet they don't show anything, the pussies. Er, I mean, no pussies, either."
"I bet they show boobs to ease the hetero males in the audience. How much you wanna bet?"
"You're so right."
Let's hope I am.
January 11, 2006
I guess it made sense for me to watch a movie called Brokeback Mountain while seated in a brokeback theater chair, but I sure was stiff by the end of the movie. No, wait a minute, let me rephrase that—
As predicted, Brokeback Mountain featured just as many women's naked body parts as it did men's naked men's body parts -- more, actually, depending on your method of counting. And it was all well paced so that the minute I'd had enough of the love that dare not speak its name, out came the yabbos. The first were Anne Hathaway's naked titties. They looked stellar, but I really can't give an accurate critique because, at that moment, I was just happy to see boobs.
In all seriousness, I thought the movie was excellent. Much better than I anticipated, and much sadder, too. Signe was crying when the lights went up. But she blubbered at the end of King Kong, too, so she's probably not a good gauge.
"It was so sad," Signe said as we rode a taxi downtown. "It's sad that they loved each other so much, but couldn't live the life they wanted to live—"
"But don’t you think it was because they couldn't be together that their emotions for each other got so tweaked?"
"Wow, you're cynical."
"That's not cynical, it's just the way it is. All the classic love stories are about two lovers trying to overcome obstacles. A soldier who goes off to war, or—"
"—Romeo and Juliet."
"Exactly. Something keeps them apart, and that fuels their desire. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all of that."
"You don't think the cowboys were truly in love?"
"Sure, I do."
"But you don't think that if they went off and lived together on a ranch that they would've been happy?"
"Maybe, I don't know. Other than arguing about whose turn it is to do the dishes, I’m sure they could’ve been happy, but then there wouldn't have been a story. Domestic Bliss Mountain? Who wants to see that?"
