The gay rodeo’s in town this weekend – my town, Fort Lauderdale – and so are the cowboys from all points, Texas and Oklahoma to Chicago and Hoboken, New Jersey.
A buddy and I actually went to the rodeo a few years ago but found it a bore. The wait between acts was an eternity and then some guy fell off his horse and got hurt so bad they had to call EMS and halt the show. My friend and I decided it was time to exit and do something more interesting – like visit a hypochondriac buddy in the hospital. At least his kvetching was non-stop.
Plus this year for the first time that I can recall, animal activists actually mounted a protest. But guys, you’re gonna get nowhere. Why? Because the rodeo isn’t about ropin’ steer, it’s about attracting more gay tourists toward the end of the tourist season to – you guessed it – sell more liquor. (That is when the guys aren’t lookin’ to ride more than just a horse.) And at that it succeeded, judging by the SRO crowds last nite at my favorite watering holes. I bypassed our western bar, Scandals, for a very successful pit spot at our sex club Slammers (they should have parking meters at the glory holes), but ended my Friday night with a nightcap at the Ramrod, our leather bar, where everybody ends up anyway, and which hosted an eclectic crowd of real cowboys in their fancy embroidered shirts (most of them were tired, old and fat); pseudo cowboys in their harnesses and leather cowboy hats (finger lickin’ good!), a sprinkling of chubby faghags, and the rest, your Walmart assortment of shirtless guys like me.
Now you would think with all the new meat, I’d get lucky, and while it’s true I had a few nice chats, one with a cute bearded guy from Seattle, another with a leather bearded cowboy from Philly (hey, I’m a sucker for beards – what can I say?), who strikes up a conversation with me but a radical drag, a member of the Sisters of the Perpetual Indulgence who with her fellow nuns were there to drum up money for their charity causes.
While my other half watched another baseball game (thank God for SNY) Saturday night, I got out early and hit Scandals, then Ramrod which, as expected, were both loaded before 11.
After all, I might not have a leather cowboy hat, (and guys my height frankly look like the munchkin mortician out of Wizard of Oz wearing a cowboy hat anyway), but I got to make more use of my new bulldog harness before I end up giving it away to Good Will.