late at night, I find myself watching bull riding on TV. I don't know why it's so fascinating to me. I have never actually been to a rodeo, but there's just something fun about watching wirey young men with names like "Kody" and "Skeeter" tying their hands onto a bull saddle and getting flung around like rag dolls for as long as they can stand it. I love how these modern cowboys take off their cowboy hats in favor of hockey goalie style headgear and body pads; it's about time they got wise and dressed appropriately for their sport, after all! Not that a little bit of padding would save them from getting trampled by a couple thousand pounds of pure aggression, but it can't hurt.
I've always had a thing for cowboys. In college, I read a book of short stories called
Cowboys Are My Weakness by Pam Huston. Her writing style is like Hemmingway for girls, and her narrators are tough and reckless and athletic, three things that I am not. In her stories, the cowboys in question are self-absorbed, withholding assholes, and her women, while outwardly tough, are incapable of distinguishing between the half-hearted pseudo-love men offer her and real human connections.
I've always wondered what real cowboys are like. Something tells me I wouldn't like them, as a whole. I'm picturing Skoal and stubble and being called "little lady." But I'm a northerner, born & bred, so I really have no idea. Maybe that's why they're so intriguing to me.
